This is madness

Efe wondered if his boss would be angry if he slapped him. He closed his eyes tight and opened it back, for the umpteenth time since Edegbe drove them to the motto park. Motto park? He turned to Edegbe. He was a big man, he could buy an air plane with the snap of his fingers, what in God's name were they doing in a place like this? He took the surrounding in; people were bustling in and out, Ghana-must-gos clutched over their shoulders, some dragged, the hand either loose or oversewn. It was not even a proper park, the buses were old, fragile with overuse. He inhaled. And coughed, repelled by the smell. He looked at Edegbe again, even if he wanted to go by bus, couldn't he book a ticket with a park like AKTC? A flight to Kaduna could last for a few hours, does he know how many hours they would be on road?.

Edegbe, who felt the intense gaze on him, and saw the expression on his face turned to him and smiled. "From here, we'll enter Kogi, move to either Abuja or Nasarawa, then Kaduna. Don't worry, I have everything covered."

"I'm even surprised a place like this sells ticket," he said.

The driver, of a Benin descent, started calling out the tickets number for the eighteen sitter bus, and they came forward. Beside the bus was a truckload of goods, some sealed with transparent cello tape, a name and number written in blue pen ink. While some other passengers came forward with their tickets, folded in a square or rectangle, the driver arranged the goods under the seats.

"This is madness." Edegbe gestured to the man, an obvious Hausa man, whose ticket he had squeezed. "Doesn't he know that this represents the money he paid? In essence he's squeezing thousands of naira he would use three months to afford." Then he tapped the driver. "Oga, what is the meaning of this?" He gestured to the goods.

"It's for waybill," he responded.

"Exactly my point. Shouldn't they be a different vehicle for those who wants to send goods?"

"No, we don't do it like that. Do you know how much fuel costs now that you think we can transport just goods?" One of the passengers, a woman, told him she had luggages too. She pointed to a few bags, and the driver scanned it with his eyes and called the price she was to pay. She heyed him, pointed to her child, a small girl in a black hijab who looked sick enough to die, and said if she had the amount he called, she would be in the hospital treating her child. The driver reduced the price by half, and she said if she had that amount she would be in the hospital treating her child. He reduced it by half again, and she repeated the statement. "Ahn-ahn madam, don't you want to pay anything?"

Edegbe watched them, amazed. He turned to Efe. "Since when has a thousand naira halved, the half also halved, been able to treat a child? She should just say she doesn't have the money."

"That's what she's trying to say," Efe replied.

"This is madness."

The driver, frustrated by the woman's plea, placed her bags hurriedly, and when he pressed the seat on top of it, she shouted and said there were breakables inside. He sighed and moved the bag to a better place. By the time he was done loading all the goods, most of the seats were slanted. He brought out a book and started calling the ticket numbers. He called until it was the man who had squeezed his ticket. He looked at the ticket like he wanted to cry. "All these Hausa people," he grunted, and made a small tear at the top of the ticket to signify it had been checked.

"Fulani," he man replied. "Fulani me, no Hausa." He had the black wavy hair peculiar to his tribe.

The driver waved him and called the next number. Efe came forward and quietly showed him his ticket. Edegbe furrowed his brows when the driver made a tear of his ticket. "Isn't this supposed to be a stamp or something?"

"Oga, are you going to eat the ticket? Please, go inside, there are people behind you."

There was a man inside when Edegbe sat beside Efe, he was holding a Bible and singing gospel praises, his baritone voice filling the vehicle. Some of the passengers joined him in singing, and when the song died down, his raised his voice in prayer, covering the journey, the driver and the roads with the blood of Jesus, and Edegbe thought the road will be safer, less slippery if it was not covered in blood. When the man finished prayer, some of the passengers gave him money, and he bowed his head and prayed for them.

"This is madness," Edegbe said. "Is this a new way to beg?"

"He's not begging, they are giving him money out of their own free will," Efe told him.

"But is this two hundred naira going to feed him?"

"If he earns two hundred from five buses, that's one thousand. If he's frugal enough, that should suffice."

"Five buses? He'll spend the whole day here?" He looked at the man who was receiving more fifty naira notes. "I'm not giving him any of my money. Seriously, people need to come up with more realistic way to beg."

Efe laughed. "He's not asking you for money." Then he gestured to the man, and gave him two thousand. The man who looked like he wanted to fly bowed to him deeper and longer, before leaving the bus to look for another one. "At least, he won't beat his wife up today."

"How did you know he has a wife?" Edegbe adjusted on his seat. "By the way, are you comfortable?" Underneath his feet were goods that raised his legs up in an discomforted position.

"No."

"Then why are you not complaining?"

"I should complain?" Efe looked at him. "About you to the driver or about the driver to you?"

"This is madness, how does this driver suppose I sit? Hey, Mr. Driver?"

The driver came to the window.

"It is to my knowledge that I paid for my comfort, please do something about it."

The driver grunted, turned around and entered the bus. Smelling of sweat, he bent down to drag out the goods, nudging Edegbe's legs to the side in the process.

"Oga, be careful!" Edegbe hissed.

The driver who had retreated the goods, cleaned his sweat with the back of his sleeves, bumping his hand into the face of the passenger at the front. The girl shouted, asked him if he wanted to blind her eyes.

When the driver moved to drop the seat beside the passenger whose seat was adjacent to Edegbe, the man glared at him. "So, I'm the one that deserves to be treated like an animal?"

"What then do you want me to do?" The driver shouted, "Should I put it on the steering? You all saw that the woman refused to pay, none of you said anything."

"If it was only this woman's goods that you loaded on this bus, no body would complain," the man, obviously displeased, said.

The driver sighed, took the goods to the front and started the car.

"Better now, right?" Edegbe said to Efe. "Imagined that I had not complained. This is why he has the guts to do this, because no body complains."

"The plain truth, my friend," the man on the other seat said. "The problem is that he sees us here, if we have the money to fly first class, does he think he'll see us here?" The man said, looking at Edegbe, wanting him, his partner in berating the driver, to agree.

But Edegbe said nothing, he had the money to fly first class but he was still here, so he said nothing. Beside him, Efe threw his head back and laughed.

Their journey had started, Edegbe calculated the hours. Depending on how fast the driver was, they should spend an approximated ten hours on road. While he had taken care of the office work; finalizing projects, calling his lawyers and putting them upfront of ongoing deals, and calling Mr. Osazuwa to tell him to go to hell, Efe had secured an apartment in Kaduna, got in contact with realtors and priced lands in good areas.

When the driver swerved left to go into a filling station, Edegbe swore. "And now we buy fuel." Then he shouted, "Just why can't these drivers get fuel before commencing the journey? Do we look like a joke to them?"

"Just look at the queue." The other man counted. "We're the sixth vehicle in line."

"This is madness. Why do we keep behaving as though we're not contemporaries of other places where things are done with sense?"

"They don't even know the meaning of contemporary," Efe said.

"You all should cut the driver some slack," a woman at the back said. "You think you are any better?"

"Imagine," the man said, angry. "You see men discussing about a man and you involve yourself?"

"I have no problem about you involving, I just don't understand why you would support him, he's clearly in wrong, has been in wrong from the get go." Edegbe turned to look at the woman.

"Maybe she's sleeping with him," the man said.

The woman flared up in anger, her voice raised. "You're a stupid, useless man. You're even more senseless than the driver."

"What did you say?" The man's voice rose up. "Woman, what did you say?" The stood up from his seat. Some people rose to stop him. "I will beat you blue black today."

"You can do nothing," the woman stood up, "you this toothless rat, I dare you, touch me!"

"Why do men feel like violence proves their masculinity, and why do women feel like challenging a man proves their strength?" Efe murmured.

"If he beats her, he'll see her slump on the ground, it gives him pride. And when she challenges him, he'll want to prove it, then end up beating her, and she, the weak one, will turn to the victim. She likes being the victim," Edegbe replied, whispering back.

"You all are my witness o," the man was saying.

"Oga, calm down," one of the passengers said. "So you want to beat her now, inside this bus, ah na, that's not right."

"No, let him touch me," the woman placed her hands on her breast, tears rolling down her eyes. "I will go naked and swear Ogun for you, try it."

"Ah, why is she crying now?" Efe whispered.

"What did I tell you about liking being the victim."

The driver who heard the ruckus from outside, pulled the door open. "What is happening here? See, if you don't want to travel you can come down here, please don't cause trouble. Oga, sit down na," he said to the man who was still fuming and panting at the insult of the woman, looking at her and wishing he was not held back. "Please, if you don't want to sit down, come out."

"You're sick," the man turned around and sat down.

"This is madness," Edegbe said.

"What is madness is that we're here," Efe answered.

When the driver drove away from the fuel station, fuel filling to the brim of the fuel tank, Edegbe took out a sunshade and wore it before he slumped back in his seat. He slept through the smooth and bumpy paths, his head nudging against Efe's shoulder.

When he woke up hours later, it was twilight, and there's sun kissed the west, the reflection evident on the window.

"If you were fair this sun would make a beautiful shade on your skin," he said to Efe, removing the sunshade and rubbing the grogginess off his eyes. He yawned. "Did you sleep?"

"You turned my shoulder a pillow, how would I sleep?"

He looked around. "Where are we?"

"Kogi State."

"See, I told you. After here we're going to Abuja, then boom! Kaduna."

"That man there," he pointed to the Hausa man who had squeezed his ticket, "says he's going to Nasarawa."

"You asked him?" Among them, Efe loved keeping to himself, so it didn't make sense that he had asked the man. "Anyways, it doesn't matter, instead of Abuja, we'll just go through Nasarawa and then boom! Kaduna."

"But this other man," he pointed to another passenger, "is going to Abuja, so we'll go through Nasarawa then Abuja, or Abuja then Nasarawa, before boom! Kaduna."

"You asked him? Wait, this is madness, the driver didn't say so."

"What would you have done if he did? You would still have dragged me here."

"I agreed to your salary increase," he reminded.

"And that explains why I'm being this nice to you. See, you're bringing your car two days after we arrive, right?"

"Yes."

"Now, you're spending money for that. Imagine that we paid a driver who knows this route to take us, with your car, we would be killing two birds with one stone. You and I will travel with comfort, and you wouldn't have to spend money on transporting the car."

Edegbe thought for a while. "Then why didn't you tell me about this? Do I pay you for just corrective and not preventive measures?"

"No, Sir."

"Stop saying Sir when you want to mock me."

"Mock you? How dare I." He had a sly smile.

Someone at the back seat tapped them. "Please, you're making noise."

Edegbe turned back, his face was contoured in surprise. "This is madness." He looked through the window, mobile sellers patched on them, displaying their groundnuts and cashew nuts arranged in pyramids on a tray, and he wondered why, despite that they ran along the bus as it slowed down to pass a speed bump, it did not scatter. Most of the sellers were women and young girls in beautiful embroidered hijabs, some with beads and some with stones. He inhaled deeply, "The refreshing smell of north."

But Efe did not think it was refreshing, he hated it, hated the hours in had to sit in a tight corner, hated that he had to sit in a tight corner. He knew his complaints could not wane his boss's excitement. He did not look through the windows to stare at the sellers, he wished there was a curtain he could draw and shut them out. But there was none, and the sun bit his skin. And so, when hours later with darkness covering the day, the driver pulled over the road side and asked them to get down, he was glad they sat in the front row.

"But why are we stopping here?" Edegbe asked.

"We pause here," the driver replied.

"What do you mean?" Efe nearly laughed at the tone his voice carried.

"Do you expect him to drive through the night without sleeping?" The woman from the earlier fight got down. "Cut him some slack, he's a human like you."

"This is madness." But Edegbe wondered if the woman was really sleeping with the driver to always come to his defense.

"We'll spend the night here," the driver said, bringing out duvets and blankets.

"Here?"

"If you want to go to a hotel I won't stop you, but you need to come back by six o'clock."

"And the nearest hotel here is two hours away, it means you have to start coming back by four, which means you have to wake up by at least three thirty to prepare. Now, the question is, where would you see a taxi by three thirty in the morning?" Efe leaned to whisper.

"How did you know?"

"That man said it," he pointed to a passenger.

"You asked him?" Edegbe shot him an askance look.

"My point is, we have no choice but to stay here. If we had taken the car and—"

"If you complete that statement, I'll kill you."

Efe stifled a laugh. "Yes, Sir." He turned around and ran, barely controlling his laughter this time.

Edegbe chased after him.." Don't say Sir, don't say Sir."