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IFEATU BUS CHRONICLES: MENTAL CONDITIONS AND FARE-FREE TRIPS


They say what you value, you protect.

I may not have understood this a couple of years ago but in recent times, I have learnt to understand the intricacies of protecting my mind as a human and as a creative.  I have learnt the act of using and conserving my mental energy.

Don't yawn yet. I am not on the route of schooling you on psychology.  This morning, I am on my way to work.

My soul has a yearning to flip through few pages of 'Born a Crime by Trevor Noah'.

Man's a genius! I am wondering why it took me this long to read his book.

No, I don't read instead I binge watch a TV series on my phone. That's what my head says. My actions are often based on concession between my mind and my head.

Few minutes later, my eyes are getting tired. I steal a power nap just to avoid being feeling cheated in the building traffic ahead. Don't school me about theft in Lagos buses, I should be called upon to facilitate a masterclass on how to avoid being a victim of a bus theft in Lagos. I honestly have had my share of experience.

The bus jerks and my eyes flutter. The young man in a navy blue suit seated next to me gestures at me  to hand him my fare as he collects from the other passengers on the row and passes it to the driver.

"Second row don pay you oooo," the young man says.

"Last row, your money please," the driver says as he wheels the steering.

He sounds familiar. I peek at the mirror  my guess is right. That's him. The smallish army guy, he probably should be in his fifties.

"Ma, please your money!" a slender lady on the third row tapped a stout lady on a low cut hairstyle.

"You are mad! You are crazy. If you touch me again. I will slap your face." the stout lady lashed at her.

Everyone on the bus including the lady is shocked. She had honestly not spoken in a rude manner.

The slender lady gathers what she has collected and passes it to the driver. She does not breath a word and I must confess her silence was the best way to handle her seat partner's countenance.

If humans can be described as explosive. That will be the word to best describe the stout lady.

"Ehen! Who never pay?" Driver asks.

There is dead silence. The driver threatens to park his vehicle.

"Oga, you can't park your car because one person failed to pay you." I replied him.

"Then make the person pay na," he demands.

"Hand everyone their money back just the way they paid you. Park your bus and collect the money yourself," I advise him.

This is a tested and effective way to deal with issues like this.  Afterall the bus was a small one.

You thought we didn't know who the culprit was. We did but no one was willing to explode from missiles tossed by 'Aunty Explosive.'

'Aunty Explosive' kept calm and watched the unfolding drama. The driver did as he was told. He collected the fare afresh and found his culprit.

"So, Madam na you! Oya, bring your money," he says with an air of irritation.

"I no get!" she yells.

I could vouch that our atmosphere froze for a second. Did she just say that with that tone? Woman's got guts, you know?

The driver let out a baleful laugh followed by a scoff, "Madam, you go give me my money. You no get money but you rub makeup enter motor. How you go say you no get money?"

"You know!" the stout lady says pointing at him. At this point, it was easy to conclude that he probably knew her.

He leaves her and climbs back to his driver's seat and speeds off towards CMS. He yells obscenities at her from the front while passengers are begging him to concentrate on the road.

'Aunty Explosive' is laughing hysterically like the Nollywood, Karishika.

At Marina, all the passengers on her row beckon on the driver  to stop. They alight amidst her still laughing hysterically.

Soon we assume at CMS, the driver rushes to open the door for us to alight. An elderly man in front whispers, "Bros, na Monday. Leave am o, na so devil dey work."

"Give me my money, madam" the driver insists.

In split seconds she goes from laughing to crying then laughing again.

I have never been that confused in recent times. "If you dey craze true true, make God heal you but if you no dey craze, you must craze that craze" the driver cursed as he bounced back to his seat and zoomed off.


Aunty Explosive continued her laugh-cry as she walked down the tarred road adjusting her crop top over her bulging tummy and classy jeans.


Aunty Explosive 1 Vs Driver  0

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