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The Travelers
Emeka, a prospective corps member, and I met at Yaba. We had agreed to meet with other people traveling with us at the bus park, where we would all leave for Kebbi State together.
My stepfather drove me and my mother down to the park. It was a Tuesday morning, and so after dropping Ibitayo off at school, we drove off to the bus park where Emeka and others were.
We were fifteen in number who agreed to meet at the bus park, while others had arranged for different buses and at different bus parks.
Even though my mother and stepfather opted to wait till the bus left the park, I urged them to leave as I was the only one whose parents came with me to the bus park.
They left after pouring out their hearts in prayers to me and others who stood at the park.
While I waited for others to arrive at the bus park, I watched as the load carriers in Yaba helped travelers carry their bags. It was a struggle between load carriers and buses, who wanted passengers as fast as they could.
The other five members arrived, and the leader of the group went to the bus we were supposed to travel with to inform him that we were ready to move.
“Let’s be patient as we wait for the driver to come,” Goke, the leader, announced to everyone.
“I’m John,” a bright-looking guy said to me.
“Before you start meeting each other personally, can we please gather together and introduce ourselves?” Goke requested
Though we met ourselves through the group, we were yet to know our names except for those who went beyond the group chat to have a personal chat with themselves.
In total, we had eight men and seven women. One of the ladies was married. We also had two foreign graduates among us.
Having spent four hours at the park without seeing the driver, we questioned the leader.
“Where’s the driver?” One of the guys asked angrily.
“It’s almost getting dark. When do you expect us to leave this place for a two-day journey?” The married lady asked.
The leader once again went in search of the driver, who was nowhere to be found. None of the buses at the park were heading towards Kebbi State. In fact, they had affirmed that we wouldn’t get a bus straight to Kebbi State from that place.
We were worried and angry at the same time.
“I thought you had already sorted this out. Didn’t you assure us we were going to be conveyed down to Kebbi State?” John asked with rage.
The leader had assured us on the group chat of our conveyance by coming a day before to negotiate and relay our destination to a bus driver at the bus park. He had informed us that there was a bus driver who had agreed to carry fifteen of us to Kebbi State even though others wouldn’t go.
Other buses had suggested we board a bus to Sokoto State first and then board another bus to Dakingari, Kebbi State, where the National Youth Service Corps’ camp was situated.
The leader convincingly informed us there was no need to panic as the bus driver was good at his job and had guaranteed a good trip.
Two hours later, the man the leader had negotiated with appeared with another man whom he referred to as our driver.
We weren’t bothered if we had another driver; all we wanted was to be on our way.
The man informed us that he needed three more passengers to make up for the extra seats left in the eighteen-seat bus.
He couldn’t get three passengers, but two, as we wouldn’t agree to wait extra hours for a two-day journey.
By the time we were ready to leave Lagos, it was already 9 p.m.
The bus park was now dark. We moved our bags into the vehicle one after the other.
None of us reached out to our parents and relatives to tell them about the situation at the bus park. We didn’t want anyone panicking at home.
While the journey started from Yaba, an elderly woman whom the bus driver carried with the Corp members led us into a prayer.
So, our journey started with prayers. And after praying, we ate the packed rice we had bought at the bus park.
After an hour into the journey, we started reaching out to our parents and loved ones one after the other.
“Don’t ever hide anything from your mother,” was the response my mother gave after explaining everything that had happened to her.
“Yes, ma,” I answered.
“I’m an adult!” John yelled on the phone. Apparently, he had spoken to his people at home.
“I love you too,” the married woman uttered. Without being told, we knew she was having a conversation with her husband.
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Our leader was at the front with his head swinging to the right and left, while the driver cautioned him several times not to sleep in order to keep him focused.
We encountered a little holdup at Berger as we journeyed through the Lagos-Ibadan Express Way.
The driver drove at a high speed.
It was a journey like never before. The more we pleaded with him to reduce the speed, the more he assured us that it was for the good of all.
By 11 p.m., half of the passengers were asleep.
I couldn’t possibly close my eyes.
There was a lot to think about. My safety was of great concern. I was traveling with strangers. These were people that I hadn’t met until that moment. And some of them slept with ease, as though they were lying on the rugs in their houses.
By the time we got to Akure, the driver had asked everyone to stay alert. None were asleep at this moment. Our eyes were widening, anticipating someone or something to appear before our vehicle.
There were several check points before we got to Akure. And when stopped, the driver would tell the officers at the checkpoints that he was carrying corpses.
They would nod their heads as one who understood beyond the driver’s explanation but still wouldn’t let him through until he brought out money to tip them for a service not rendered.
Even at that odd hour, little children were seen selling on the highway, trying to persuade travelers to patronize them.
Before we got to Lokoja, the elderly woman pleaded with the driver that she had a load she would like to drop off for her son at Lokoja.
The driver was furious, as he was enjoying his drive and the speed applied.
“Why didn’t you say all these before?” He asked, yelling.
Seeing that he wasn’t getting the reaction from the woman he expected, he yelled again.
“Why should you be the reason everyone is delayed tonight? Don’t you have a conscience?”
The other man, who had boarded the bus with the woman, spoke up to match the driver’s utterances.
“This is a woman old enough to be your mother. If for nothing, consider the gray hairs you do not have.”
“Does your speed guarantee us all safety? We aren’t even sure if we are all going to arrive safely.”
“We’ll arrive safely. Speak for yourself.” Goke yelled from the front seat, where he was.
One after the other, we yelled, ‘We’ll arrive safely.’
“See what you’ve caused, woman!”
“Will you shut up?” John yelled at the driver.
“Try passing Lokoja and not making an attempt to allow this woman to drop her load, and see if I’ll not deal with you,” John threatened.
I wondered where John’s confidence had come from. He wasn’t scared about the outcome of his reaction.
The driver arrived at Lokoja as requested by the woman. Her son was already at the roadside, waiting to collect the load.
I was pleased that the load had been dropped in peace without any exchange of violence.
In as much as the bus heated with unpleasant dialogues and heated conversations, there were some who weren’t bothered about the situation and instead looked on as everything downplayed between the passengers and the driver.
After some hours, I finally caught some sleep.
By the time I awoke from my sleep, it was already 6:30 a.m., and we were already in Abuja.
The man was the first passenger to alight. We didn’t know that was his destination until the driver explained that they had to carry two passengers going to Abuja with us to complement the empty seats left in the bus.
When we got to Zuba, the woman dropped her gratitude and prayers for us.
We stopped at a filling station to stretch our legs and get some food to eat. After the brief exposure, we went back into the vehicle to continue our journey to Kebbi State.
When we got back to the bus, the driver announced that we were close to our destination.
There was relief on our faces, and those who hadn’t worn any smiles since we left Lagos the previous day had the brightest smile.
After a few hours, we arrived at another park, and the driver announced to us that we had arrived at our destination.
“Thank you, Goke,” I said.
“You have done a great job,” another lady remarked.
“My husband told me we were to spend two days on the road. He wouldn’t believe it if I told him we spent less than 18 hours to get to Kebbi State.”
“Kebbi isn’t far, really,” John chuckled.
“Kebbi?” The driver asked.
“This is not Kebbi State. Who told you we were traveling to Kebbi?” He asked with a puzzled look.
