I boarded a bus from Orile to Oyigbo because I wanted to see a friend.
I gave the conductor a N500 note, expecting a change of N400. He said he didn’t have my change.
When we got to Oyigbo he gave me my N500 note, married me to one guy that alighted there. I was to give him N100.
I told the guy I will make a purchase to split the money once we cross the pedestrian bridge to the other side of the road.
He said he never uses the bridge that it was a waste of his time. We should cross the highway.
Why should I put my life at risk for a mere N100? Besides I would never trade the option of a pedestrian bridge for the dangerous highway that is about four lanes.
Also, I am very clumsy when it comes to crossing the road.
He told me he wanted to hold the N500. I said no, I had a bigger share and was more likely to lose. I told him to wait for me at the foot of the bridge once he crosses.
He was nowhere to be found when I got to the other side. I checked, and waited but couldn’t find him. I even used that time to split the money. After about fifteen minutes, I resigned and began walking towards the terminal. All of a sudden, I heard someone saying ‘Sister, sister.’ It was him.
He accused me of trying to run away with his N100, that it was his TP back home and I do not have a conscience. I gave him his money and left quietly.
When I was done at Oyigbo, I took a bus to Orile .
As usual, the conductor didn’t have my change. There was an old woman beside me swearing in Yoruba for her N100 change. Other passengers told her to calm down, that she was going to get her money but she refused to stop nagging. I kept myself busy with my phone meanwhile; my change was N100 too. When I got to Orile bus stop , I alighted. She alighted too with a heavy market bag and a basket of ugu leaves. The bus conductor handed me N200, married me to her and sped off.
She turned to me and demanded for her money aggressively. I ransacked through my bag and found two fifty Naira notes which made up N100 and gave it to her.
When I was about crossing the road, she held my wrist like a child and murmured something that sounded like a plea.
I felt sympathy for her so I swallowed my pride and placed the ugu leaves basket on my head, suspending the market bag in one hand.
We crossed together like grand daughter and grand mother, waited at the pavement in the middle for almost five minutes because I wanted the road to be super clear; what with my heavy load and the old lady, of course.
Later in the evening, I received a Whatsapp message from a friend. It read:
‘Hello dear. Saw you hawking vegetables today na so things come hard reach?”