Easy Does It

Chidera was a little too quick. She talked really fast like one who has hot yam in her mouth. She walked too fast for a lady. She was quick to anger but easy to pacify. She was a quick thinker, so yes, her fast nature had its good sides and bad sides. She was also quite fast in jumping to conclusions. Thrice, she had gone out on a date with really great guys who to her best friend, Uzoma were perfect fits but came back full of reasons why she had told them never to call her again. Quite flimsy reasons if you asked Uzoma but who better than her knew so well of Chidera’s ‘fast nature’?

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She had grown weary of talking to ears that were quick at grabbing everything else other than corrections. Chidera saw nothing wrong in her rare gift of being able to tell the end from the beginning. If anything, it made her unique and she knew not everyone could relate to her special kind of ingenuity.

Uzoma should not have worried so much. For some people, they had to learn the really easy way. Sure, the cliché is “learning things the hard way” but no, the hard way hardly ever works for the ‘Chideras’ of this world. One day, it simply just hits them in a split second, through an everyday experience or with just a thought. Yes, that simple.

Chidera alighted from the cab that had brought her to the bus terminal. She saw about four buildings all marked with names that showed they were all offices for different transport companies. The competition here must be tough, she thought. Well, she knew which of them she was going to ride. It had been tested and was now trusted by her.

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She alighted and paid the cab driver as he handed her the small travelling bag he took out of the trunk of the car. “Thank you”, she muttered as though she was not sure if she ought to be thanking the man at all. She had paid for his service afterall, hadn’t she?

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Four young men surrounded her as soon as she turned from paying the driver. Her first instinct was to raise an alarm but she relaxed as soon as she recalled where she was. One of the men got a firm hold on her bag which she dared not release to him while another held her hand as he tried to pull her in his direction. The other two blocked her path into the park. They were all speaking at once in Pidgin English, each trying to outdo the other’s audibility as though it was a shouting contest.

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“Aunty, na Port Harcourt you wan go? Anywhere, Ibadan, Owerri…” the first man holding her bag rattled on.
Another cut in. “Aunty, na me first come o. see our park that side…”
“Na Sienna we get o madam. Come enter make we dey go”.
“Aunty, air conditioner dey our bus, come…”
Soon she could not tell to whom each word belonged to. She stood still while the men tried to win her over in such a crude manner. She knew how this worked and knew what she had to do. Turning to the man pulling her hand, she shouted in a firm voice.
“Oga, you wan tear my hand comot carry am go your park?”
To the man dragging her bag, she said; “Oga, abeg leave my bag. I no dey go."

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She directed a stern look at the two blocking her path and they gave room for her to pass through. Once in the clear, she heaved a sigh of relief, hissed loudly before continuing on her way to her chosen bus terminal.

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Chidera hated travelling. That is not to say she would avoid traveling if she could. No, she loved the thrill she felt each time she visited a new place. She liked to think of it as an adventure. What she hated was the process of journeying, especially by bus, having to sit in one spot for long hours. The buses were never satisfactorily fast enough for her.

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Even worse was the fact that she got nauseous each time she travelled. She often wished her finances were good enough to afford taking flights when she had to travel but something told her the nausea was not restricted to land travel. This time, she had come to Lagos to attend a friend’s brother’s wedding and had been loathing the day she would eventually have to sit on a bus to travel back home to Port Harcourt.

She had to return to her life. So on this Sunday morning, after having spent over a week doing nothing in the city of Lagos, she was going back to her life. She went to the passenger waiting area. Passengers were waiting for the moment when their departure would be announced. She made her way to the ticketing section.

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Four ticketing officers were seated behind high desks, each staring into a computer while talking at intervals to the first person on the respective queues in front of them. She checked to know which of them was handling passengers going to her destination. Luckily, there was only one lady standing in front of the middle-aged man.

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She quickly got behind the lady. The officer looked up to address the lady.
“Your name please”
“Amaka”, she answered in a voice that reminded Chidera of velvet.
Amaka must have felt a presence behind her because she turned slightly by her right to look behind her. She was dressed in an all-black ensemble, a black t-shirt on black pair of casual jeans; a black veil covered her head and the left side of her face. A black sweater lay in the crook of her left arm while she had a black shoulder bag on the right.

[source] (www.pixabay.com)

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Chidera did not want to look at her shoes; she knew they must be black too. The ticketing officer was showing Amaka the vehicle seating chart. The vehicle they would be boarding was a sienna and there were seven seats in all and numbered to show a passenger which seats he or she were still available to be chosen. Seat number one was next to the driver while the other numbers represented the second and third rows.

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Currently, only seats three, six and seven were available. Chidera knew people loved to sit next to the window. It made it easier for them to lower the glass when they needed to buy snack from traffic hawkers or to recline against the side of the vehicle for better comfort. Seat number seven was the only one left that was next to a window.

Chidera knew then she had arrived the park later than she should have. She had been hoping to have her pick of seats number two, four, five and seven but only seven was left now and she had no doubt Amaka would go for it. Everyone preferred to go for comfort. Well, not Amaka. She opted for number three and that left Chidera momentarily shook. She wondered at Amaka’s naivety and possible stupidity. Had she never travelled in a Sienna vehicle before? Did she not know the level of comfort seat number seven could have offered her over seat number three? Who does that?

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Chidera secretly thanked her stars for Amaka’s stupidity in making her choice. She spoke out of turn, telling the officer she would like seat number seven to prevent Amaka from changing her mind. She soon had her ticket in hand and went to sit in the departure area waiting for their vehicle to be announced. She did not have to wait too long before they were asked to go board the vehicle. They were soon on their way. Chidera felt really happy. Seat number six had not been sold before their departure time was due; hence there were only two of them in the back seat which meant more comfort.

[source] (www.pixabay.com)

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The ticket had been quite expensive, probably because Christmas was near, so Chidera wanted every comfort her luck and money combined could get her. The journey was going smoothly. The driver was clearly experienced. The only glitch so far had been when they had seen a group of bikers gathered around a corpse in a lonely area. The driver did not stop. They still had quite a distance to go and being that it was a lonely area, you could not be too sure if it was not staged. Besides, there were persons there to help if any help could still be rendered.

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There had been no vehicle in sight at the scene which got Chidera wondering what had led to the man’s death. The other passengers soon struck up a conversation about the corpse trying to guess what may have led to his death. Had it been a hit and run situation? Had he been robbed and shot dead the previous night?

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The corpse had lain straight with its face downwards. Someone said he would have lain askew and face upwards if it had been an accident. Another pointed out it was possible those gathered may be responsible for his lying position. The man seated next to the driver interjected asking why they would have felt the need to lay him face downwards. Chidera watched Amaka like a hawk would watch its prey, waiting for her to speak but like her, she only listened to the conversation. The conversation soon moved on to other matters. Chidera joined in the conversation when a topic finally piqued her interest. Amaka remained silent.

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They were in a small town called Oore when the driver pulled over. He informed the passengers he had a flat tyre he had to fix. They all got down from the car. Amaka was the last to get down. She still had the veil over her head. Chidera found a spot to sit close to the other passengers. They picked off their conversation where they had left off while waiting for the driver who had gone in search of a vulcanizer to return. The sun was already high up in the sky and seemed intent on directing its anger at whatever towards them.

Chidera removed the jean jacket she had worn over her light top. She wondered how hot Amaka must be if she who was dressed in light clothes felt this way. Black attires had a way of increasing hotness. Amaka came to sit next to Chidera. She must have grown tired of standing aloof next to their parked vehicle. She remained quiet, only replying to an elderly woman who spoke directly at her.

How could someone be this much of a snub? Chidera wondered. She did not think Amara should be quiet when everyone else was trying to be friendly. She did not think Amaka should be wearing a black veil in this hot weather when she was obviously not a Muslim. She had seen her bless the food she ate shortly after they had begun their trip the way Catholics were known to; with the sign of the cross. She did not think Amaka should have worn black at all. Black did not suit her; she was already really dark-skinned. Chidera looked at Amaka’s feet. She had on a pair of red sandals.
Oh well, she thought, something different at last. She concluded Amaka was not only boring but also stand-offish with a poor sense of fashion and someone had to do her the favour of letting her know sooner than later. She would tell her herself but she hadn’t had an opportunity to do so and she had no intention of striking up a conversation with such a person.
Chidera was distracted from her thoughts by a big lorry speeding past.
The man who had sat next to Amaka in the vehicle shook his head sadly.
“The road is bad enough with potholes here and there, does this driver have to drive at such speed too not minding that he is driving a truck as big as that. He shouldn’t endanger lives in that manner."

The man should be a seer because a little distance from where their vehicle was parked on the road, the lorry overturned. Amaka leapt up with a shout. She looked frightened. Others soon stood to their feet to get a better look. The noise from the crash had been so loud it had drawn people to the scene. All of them but Amaka went closer to the scene. People were doing their best to help. Someone mentioned the driver was still alive. Some young men got to the task of trying to get him out of the truck. Some persons were taking pictures of the scene. The goods which the truck had been carrying now lay scattered on the road. A woman close to Chidera began a tale of how some persons see an accident scene as an opportunity to rob the victims.

[source] (www.pixabay.com)

A man thanked God loudly that the accident had not been any worse than it was. He added that the driver was lucky to be alive considering the speed at which he had been driving. A lot of persons joined in criticizing how recklessly he had been driving. It soon became an avenue to bemoan the issues in the country.
A now familiar voice to Chidera mentioned that their driver had returned. They left the scene to return to their sitting spot to wait a little longer while the spare tyre was fixed. As if on cue, they all paused when they saw Amaka. Her face was wet with tears. She looked shook.

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“What is the matter?” Someone asked in a voice coated with concern.
The elderly woman who had earlier spoken to Amaka directly went closer to her. She took Amaka’s hand in hers as she repeated the question. Shivers shook Amaka’s body as more tears ran down her cheek. The other passengers looked on in concern as they waited for her reply. Chidera did not understand the sudden change. Amaka had been fine when they had left her to go to the scene of the accident. What had changed since then? She remembered how Amaka had jumped when the accident had happened. Was she frightened? She drew closer to Amaka and the woman. Chidera hated to see people cry. It touched something deep inside her she would rather not explore. It was in a really small voice she barely recognized as her own she asked.

“What is the matter Amaka? Is it the accident?”
Amaka looked up, surprised that Chidera knew her name. She bobbed her head slowly as she used her free hand to wipe the tears from her face. The movement of her head made the veil fall to her shoulders. Chidera couldn’t help the gasp that escaped from her lips. An ugly scar marred the left side of Amaka’s pretty face. Its position had made it easy for the veil to conceal it. It ran from her temple, spread slightly from her cheeks to her ear and ended at the upper part of her neck. The faces of the other passengers showed they had seen it too.
Amaka gave a brief sad smile.

“The scar is my constant reminder. It came from an accident. I was on my way back to the university I had finished from. We were almost at the end of the journey when it happened. A big lorry came out of nowhere and brushed the side of our bus. After that, I only recovered myself when I woke up in the hospital. I had been lucky enough to get out with these scars. Only two of us survived the accident. I had been sitting next to a window and fragments of glass pierced my face. I try to not sit next to a car window now.
The hospital we had been rushed to had not had the equipment needed to carry out a flawless surgery, hence my ugly scar”
She touched the scar as she continued, “I can still feel some fragments in there when I touch it. I hope to undergo reconstructive surgery when I have saved up enough money. For now, all I can do is conceal it to prevent the stares I get from people, like you all are staring at me right now. I hate it when people look at me with pity. I am sorry to have been such a drama queen. It is my first time travelling since the incident six months ago. I could not avoid this trip like I have done so far. The accident that occurred just now brought it all back and I could not help giving in to my emotions”.

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The passengers all started to say something at that moment. The seat number two man told her he thought she was beautiful despite her scars. The one who had been next to the driver said he understood and that she did not need to apologize. The woman who had been holding her hand drew her closer for a hug and a rub on the shoulder. Another woman thanked God for her survival.

One man assured her it was not pity they were offering, they were simply amazed at the miracle that she embodied.

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It was Chidera’s turn to be quiet. Inwardly, she felt guilty but thankful. Guilty that without knowing who Amaka was, she had swiftly arrived at various conclusions about her. She felt thankful that the opportunity she had wanted to tell Amaka a piece of her mind had never come. She did not know how she could have retraced her steps then if she had. She did not have the words to express what she felt this time, so she gave Amaka’s hand a gentle squeeze and gave her a friendly smile when she looked at her.

Realization struck Chidera in that moment. She should not be so quick to judge a person. First impressions may matter but they also lie. From that moment, she made a decision to make a conscious effort at giving people a chance. Some people have stories behind their seeming stupidity or naivety.

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The driver horned to get their attention. It was time to resume their journey after two hours of waiting. With any luck, they may still get to Port Harcourt before nightfall.

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A fiction written by @royalrose