Literature
At times one can hardly resist the temptation to draw an analogy between the Nigerian situation and the workings of a good-looking jalopy. The recent postponement of the National Assembly elections by the Independent National Electoral Commission brought back memories of my several encounters with brand new jalopies. The other day, when I boarded a commercial bus from Kaduna to Zaria, it had to be pushed several times. When at the end of the journey we asked the driver why the seemingly new bus put us through such hardship in addition to the exorbitant fare we paid, he simply laughed and said; ?That is Nigeria for you!?
?What do you mean?? I retorted, fire in my eyes.
But he simply drove off, leaving the question lingering in my mind.
Not long after that, I got enmeshed in a similar situation and by the time I was through, the answer to my question fell into place.
It happened in the course of my trip to Lagos last year to cover a colloquium on JP Clark, one of Nigeria?s foremost writers. I made an advance booking with a ?famous? transport company along Junction Road, Kaduna, on the eve of the journey. The booking officer received me well and assured that the trip was going to be blissful. In his effort to convince me further, he showed me one of the luxury buses. It was posh and sparkling.
?It is new and equipped with everything you need: toilet, TV, best service,? he said. ?Come as early as 6 am. We leave at 7 am sharp and arrive Lagos at 5 pm sharp. Everything here na sharp-sharp!?
Having been thus assured, I set my phone alarm to wake me up at 5 am. And by 6 I was at the bus station.
However, contrary to the assurance, we did not leave Kaduna till about 8.30. Of course, I didn?t expect the bus to depart at 7 on the dot, as the staff were no handset alarms but humans, and Africans for that matter. But I didn?t anticipate a more than one hour delay.
Well, like the other passengers, I took it as one of those punishments one had to endure for being a Nigerian. We were somewhat consoled by the comfort of the bus. It reminded me of my earlier journey to Yola by air. Not much difference; the bus attendant announced the departure in the same manner an air hostess would. With her looks, immaculate, blue uniform, gracious manners and the Queen?s English, she was a real hostess. She served us snacks and drinks ? and charming smiles. And the TV was there; a Nigerian movie was on. The air-conditioner too was on? It was a smooth ride.
But the story changed as we neared Abuja. The ?luxurious? bus began to cough. Soon the cough degenerated into a hiccup. And we only managed to crawl to Abuja through the combined efforts of the driver, the hostess and us the passengers. Both of them would check the engine, hammer it several times and then ask us to help them push it. We pushed and pushed.
At the company?s station in Abuja we were asked to disembark ? as if we needed to be told.
?The bus no go fit reach Lagos,? the driver announced on behalf of the hostess who had lost her charm and was now looking more like a tired mechanic. ?Una go enter another one.?
We waited for over an hour before another one came. We heaved a sigh of relief and rushed in. And as we set off, someone said, ?Let us pray?. The prayer was loud, long and passionate; and so was the accompanying ?amen!? The man was an expert in prayer. He handed over every aspect of the journey to God and dared the devil to try us once more and see what would become of his wretched life.
While the prayer was raging on, I was thinking: If anyone of us had thought of invoking the divine power before leaving Kaduna, the problem would probably have been averted. The mechanical fault that should have been rectified by the maintenance department of the company would have miraculously corrected itself or suspended action till we reached Lagos.
May God forgive us our previous sinful omission and grant us journey mercy was my own secret prayer.
The prayer barely ended when the bus started to cough. Again! Silence fell over the bus; silence and question mark on the face of everyone. ?Again?? And our dear hostess was no longer there to answer unasked questions. We had left her and the other driver in Abuja and this one had no hostess. This one had nothing; no air-conditioner, no toilet, no TV. Snacks? Even if there were snacks, I wonder if we would have accepted such gesture from them anymore. We were all pissed off!
The cough was, however, not as recurrent as it was in the other bus; it came once in several miles. Not a serious catarrh, we felt. The driver too seemed to think nothing of it, as he drove on without caring to take a look at the engine. He was fast on the lane and swift in negotiating dangerous bends. By 3 pm we were in Lokoja.
And that was where the real problem began. We parked by a restaurant and as soon as we got out to have our lunch, the driver zoomed off. He didn?t tell anyone where he was going to and no one asked. Maybe it was because we were all tired and hungry. But after we had refreshed and come to our senses we began to ask each other questions we should have asked the driver. Where has he gone to? Where could he have gone to? What is wrong with this man? Maybe he has gone to repair the vehicle, some speculated. Or maybe he has run away?
After waiting for two hours in vain, our suppressed state of panic began to spill over. Some of us phoned the head office of the company threatening fire and brimstone. They responded that we should be patient, they would address the situation as soon as possible. 4 pm? 5 pm? the situation was yet to be addressed.
Then around 5.15 a bus with the company?s logo drove in.
?Where are those going to Lagos?? the driver asked. We all rushed to him. ?Sorry, your bus still dey with mechanic; I brought this one from Abuja so as not to waste your time.?
Instantly, everybody shouted at him, insulting him and his father, including the company and its entire thieving managers. But at the end of it all, we got into the bus and the journey resumed once again.
This time around, the bus did not cough. But, of course, we got to Lagos at a very ungodly hour; some of us had to sleep at the station, exposed to the unwholesome air of Lagos night.
That is Nigeria for you! That is the analogy of my dear country, the ?giant? of Africa.
With the unfolding events as the election progresses, it is hoped that, like this journey, the cough and hiccups would still lead us to the Promised Land, no matter how late we may get there.
(c) Reporter's Diary by Sumaila Umaisha, published in the column, WritersVillage, in New Nigerian newspapers.
- How Mairo Escaped The Hangman?s Noose (true Life Story)
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!?? That was Mairo,...
- The New Nigerian Story (interview)
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- Brief History Of The New Nigerian Newspapers
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- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...
Literature
Nigeria: A good-looking jalopy? (Travelogue)
At times one can hardly resist the temptation to draw an analogy between the Nigerian situation and the workings of a good-looking jalopy. The recent postponement of the National Assembly elections by the Independent National Electoral Commission brought back memories of my several encounters with brand new jalopies. The other day, when I boarded a commercial bus from Kaduna to Zaria, it had to be pushed several times. When at the end of the journey we asked the driver why the seemingly new bus put us through such hardship in addition to the exorbitant fare we paid, he simply laughed and said; ?That is Nigeria for you!?
?What do you mean?? I retorted, fire in my eyes.
But he simply drove off, leaving the question lingering in my mind.
Not long after that, I got enmeshed in a similar situation and by the time I was through, the answer to my question fell into place.
It happened in the course of my trip to Lagos last year to cover a colloquium on JP Clark, one of Nigeria?s foremost writers. I made an advance booking with a ?famous? transport company along Junction Road, Kaduna, on the eve of the journey. The booking officer received me well and assured that the trip was going to be blissful. In his effort to convince me further, he showed me one of the luxury buses. It was posh and sparkling.
?It is new and equipped with everything you need: toilet, TV, best service,? he said. ?Come as early as 6 am. We leave at 7 am sharp and arrive Lagos at 5 pm sharp. Everything here na sharp-sharp!?
Having been thus assured, I set my phone alarm to wake me up at 5 am. And by 6 I was at the bus station.
However, contrary to the assurance, we did not leave Kaduna till about 8.30. Of course, I didn?t expect the bus to depart at 7 on the dot, as the staff were no handset alarms but humans, and Africans for that matter. But I didn?t anticipate a more than one hour delay.
Well, like the other passengers, I took it as one of those punishments one had to endure for being a Nigerian. We were somewhat consoled by the comfort of the bus. It reminded me of my earlier journey to Yola by air. Not much difference; the bus attendant announced the departure in the same manner an air hostess would. With her looks, immaculate, blue uniform, gracious manners and the Queen?s English, she was a real hostess. She served us snacks and drinks ? and charming smiles. And the TV was there; a Nigerian movie was on. The air-conditioner too was on? It was a smooth ride.
But the story changed as we neared Abuja. The ?luxurious? bus began to cough. Soon the cough degenerated into a hiccup. And we only managed to crawl to Abuja through the combined efforts of the driver, the hostess and us the passengers. Both of them would check the engine, hammer it several times and then ask us to help them push it. We pushed and pushed.
At the company?s station in Abuja we were asked to disembark ? as if we needed to be told.
?The bus no go fit reach Lagos,? the driver announced on behalf of the hostess who had lost her charm and was now looking more like a tired mechanic. ?Una go enter another one.?
We waited for over an hour before another one came. We heaved a sigh of relief and rushed in. And as we set off, someone said, ?Let us pray?. The prayer was loud, long and passionate; and so was the accompanying ?amen!? The man was an expert in prayer. He handed over every aspect of the journey to God and dared the devil to try us once more and see what would become of his wretched life.
While the prayer was raging on, I was thinking: If anyone of us had thought of invoking the divine power before leaving Kaduna, the problem would probably have been averted. The mechanical fault that should have been rectified by the maintenance department of the company would have miraculously corrected itself or suspended action till we reached Lagos.
May God forgive us our previous sinful omission and grant us journey mercy was my own secret prayer.
The prayer barely ended when the bus started to cough. Again! Silence fell over the bus; silence and question mark on the face of everyone. ?Again?? And our dear hostess was no longer there to answer unasked questions. We had left her and the other driver in Abuja and this one had no hostess. This one had nothing; no air-conditioner, no toilet, no TV. Snacks? Even if there were snacks, I wonder if we would have accepted such gesture from them anymore. We were all pissed off!
The cough was, however, not as recurrent as it was in the other bus; it came once in several miles. Not a serious catarrh, we felt. The driver too seemed to think nothing of it, as he drove on without caring to take a look at the engine. He was fast on the lane and swift in negotiating dangerous bends. By 3 pm we were in Lokoja.
And that was where the real problem began. We parked by a restaurant and as soon as we got out to have our lunch, the driver zoomed off. He didn?t tell anyone where he was going to and no one asked. Maybe it was because we were all tired and hungry. But after we had refreshed and come to our senses we began to ask each other questions we should have asked the driver. Where has he gone to? Where could he have gone to? What is wrong with this man? Maybe he has gone to repair the vehicle, some speculated. Or maybe he has run away?
After waiting for two hours in vain, our suppressed state of panic began to spill over. Some of us phoned the head office of the company threatening fire and brimstone. They responded that we should be patient, they would address the situation as soon as possible. 4 pm? 5 pm? the situation was yet to be addressed.
Then around 5.15 a bus with the company?s logo drove in.
?Where are those going to Lagos?? the driver asked. We all rushed to him. ?Sorry, your bus still dey with mechanic; I brought this one from Abuja so as not to waste your time.?
Instantly, everybody shouted at him, insulting him and his father, including the company and its entire thieving managers. But at the end of it all, we got into the bus and the journey resumed once again.
This time around, the bus did not cough. But, of course, we got to Lagos at a very ungodly hour; some of us had to sleep at the station, exposed to the unwholesome air of Lagos night.
That is Nigeria for you! That is the analogy of my dear country, the ?giant? of Africa.
With the unfolding events as the election progresses, it is hoped that, like this journey, the cough and hiccups would still lead us to the Promised Land, no matter how late we may get there.
(c) Reporter's Diary by Sumaila Umaisha, published in the column, WritersVillage, in New Nigerian newspapers.
- How Mairo Escaped The Hangman?s Noose (true Life Story)
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!?? That was Mairo,...
- The New Nigerian Story (interview)
TURI MUHAMMAD was Editor and (later) MD of New Nigerian Newspaper Limited. A few years after retiring from the services of the company, he published a book on it. Titled Courage and Conviction - New Nigerian: The First Twenty Years (2000), the book gives...
- Brief History Of The New Nigerian Newspapers
The history of print media in Nigeria goes as for back as the 1840s when European missionaries established community newspapers to propagate Christianity. This initiative later gave rise to the establishment of newspaper outfits by the likes of Dr. Nnamdi...
- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...