—
Keffi, not Kebbi State
“What did you mean by saying this isn’t Kebbi State?” John asked with an angry look.
The driver ignored John and instead gave an answer to Goke, who was too dumb to speak.
“What is happening here?” I asked Goke.
“Will you just shut up?” Goke replied
“How can you ask a lady to shut up? My husband can’t even say that to me.” The married woman defended herself.
Before the conflict escalated, the driver interrupted.
“Listen, corpers, this is not Kebbi State.”
“Then where are we?” we chorused
“We are in Keffi, Nasarrawa State.”
Waiting for further explanation as to why we were in Nasarawa and not Kebbi State, the driver hopped from the vehicle in order to give a detailed explanation to us.
“The man who introduced you all to me told me you were heading to Keffi, Nasarrawa. He never told me anything about Kebbi State. The money he paid me testifies to this.”
“But we paid more than usual because it was a chartered fare. We even have Kebbi State written on our bus tickets.” I snapped.
“I do not know about all of that. All I know is that I can’t take you further than where we are now.” The driver said it innocently.
“We have to do something fast,” John protested.
While we were exchanging dialogue with the driver, Goke stood motionless at the booth, where he appeared scared.
I couldn’t imagine what was running through the poor boy’s mind at that moment. He had only done what he felt was good for everyone.
“What do we do now?” A lady spoke up for the first time.
“Let’s call the man,” someone suggested.
And so we used a different line than Goke’s to reach him.
John took the phone from the guy who dialed the number in order to speak with him.
“We know what you did,” John said.
“The bad news is that we’ll be sending not only a policeman to you right now, but also a lawyer.”
“My father is a policeman, and he would be willing to see you rot in jail for what you have done to us.”
“Do you know what we call the thing you’ve done to us? You’ve committed fraud, and this is against the Nigerian Constitution.
Wondering if John was talking to himself, Goke took the phone from him and returned it immediately after confirming that the man was listening.
“Send us our money now!” We need to board another bus.
Perhaps it was the threat that worked; we couldn’t really say. But after thirty minutes, the man called back on the driver’s line to apologize. And after waiting a while, the man sent fifteen thousand naira to us to add to what we had on us in Kebbi State.
The money sent to Goke’s bank account was withdrawn from the ATM, and we pleaded with the driver, who took us to Abuja Park, where we boarded a cab to Kaduna.
After the driver took us to the park in Abuja, we reached out to our people at home. There was panic from home. While some assured their parents they were okay, others tried not to sound paranoid.
After the discussion with the driver, some of the coworkers parted ways with us. They decided to continue their journey alone without risking their safety with another fake driver.
We were nine in number who decided to join the cab from Abuja to Kaduna.
The driver who carried us from Abuja to Kaduna was an Alhaji who was very jovial. The previous driver had negotiated with him to please assist us as we were coworkers. The Alhaji agreed to carry us for a considerable discount.
While driving, he spoke a little English and plenty of Hausa. I was able to understand some of the words spoken, as I had spent quite a number of years with Hausas in Okesuna.
Others took the opportunity to ask for interpretations of words spoken in their local dialect. They realized that sooner than later, they would need these words, as they were going to have to stay there for a period of one year.
It took us over three hours to get to Kaduna. By the time we arrived there, we were already drained and exhausted. We needed rest. At the same time, all we wanted was to just arrive at the camp, which had already been opened.
Some of our phone batteries were dead, except for those with power banks. The network in the area was poor.
We rested a bit at a fruit stand, while at the same time keeping our eyes on the cab that had our bags.
The Alhaji had gone to find another cab driver who would convey us to Kebbi State.
The first cab arrived but left almost immediately after realizing we weren’t having as much as he wanted for the transport fare.
Alhaji was the only one willing to sympathize with us, and so he kept speaking with different drivers until he found a young driver who agreed to convey us to Kebbi State for a reasonable amount. We were happy at the news, but not until he told us that the camp was still far away from where we were going to drop.
We pleaded once more, but this time not just with words but also with money.
The young driver agreed to the payment, and once again we were back on the road with tired butts.
Before we left, we appreciated the Alhaji who stood with us as though he had known us before then.
He had represented his people well.
The journey to Kebbi State was one that seemed like an unending journey. We kept asking the driver if we were close to our destination.
The young driver got tired of us asking and encouraged us to get to know one another.
“Menene sunnan ku?” What’s your name? I asked the driver.
He laughed, then increased the volume of the song he was listening to.
Offended that he had snubbed my question, I asked again with a stern look.
“Sunana Musa,” my name is Musa, he answered, smiling.
“Na gode,” thank you, I smiled back.
“But what makes you think I do not understand English?” The young driver asked after tuning the volume of the radio down.
“Well,” I shrugged.
“Well, you should complete what you have started,” he replied.
“Well, I just thought otherwise,”
“I guess you now realize how false your thoughts were. I’m a graduate of Kaduna State Polytechnic. And I have an HND in business administration. This is my car, and I use it for business whenever I’m free.”
“She doesn’t mean it that way,” John interrupted.
“I know. I also do not mean it that way. I just wish to correct a false assumption,” he replied.
All the while, I kept smiling.
“I have a cousin at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. She is a student of computer science. And she’s a Hausa. Just so you know, I have nothing against the Hausas. If you had responded at first, we wouldn’t have gotten to this level.”
“Sunana, Joan Adewunmi,” I said. My name is Joan Adewunmi.
“It’s a pleasure,” Musa replied.
We dove back into our previous state of listening to Alhaji Mamman Shata’s track.
“Could you please reduce the volume?” John requested
Musa reduced the volume but kept nodding his head to the low rhythm coming out of the radio.
John was seated close to me. The married lady sat on my left, while John sat on my right. We were seated in the middle seat.
Two coworkers were at the front, seated with the driver. Three were in the middle, while four sat in the back seat.
It wasn’t all comfortable, but we were grateful to have a ride down to our destination.
“Where is your alma mater?” John asked
“Lagos,” I answered.
“Good. Lagos State University is a good and reputable school,” he commended.
“It’s the University of Lagos,” I corrected.
“Oh!”
“Yeah,” I answered with a smile.
“Thanks for speaking out the way you did. It helped calm the situation.”
“From what I observed, you aren’t the type who would do such. The driver just misunderstood you.”
“All the same, you are welcome.”
We settled into silence again. And for a few minutes, I wondered what should come out next.
“Where did you go to school?”
“In Osun. I am a graduate of philosophy from Obafemi Awolowo University.”
“Great Ife,” I uttered.
“Great Akokites,” he responded.
“My older brother graduated from the University of Lagos. He graduated as the best student from the Faculty of Social Science. So, I know a bit about the great institution.”
“How sweet,” I responded.
“What state are you from?” I asked
“Lagos. A true Lagosian from Isale eko,” John answered.
“Isale Eko aromisa, legbe, legbe,” I uttered
“Interesting,” John remarked.
At this time, we had spent over four hours on the road, and our fellow travelers were sound asleep. John and I found out there was a lot we had in common, like the places we’ve visited in Lagos and our experiences and challenges.
“Can you guess the secondary school I attended?” he asked
“Hmm, could it be Isale Eko Grammar School?” I guessed
“Eko Akete Grammar School,” he said, laughing.
“Eko Akete, ilu ogbon,” I responded.
“You’re an intelligent lady, I must say.”
“You aren’t bad either,” I answered.
After a long and interesting conversation, we managed to close our eyes.
At the time I opened my eyes, we were at another stop, where the officers of the Nigerian Army were.
The driver, like usual, informed them that we were crews heading to the camp.
“Corpers, we,” they greeted
We smiled, wondering what we were supposed to answer.
“When you hear, corpers, we, you answer, wa,” one of the soldiers informed us.
“Thank you, sir,” we chorused.
The soldiers warned the driver to be vigilant, as they had just gotten a report of Corp members being kidnapped on the highway.
“Be safe,” they cautioned as the driver drove ahead.
None of the passengers slept after hearing the incident that was announced by the soldiers. Our eyes were widening till we arrived at the NYSC’s orientation camp in Dakingari, Kebbi State.
