Going Home: Adedayo
The work after work…
Adedayo shut down his computer. He could not stop the smile that lined his face. He was happy to be going home early and was also happy to have met his deliverables which had seemed undeliverable earlier in the morning. He slung his bag over his shoulder and wondered if he had the tenacity to continue doing the impossibilities of his role. Some days, he felt that it was easier to meet the President than to meet his daily target. On such days, he will mutter: How did all these start, how did I find myself in this situation? But today, he was sure of one thing: he would get home early unlike yesterday when he was caught in traffic for leaving work past 6:3O PM. He checked his phone, and it was 5:00 PM. He had to hurry now to beat the growing menace of traffic jams on the way home. His colleague, Stanley, did not look ready to go home because he lived five minutes from the office. He was only ready to pause his work for the day and speak about his not-so-anonymous crush to Vincent who, like a detective, tried to figure out who the fine broad was and which team she belonged to. Adedayo would not have more of a nameless crush who had featured in most of the conversation after the retro party; he had to go home to meet his wife and children, so he bid the lovestruck Stanley and the inquiring Vincent goodbye.
Outside the office, he saw some members of the retention team taking pictures as they always did. He remembered the guys upstairs, especially Stanley, Vincent, and Emmanuel, opting to move to the retention team because of the human aesthetics that characterised the feminine dominance of the team. ‘These ladies have no problems’, he muttered as he left the gate to face the problem of going home.
He immediately got a rickety cab that took him from Apostolic Faith Church to Airport Junction. The ride was straightforward and uneventful as usual. He was only bugged by a passenger’s garlic-scented breath and the premonition of being stuck in yet another traffic congestion despite leaving work quite early. As he paid the driver, the woman who had replaced him quickly alighted the cab like someone who had made a big mistake. Her nose was wrinkled in disgust as she told the driver she was mistaken when she boarded the taxi. Adedayo thought it was the smell of garlic that inspired her lie.
He saw another lady looking down the road like a child waiting for her mother to come back as he turned towards the direction of the keke park. Adedayo knew she could not cross the road alone and was shy to ask for help because she was a ‘big girl’. He wondered why a pedestrian bridge was not there to save people from the indifferent driving of reckless drivers. He looked at the ‘big girl’ again and she smiled.
‘Are you also going to get a keke to Galadimawa?’ she asked. The young woman looked innocent and weary, and she pleaded with her eyes.
‘Yes. Do you need directions?’ he asked. He wanted to help her, but he wanted her to ask.
‘I have to cross this busy road, abi?’ she asked with a masked plea.
‘Follow me. The park is down there,’ he said pointing down the road that led to Citec. She almost offered her hand to be led across the road but withdrew it immediately because she was a ‘big girl’. Adedayo forgave her pride.
They crossed the road to the other side where keke drivers were almost hidden in plain sight because it was an illegal park. The drivers were wary of being raided by broke government officials who may be gathering something for the weekend. The lady thanked Adedayo and left in a keke without asking him any directions. He smiled, joined another keke, and hoped passengers fill it just in time to escape the impending traffic jam. One lady with a big smile, a very big handbag, and a very big waist joined him. Adedayo hoped that the final passenger would be smaller than the woman.
The final passenger came with a look of disdain, like one who hated yellow-coloured tricycles. He hissed as he joined them. He looked like Nigeria’s first Independence Day as he cleaned his clean green shoe with a green handkerchief, pulled at his lemon green shirt, dusted his emerald trousers, and readjusted the white belt which tightly went around his waist in defiant contrast to his green appearance. Adedayo took in the mini-show. The driver looked warily at the green spectacle.
‘Senior man, where you go drop?’
‘Bridge,’ replied the green man.
‘Which bridge, boss?’ continued the driver, politely seeking certainty. There were three bridges between Airport Junction and Galadimawa, and the driver wanted to avoid any misunderstanding.
‘Move,’ said the man in Nigeria’s colours.
‘Dantata Bridge is two hundred and fifty naira,’ said the driver, assuming the furthest accessible bridge to be the man’s final stop.
‘Two hundred naira,’ said the man of few words.
The driver mumbled something in Hausa about not wanting trouble but being ready to serve trouble on any platter to anyone. He started the tricycle and headed into the growing chaos.
Adedayo was pleased with the journey from the park to Citec because the traffic was amiable. The driver seemed to enjoy the cruise, and he moved faster to cover enough distance before any possible delays. The woman beside Adedayo still had her big smile as she looked at nothing but her phone screen. She seemed to increase in size as Adedayo felt more sandwiched between her and the green man. He was glad that the man of few words was not plus size like the woman. The green man still had the grim countenance and hissed at imaginary offenses. He almost tapped the driver on the back when the latter swerved to avoid scratching a green Volkswagen Vento saloon car. Adedayo wondered what made the green man so irascible. He dared not to look directly at him and would only steal glances, focus on the road, and steal more wary glances.
Their jolly ride ended in the slow traffic looming at Coca-Cola Junction. A passenger was fighting with a keke driver by the roadside, and several drivers and passengers were separating the fighters, judging the case and slowing down traffic.
‘Please don’t stop o,’ Adedayo said, almost shouting because he did not want any delay. ‘Other drivers are already there.’
‘I am not stopping. I slowed down because the road is almost blocked,’ lied the driver.
‘Just move!’ said the green man in an imperative tone. This startled the big woman who looked away from her phone for the first time to quickly scan the green man. She seemed to expect the man of few words to display some madness. Adedayo smiled as his eyes met hers while she shot the unconcerned green man another cautious glance. Then he looked at the road, at the gathering of cars.
Adedayo was glad when the gathering of cars thinned out and they were moving smoothly to Dantata Bridge. His joy lasted a few minutes because another fight started when the driver stopped as they approached Dantata Bridge and asked the man of few words about where he would like to stop. The green man remained silent.
‘E be like say you dey craze?’ said the driver turning to look at the unconcerned fellow. He said some angry words in Hausa and ended by saying, ‘This na Dantata Bridge, oga!’
‘Move,’ ordered the green man. A smirk appeared on his face and quickly vanished.
‘Dantata Bridge is the same price as Galadimawa. Let’s go abeg,’ said the big woman. She shot the green man a stern look, and Adedayo struggling to hold back laughter, wondered what happened to her big smile. He coughed to hide the laughter that seeped through his lip as the driver noisily revved the tricycle into motion, joined a slow-moving train of vehicles, and went towards Galadimawa.
It was already darkening, and the Sun was in the final stages of its regal dance adorned with cloudy robes. The traffic seemed to increase with the darkness and many angry curses floated over the chaos of vehicles that littered the packed road. Adedayo hissed for the first time. He may not get home early — all his efforts were futile. He had expected to be home now and not at Galadimawa. He hissed again when the driver stopped by the roadside.
‘Oga, na here you go drop,’ the driver said to the green man.
‘Move,’ replied the green man with the authority of a military chief.
‘I no go anywhere. Give me my money!’
The driver would not go further because the fare would become three hundred naira and the fellow was by no means willing to pay the two hundred and fifty naira he demanded. The man of few words switched from military authority to a mocking smile. The driver, ready for the ensuing trouble, manoeuvered his vehicle through the sea of cars and insults to the keke park at Galadimawa. The green man stepped out of the tricycle, but the driver was in time to stop him as he made to leave the park.
‘Do you know who I am?’ asked the green man, using more words than normal.
‘If you like, be the Nigerian flag, you must give me my money!’
Adedayo could say nothing. The big woman was cursing in a Nigerian language he did not understand. He knew she was cursing because she clicked her fingers in the green man’s direction. Adedayo could not curse although he wanted to; he could only stare at the futility of leaving work on time. If ever this fight would end in thirty minutes, they still had the slow traffic at Galadimawa to contend with.
Adedayo turned to look at the many keke drivers gathered about the green man who had returned to reticence and kept an aloof countenance, smiling only at the night sky. The driver was retelling the story for the thirty-fourth time.
‘Beat this madman, collect your money!’ screamed a driver with a heavy Tiv accent.
‘No beat am, na fool him be. Just collect your money!’ said another who had constantly shielded the green man from any assault.
But the green man decided to tear through the wall of angry keke men. A slap from one of the many hands that pulled him back sent him back to the middle. He smiled with a sense of victory.
‘This is what I want. I am enjoying this,’ he shouted. Surprised faces looked at each other in the twilight and confused minds could not mask their confusion.
‘Wetin be this?’, asked the man with a heavy Tiv accent, breaking the short silence that came with the surprise and confusion of the mob.
‘Give me my money,’ the driver demanded, and he completed his request with an adequate number of Hausa curses, some directed to the green man’s mother’s genitals.
The green man laughed and said, ‘I am enjoying it. This is what I want.’
Many drivers shook their heads at the realisation that the green man had questionable sanity, that they had wasted time, and that beating a madman would qualify them as madmen. But the driver was willing to be mad if it would give him his money. A few drivers were also ready to beat the man because someone had to pay for the time wasted. Others could not help laughing. Adedayo and the big woman were confirming the green man’s insanity as they recalled the reticence and absurdities he portrayed during the journey.
An elderly man, who had watched from a wise distance, came into the case. His appearance calmed the angry driver, silenced the mob, and drew the attention of the green man who had remained aloof at the driver’s threats. Adedayo and the woman looked eagerly to see what the elderly man would do to the man of few words.
‘Wetin dey happen here?’ he asked with all authority.
‘This is what I like. I am enjoying this! Baba!’ said the green man repeatedly like a nursery rhyme that did not rhyme. The old man said to him, ‘Oya, shut up!’
The old man looked at the keke driver who cautiously narrated the story for the fifty-third time, like someone who was afraid of saying the wrong thing, picking words that would not offend the old man. Midway into the driver’s story, the old man dipped his hands into the green man’s pocket and found five hundred naira. The green man was silent, maybe he believed in the threats of calm-looking old men. Some drivers too would not talk — they all feared the elderly man for a reason Adedayo could not know. The big woman concluded that he was the ‘leader of the men’ in the park and must be ‘connected’. The elderly man gave the five hundred naira to the driver, and the latter returned two hundred and fifty naira to the green man who was now smiling at the night sky. As he received his change, the man in Nigeria’s colours ran through the wall of drivers, like one who was late for an important meeting with the spirits of the night. There was uncontrolled laughter, loud chatter, and some curses.
Adedayo could not help laughing at the green man’s sprint. The keke driver returned to his tricycle, cursing in short Hausa phrases and waving at no one in particular. He apologised to Adedayo and the big woman who were still laughing at the green man’s sprint. Adedayo was glad that he could laugh at the situation despite the futility of leaving work on time.
It was now 7:00 PM. The driver had managed to move the tricycle through the cluster of tricycles that had gathered in the park and was now at the Galadimawa roundabout. Many vehicles strung around the roundabout like spectators in a famous concert. The big woman hissed at the angry spectacle, paid the driver, and decided to walk home. Adedayo sighed because he could not walk home. He sighed at his inability to avoid the traffic jams on the way home.
‘How did all these start, how did I find myself in this situation?’
He reached for his phone and called his wife.
