The Journey

The way to Mararaba is a busy one. Nasarawa State is an irony of itself. A state where names are called different from how they’re spelt, and the names you see on signposts don’t correlate to the area you’re in. Like how you walk through Masaka and see signposts showing you Karu. Lol

So this is me, a minute, small, little, insignificant, infinitesimal part of the busy road; everybody thrilling in their own manner.

Me on the public transport bus – araba as called by Abuja people, Molue as called by Lagos people, and Bus as called by the dry Benue people – everybody seems to be enjoying the trauma of suffering. I can see the two women in front of me chatter away about women gossip. A lady just boarded the bus, and is greeting everybody like they are her family members. The man behind me is shouting over his voice in a bid to have a conversation with the driver. The discussion of fuel scarcity comes up. It seems to rouse up everybody’s attention. Even the sun looks happy today, it’s been giving out so much heat – probably because it wants to be cool. I feel grossly non-Nigerian at this stage, because I’m embarrassed I’m uncomfortable when everyone else seems to be thriving.

Me down from the bus. Everybody is carrying out activities as normal. I see a sugar cane seller push his wheel barrow past me, women are seated selling oranges. There’s a fuel station near by, but everybody is buying fuel from a young man’s keg outside the station. Oh, the irony called Nigeria. I’m particularly drawn to this man’s enthusiasm as he passes screaming at the top of his voice, “yogo, yogo. Buy yo yogo”. He apparently is selling yoghurt, I presume. Hausa men are thrilling. I see a young man seated so calmly, almost like he’s molded. His shirt bears “versage”. That must be the newest Versace branch. Children run about in their torn panties with their protruding bellies pouring out. I see a mother whipping her daughter without mercy. Two men are about to fight. Someone taps my shoulder. I turn. I see no one. I hit a stone. I feel sorry for it. The sun gets hotter. Why does it look like I’m the only one feeling the heat? I see a pair of sandals I’m particularly attracted to. I get it of course for a meagre sum. Northerners seem to not care a lot about money. Many guys surround me trying to convince me to purchase their wares. Nigeria is full of entrepreneurs. I get thirsty. I buy a sachet of water, because I doubt anybody drinks bottled water in this part. I acquire what I got to town for. Now to return to my boring school without real life, just fine girls. About fine girls, I see one walk past. She seems to be unaware of how pretty she is.

Me going back to school. I get on a cab, I do not aspire to perspire in a public transport bus like I did when coming. I’m ashamed of my non patriotism. The journey back to school is uneventful. I miss the thrill of the bus. I get to my school gate. Haaaaan. I can’t wait to graduate.

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