Caught on the waters

My friend helped me with the bags. We got to their home. I showered and ate and then we went out. He had a message to deliver to his Hajiya boss at Lekki, which he would pick first at a director’s house somewhere near Taslim stadium.

The geography of our destinations traversed so much of Lagos, a great chance for me to see the town in one day.

We started the shuttle, maneuvering our ways through the overhead bridges. We picked the package and redirected the trip towards the Island.

Back to Mainland, it was the edge of Magrib prayer. My friend and I branched at a barber’s shop. My hair needed some cut. We visited some of his friends. They wanted me to see more of Lagos. What was the place I needed to see? They chose beach for me.

Lagos, Nigeria

 

We would go to the beach 3pm and return by 6. My flight was taking off 9pm. All things being equal, I could reach home 7 and be able to reach the airport within an hour drive.

I left the phone home to reserve the battery, in a way, and in another to prevent any mishap: losing the phone or it being dipped into waters. I made the journey announcement on Facebook, switched the phone off and headed out to the beach, where we dined and wined. People had started heading back to the land. Lot of sun was still visible.

We got a boat for the journey back. Shortly after, in the middle of the waters the boat hiccupped and stuttered. Hiccupped and stuttered until the engine went dead. The driver, after several attempts, had finally started the engine again but the speed was sooo terribly slow. Other boats that we set off together were on their way for second shipment.

Darkness fell on the waters. Suddenly, the engine went dead again. The driver and his assistant checked and announced they were out of fuel.

I was furious. No longer thinking about my journey as I was concerned with my safety first. I was totally enraged by the recklessness of these people. How, for goodness’s sake, would you undertake traveling over dangerous waters without enough fuel? Without plans in place that would totally avert such a circumstance?

Getting ready for the beach

 

The crew pointed to a small village and said we could get fuel there. Ten minutes before we could reach the shore. Another 20 minutes before they finally got the fuel and started the engine. The boat was still too slow compared to other engines.

We arrived at Liverpool shore and trekked to a nearby motor park in Apapa. It was 8pm when we reached home. Nura, the guy arranged to take me to the airport had been waiting for me. He fell into a fit of anger. “How would you stay there late? See,” he gestured at his wrist to indicate time, “you could have just left them there and headed back early.” He was thinking the distance to the airport.

Goni and I quickly moved inside the house. Goni said I must shower. I did and performed my Magrib and Ishaa prayers. We are still school kids in the eyes of our parents. Maman Goni packed food for me and put inside my bag.

Things were flying every which way. No time to say no time; pen, paracetamol and computer mouth, the plan to buy them was ditched off.

Nura was even madder at me I stayed longer in the house than was necessary. I was already late fa! I cooled down the heat. The journey, actually, was 11:50pm, I said. I factored unforeseen circumstances and created a plan to accommodate them.

I jumped behind the bike. In minutes we arrived the airport. I was the last passenger to check in for Delta Air. They were at the verge of closing their booth. I presented my papers, got them signed and said goodbye to my folk.

You’d notice that I had totally forgotten about the taxi driver from the airport. I switched on my phone and saw his call on WhatsApp.

 

Madison, WI

 

 

In the hand of predators

 With a plan to intersperse my journey with reading, I had not been able to bring along books from Kano. I called a bookshop late Friday afternoon and arranged to pick one Saturday morning. Unfortunately, they do not open early on Weekend but I made a case until they yielded.  

We moved on from the bookshop. The drive to Abuja airport was long, which was a surprise. We cruised through suburbs and the whimsical weathers. 

 

I went through the check-in at the airport, deposited my luggage and walked up the departure lounge for the trip to Lagos. The view from the sky was spectacular, tiny human and other creatures sharing spaces with each other.

The plane landed around 12:35pm. The crowd disembarked, walked to the baggage claim area. Early that morning I communicated my itinerary to my Lagos host. My phone showed a missed call from him. I called back to know the name of my destination. 

  

I had never been to Lagos, so I observed what people did outside the arrival hall. For a while I ignored the taxi drivers that approached me. I acted in a way not to give away myself to the predators.

As this man left, one other came, and hovered around. I ignored them all. But the second man persisted. He came back and quoted a price that the last man asked for. Two people on the same price sounded an honest deal.

I gave in to the man, feeling guilty however for not picking the first.

Before he helped carry my bags he walked back and discussed briefly with a man. I noticed it was the last man. I became suspicious, suspicious because it seemed they jointly operated one car. They go out hunting, once they have a kill, they come back and negotiate a deal with the original car owner, characteristic racketeering in the Nigerian black market. However, I had a sense there’re people who were independently operating.

These people have apparently had a network, a clique that they belong. There must be a difference in how they charge.

Buyer remorse washed over me instantly for my selection. I should have chosen the Baba who approached me the first instance. With the determined look on his face, he seemed more honest, and looked like someone who operated his own car.

At the checkout in the parking lot, the driver fumbled and patted his pocket, the glove compartment and turned abruptly to me to say I should pay the 600 naira out of the money he charged me.

No sooner than we eased out of the airport he launched into an anguished chatter about the heavy layers of exploitation people like him endure. Didn’t I see, just for parking he had to pay 600 naira? The car owner was waiting for him at the end of the day. There was association levy, in addition to the fuel they purchased at exorbitant price. It’s possible for him to spend a day with no enough passengers to cover that.

He rattled and rattled until I almost pitied him. But I also told him this is how life is, although this is not how it should be.

We agreed at 6000 naira. I paid four thousand naira from Abuja to airport. I didn’t have a sense of the distance for my Lagos destination. And the man, though it was Saturday, complained the likely of being stuck in the traffic. He could spend hours in the traffic, he said, and might not get a passenger on the return trip to airport. Compared to Abuja, if 6000 naira was what he asked for the bitter reasons he served made the price justifiable.

The rattling was soon swapped with a casual chatter. So far, I hadn’t seen any of the heavy traffic. The car slowed down, he stopped the engine and said we had arrived. Six thousand naira for such a short distance was a cheat. Nonetheless, I was grateful for the journey mercies! Grateful, this was nothing compared to the oceans I crossed to get here.

I called my friend and told him we arrived. Where was he, I couldn’t see him. How would he stay back and wouldn’t come out until I arrived? He’s inconsiderate. He should be out ahead of my arrival. My friend insisted that he had since been out on the road.

Since I was new here, I thought it best to give the phone to driver to talk to him.

The driver returned the phone and demanded I should increase the money, forfeiting the pact that bound us when I told him my destination.

He insisted I should add him money. He brought out a price list to show me the amount they charge for each shuttle around Lagos. He ran his hand over the paper, he scanned his eyes to no avail. Finally, he gave me the paper to help him locate my destination. For real? How for a person who wrote the paper himself failed to locate a destination could possibly turn to a stranger who couldn’t even pronounce the wordings?  It didn’t occur to me at the moment this was ruse and fake confusion.

He would drop me here, he said, I could take another car or acaba to conclude the shuttle. I was not wholly tidied up. Naturally, this presented a problem. I didn’t want any of my belongings, small as they were, to go through round of unnecessary movements.

From his dubious gesture at the parking lot to his verbalizing about exploitation and finally this confusion, this man was decidedly acting on a passenger-stranger psychology, a choreographed performance they perfected for their victims. No passenger would like juggling and transferring his things from one vehicle to another in the middle of the road, especially as two of my bags containing breakable things were open.

I clearly saw the trick, but I was willing to take the bait.

I agreed to add two thousand naira on top of the money, making it eight thousand naira. We arrived my actual destination in less than 4 minutes.

My friend was standing where he said he was.  The car parked. Goni, an ABU friend eased into the back seat. We zoomed in into another street that led to Goni’s compound.

The few cash on me was for essential things I would buy: pen, computer mouse, some drugs and toiletries. The driver agreed to accept a transfer. I sent him 8,000 naira, forgetting that he owed me one thousand naira at the parking lot.

I was seething with rage. Unabashedly, he collected my number and said he’d come pick me up the next day for the airport. I was numbed and amused by the total blindness to his behavior.

The next day, he would get the taste of his own medicine.

 

Madison, WI

 

 

Going to America light

 I returned home around 11:00am and found a missed call and what appeared to be an urgent text message from the embassy, asking me to log into my email. The person sent the letter, copied their boss and wanted me to acknowledge its receipt

I did that right away.

While this was a relief, it was the hard reality that I faced, traveling to Abuja by road, and by any means, I didn’t want night to have me on the road. It was really a race against time. I sent the paper to a printing guy ahead and collected the printout on my way. 

                                    ABU nominees at the visa interview

I would go to America light. I often playfully examined the whole of my existence while in ABU Zaria: a bag for my clothes, small packages of cooking ingredients and sundry things. The roots were not deep in the ground. Here, my entire life consisted of three things: my passport, phone and computer. Every other thing was non-essential.

I gathered my belongings and set forth to Abuja. First, I had to stop at Kurmi market, then Bata to round off some issues about my computer that had developed some hiccups in the past few days.

It was 3pm when I was finally at the bus station. 4pm before the car filled up. 4:30pm before they finished the loading and tying goods and the journey began.   

Now I had two fears on my mind: the bandits and the road conditions.

The previous week I traveled to Katsina for a wedding. A fatal accident happened on the road before our very eyes, people flying out of the car window, hitting the ground and dying on the spot. I braved this fear and got into the car. But what about the kidnappers?

I was thinking of stopping at Kaduna to spend the night for the onward journey the next day. But there was no initial plan for that.

You know the rule about priority visa appointment. If you missed the appointment the embassy could not schedule another for you. It was my last card. It was Wednesday. The travel was Sunday.

We arrived Kaduna 8:30pm. But that was not the dangerous part of the journey. The second leg was, from Kaduna to Abuja. I quickly developed some security measures. If vehicles from the opposite side were coming, then things were normal.

We set up for the journey again after a short break in Kaduna. I called my host and told him my travel status. We arrived Abuja 11:30pm. But glad there sprinkling of security checkpoints on the road.  The first sight of them was a huge relief.

I called the guy to come pick me up. The phone was ringing, but he was not answering. I sent out calls to some friends. They’re all asleep. I actually didn’t have a budget for hotel. I turned left, I turned right. The crowd that we just disembarked with from Kano was thining.

There was this guy who sat near me in the car. I talked to him about my situation. Luckily, he agreed to host me. Early morning the following day the people I called started responding. They started calling after I slept on floor and got shares of mosquito bites.  

My friend was first. Initially, he told me he was returning from a day trip to Kaduna. He was back around 9pm. In the intervening hours before my arrival he slept off with the phone in his hand while waiting for me.

But to be fair to all of these people, except this particular friend, hardly any of them had an idea  I'd be coming to Abuja.  

I collected my bags and went to my friend’s the following morning. It was still dawn. I slept briefly, bathed and ate breakfast and went to the embassy. The other ABU guys had arrived. A few other fellows arrived later, mostly Nigerian students going to the US. 

We were then ushered in. Turn by turn. I told the attendant when it was my turn that my travel was Saturday. He promised to especially work on my paper. I was anxious but his word alleviated my fears.

I went to Juma’at mosque early the following day. I needed to be close to the embassy. My phone pinged few minutes before the prayer. A message from the Embassy. Visa was out. I went and collected my document and proceeded directly to a clinic for the Coronavirus test.

I bought a ticket and traveled to Lagos Saturday.

 

Madison, WI