Fight in the bus!

What a frenzied day it has been! I had travelled for eight hours; was flung out of a bus; had my luggage stolen; was mistreated by the transport company; dragged to a police station; and, charged with being an accessory to crime. How did all this happen you ask! I shall tell you; it’s a story of a good journey gone badly.

I had to travel to Enugu state from Lagos- an eight hour trip. At 5.30 am I was at the bus park to board the first bus. By 6 am, or thereabouts we had begun the journey. The bus was quite posh: it was the small 14-seater air conditioned types, and was comfortable enough. My co-passengers were articulate, funny, and knowledgeable about politics. From Lagos to Onitsha we were regaled with their views on current political happenings in the country. Aside from the driver who alarmed us periodically with bouts of over-speeding; near-collisions; and, generally rough driving, the journey was delightful.

We arrived at Onitsha, Anambra, at 2 pm. The driver was due to make the first stop in a few minutes. A refined male voice called out, “Main market bus stop”. I recognized him as the initiator of the discussions. His contributions were very lively and entertaining. He seemed a well-to-do trader judging from his phone conversations with a certain Henry whom he called his “container driver” par excellence, indirectly, informing fellow passengers that he was no ordinary trader, but a trader of great means.

He called out his bus stop again, “Main market”, but the driver kept driving. Other passengers assisted the man in calling out “Main market”, but the driver pretended not to hear. We shouted all the louder and continuously,” Main market dey driver”, but all fell on the driver’s recalcitrant ears. Finally, twenty minutes after we had gone past Main market, the driver slowed down and parked for the passenger to alight. “I have luggage, open the boot”, said the passenger in an angry tone. The driver came out and opened the boot. As soon as the passenger had taken his luggage, he set it down and gave the driver a resounding slap. The driver retaliated by striking him in the eye with the bus keys; blood poured out from the affected eye. Quick as Lightning, the Onitsha touts gathered, saw the blood trickling onto the passenger’s sky-blue shirt, and descended on the driver: motor-park touts and bus drivers being as friendly as cats and mice. The driver fell to the ground unconscious, blood gushing from his head, nose and mouth. The touts dispersed even more quickly than they came. Every passenger, except me, alighted. I was content to watch through the window. Seeing the driver stationary, they hurriedly retrieved their luggage from the still open boot and desperately looked for alternatives. The injured passenger was whisked away to the near-by police station to report the matter. The driver remained on the ground, bleeding and un- moving, with hawkers and passers-by shouting that he was dead.

I, alone, was still on the bus. People around me were exclaiming” the driver is dead and you’re still here! “Won’t you run away this girl, you want police trouble! I ignored them and waited for the transport company officers to come and provide me with an alternative, since we were almost opposite their office. The driver must have stopped here deliberately, anticipating the trouble he would cause, I thought. Well, I wasn’t going to run away like the other passengers. I was brave and I knew what I was entitled to. Besides, I had paid good money for the ticket-fare and I was going to get my money’s worth. I sat more firmly and kept a stiff upper-lip ignoring the pandemonium around me. Suddenly, the bus door was thrown open violently. A short, burly man with a cane in his hand grabbed my arm and flung me out! To add insult to injury he caned me twice on my bum, yelling, “Foolish girl, the driver’s dead yet you’re here relaxing in the air-conditioning”. He pried the keys from the still unconscious driver and drove away unconcernedly. I shrieked after him “My luggage! My luggage! But it was to no avail. Sympathetic lookers-on said “Cross the road; go quickly to their company and report the matter”. I did not need to be told twice. I dashed off as quickly as I could.

On my way into the office, three hefty men with menacing looks stomped out, threatening at the top of their voices to deal with the audacious touts of who were so bold as to beat up their colleague, and so close to home to boot. I assumed immediately that these were the men dispatched to convey the driver to the hospital. I reached The Reception and told my account of the story. Instead of sympathy, the ruffian at the reception, leaped through the desk, grabbed my hands, and dragged me, growling that I was one of those who had colluded with the touts to beat up the driver, and that I was going to the police station. I protested loudly to the wretch that I was an innocent passenger, and it was the touts and the touts alone who had beat up the driver. I was wasting my energy. He hauled me to the police station which was, very conveniently situated next door to the transport company’s office. I explained, in detail, to the police, who ordered me to write a statement. Then, they charged me with being an accessory to the crime on account of my remaining in the bus and not beating a hasty retreat like the others. On hearing that, I immediately commended the officers on the good work they were doing in ridding the country of crime. I gave them a considerable amount of money for drinks and lunch, and prayed the good Lord to continue to bless them. Their tone changed and they became commiserating. They comforted me on the theft of my luggage band promised to see what they could do about finding it, and said I was free to go.

It is 10 pm. Here I am in a hotel and without my luggage. Unable to continue to Enugu tonight, I checked into a hotel at the capital, Awka, far-away from the madness of Onitsha. I had to buy a few clothes at the Awka market; goodness knows if my luggage will ever be found. It turned out the driver was fine. He was taken to a hospital and is recuperating. Thank God for him. A tumultuous trip it had turned out to be indeed; just another day in the life of a travel writer.