...OF NOSY PASSENGERS

I don’t normally eavesdrop in buses, I try as much as possible to resist but some people just bring their life woes to you on a platter of gold and you start struggling with your aproko antenna on whether it should come out or not. I take calls in public transport; the unserious and insensitive ones where I wouldn’t have to spill the details on my life. But really, some people no dey look face oooooo. They press the green button and the thing will go skrrrrrrrr like an ATM about to dispense cash- information overload.

I am usually mindful enough to pack myself to one side when in buses; it’s just not one of my qualities to disturb innocent people. My topmost mantras in buses are:

-          To keep private things private.

-          Do not disturb other passengers.

-          Keep conversations with strangers at a minimal level.

-          Don’t initiate conversations with people you have to reasons to talk to.

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            Don’t do anything to contribute to the inconvenience of other passengers.

-          Never ever forget my earpiece at home. I listen to music even when my phone is below 10%.

-        Olajumoke, no matter how much boredom the devil tests you with, don’t make loud calls and laugh useless laughter. Or listen to loud music.

-       Don’t buy everything the mouth consumes and start releasing silent puke-inducing missiles that’ll make people release internal curses in return.

Now, this brings me to a recount of a journey I had from Ife to Ibadan about a year ago. I was the first passenger in the bus so I chose a window seat. The woman who entered almost immediately after me came with 4 kids and I knew from the moment she climbed the bus that she’d be paying for just one seat even though two of the kids were old enough to take a seat.

‘Wickedness in high places, Nigerians forever carrying baggages of inconvenience around. Her bus neighbor would suffer ehn!’ If you’ve ever encountered people that hang their kids around in buses, you’d understand very well the scenario I’m trying to paint; loud cries, passing food over your head to the kid someone offered to carry in front, berating kids with annoying loud voice.

The man that came after her didn’t enter immediately. Tall, probably mid-40s, averagely built with a pot belly threatening to rip his black shirt off. My state-detection ability placed him in Niger-Delta for some reason. He stayed outside and pulled out a stick of cigarette, lit it and puffed away. ‘Baba oni baba with no worries,’ I mused before getting lost in thought again. Then awhile after, I noticed him pull another stick out, then another.

‘Blood of God! is this one human abi train. Me I don’t want this one beside me o.’ I stared unabashed as he stared back. I sent a silent prayer up to baba God to make this chimney sit far away from me but no, I had insulted an okada man earlier and the universe turned a deaf ear to my pleas. A smelling wave of nicotine hit me hard, so hard I almost choked before I even felt uncle slide into the seat beside me.

‘But God, I begged you. You should have chosen another time to make karma strike back’ I looked at the roof of the bus; communicating with God. Uncle slid closer and I shrank deep into myself so much I thought I’d disappear into the body of the bus.

Thankfully, the bus started about 15 minutes after and I released the breath I had been holding. My mind went to the picture of black and roasted lungs I had seen earlier on facebook and an involuntary shiver went through me at the damage his stench was doing to my poor lungs.

We were 15 minutes into the journey before the woman praying stopped. How her mouth didn’t pain her, she didn’t bite her tongue or mix prayers and curses up, I’d forever have no idea. The aunty beside the woman with many children kept muttering; she was being disturbed by the movement of the kids but didn’t want to talk. She made a loud hiss and half of the bus turned to look at her. Talk about joint stares and disdainful looks. The woman’s baby chose this time to wail loudly and everyone faced front again.

Sisi Jummy pulled her phone out, connected her earpiece and was ready to blast some music when the uncle beside me leaned in.

“Sister, you be princess?” the wave of cigarette smoke hit me and I internally begged God to give me the patience not to answer his stupid question. I brushed it off and refused to acknowledge it; while pushing the window wide open. I felt a tap on my shoulder some seconds after and the same question was asked.

“Sister, na princess you be?” same question, needless reconstruction. Oga didn’t know my problem was him talking to me. I forced a sweet toothy smile and shook my head to affirm a negative answer. I plugged in my earpiece and opened a novel app, ready to enjoy some goodness after all.

I felt another nudge 30 seconds later and sent a prayer up for whoever was listening to seal uncle’s nonsense mouth shut before I scratch his face off with my fingers. But as expected no one listened. I told a guy 2 days prior that he’d have been better as an unfertilized egg, this was my karma. Uncle nudged me again and I paused my music; turning to glare at him poisonously. I hoped it passed my message across that I didn’t want to be disturbed, then kukuma stopped listening to music.

He gave me some breathing space but it didn’t last at all. About 30 minutes later, somewhere around Gbongan, he tapped my thigh.

‘Ha! Is this how to get somebody’s attention?’ I turned to him and looked at him expectedly; ready to hear his next dumb question.

“I know you’re not a princess,” he smiled and looked like I should congratulate him for unraveling the 8^th wonder of the world. I continued staring at him and watched his smile grow wider. “I know sey you belong. Na yellow beret you dey?”

Now this definitely made me straighten up and stare at him questioningly. He chose this time to look the other way, reveling in my curiosity. I didn’t say anything; just continued staring until he turned back to me; this time, I followed his gaze to the tiny plain-looking yellow bead on my wrist and realization dawned on me. Brain dead retard.

Some moment passed and by then we were at the Oduduwa University roundabout when I felt him tap my thigh again. This time however, I looked straight at him with that I thought was a rage-filled stare. He smiled; must to my annoyance.

“Aunty, you get blackberry charger? I wan connect am to my power bank,”

This time, I was speechless. I just plugged in my earpiece again and played a Qur’an chapter I had on my phone; communicating with God and begging for the forgiveness of my sins.

Or I would stab someone in the glottis!