And He Died!
LAGOS EDITION
By Osamudiamen Ogbonmwan
The day was so hectic it left me with a serious headache.
Much earlier in the day, I had visited two different libraries for some research work which had dragged for more hours than I had anticipated. At about 4 p.m when I was through with the work, I made my way to Apapa – Whalf where I interviewed a source. Luckily in two hours it was over and quickly, I headed back to base.
It had taken just a little while before an Oshodi bound bus showed up, and when it did, there was a mad rush by the almost 30 prospective passengers who had been waiting. I was lucky to have made it inside the bus.
Well, comfortably settled at the front seat with the driver and another passenger, I suddenly relaxed and looked forward to getting home on time, but alas, the thought all faded away as the vehicle approached the Sunrise bus- stop along the Oshodi-Mile 2 expressway. Vehicular movement at that point had become very slow that there was apprehension it may develop into a grid-lock.
Inch by lnch, the vehicles moved forward but that was not to last for long as a police officer suddenly appeared before the bus and ordered in a loud voice: “Park!, Park!”
Immediately, somehow, from my vintage position, I saw a body lying on the ground about eight feet from the bus. A simple glance told me it was lifeless .
“Everybody, get down please!” The policeman ordered. Then continued, “conductor, give them back their money.”
The driver guessing what the policeman was about to do, quickly spoke up. “Abeg Oga police, I no fit use my motor carry dead body. I never do am before and I no go start am today, leave my passengers alone o. The owner of this bus no go wan hear that kind story.”
But the officer remained adamant and with a warning which could not be mistaken in his voice, he gave a final order to the passengers to get off the vehicle. Within a few seconds we had obeyed. He then walked up to the driver to say something I didn’t quite hear.
This time, the traffic jam had become intensed because all movement had been restricted
Now standing on the road with others, I moved about two feet to the body which was still on the floor, it was something I didn’t enjoy doing but I just wanted to take a closer look at the person. A poll of blood was on the floor and more people had gathered close to it.
Covering about half the face of the body, were about five dozen handkerchiefs and cans of earbuds. An indication that he was a roadside Marketer. About 5ft: 5 inches, slim and dark in complexion, he was. And I think he wouldn’t be more than 25 years old.
Close to him (the body) were his fellow hawkers looking down at the lifeless body of their friend with tears in their eyes.
“Ewo! Chei. What will I tell his parents e o.” One cried out. Then another said.
“We arrived here together this morning O. My God! Chei, Chineke.”
The wailing just kept on and I felt compassion for them all.
Two of the four policemen, then picked up the corpse of the youngman and put it on the middle seat of the bus. About five of his friends entered the bus with the policemen, then it zoomed off to (1 guess), the mortuary.
Left in the middle of the road with the other displaced passengers, I took a quick look around. Night was approaching rapidly but I could still see the tanker which I learnt had hit the youngman and in the process, smashed his head. That explained why the blood had only come from his head and the whitish stuff which I had presumed must have been part of his brain.
Slowly, I walked to the nearest bus stop with the others but in my mind dwelled the picture of the boy and my heart wept for his parents who at that time would be expecting their son back home.
I wondered who would get the un-envious job of being the "sad tale bearer.”
Twenty minutes later when I was seated at the back sit of a not so comfortable Oshodi-bound bus with some of my former co-passengers, a discussion ensued and one of them blamed the increase rate of youth on the street on the growing poverty in the land. All had no choice but to agree with him.
As we approached Oshodi, one of the passengers pointed out that our former driver and his conductor never did return our money as the policemen had directed.
What could we do or say than to just forget it?