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Twice. Scratch that. Thrice I had wandered into the valley of death unintentionally. Do one even pay a courtesy visit to death deliberately?
First, it was an unknown foe who orchestrated the trap.
The second was at a hand of a trusted medical practitioner.
Twice, I had emerged with scars like a damned cat with several lives which has refused to stay down, but the third I guess was something I still can't explain.
Their dates will never leave my memory.
The dawn of the twenty-third day of June wore an inviting attire as the sunrays that pelts through my windows had lots of promises in them.
The Saturday I had been waiting for was here and I felt excited. Surulere was my destination for it served as the venue for the event.
After my bath I slid into my pair of black trousers, white striped shirt, Okrika pair of shoes and headed out.
Let me spare you the tales of the compliments showered by my neighbors as I left the house, the alterations between the conductor and myself, the lady I had a definite encounter with, et al.
At the Meeting, To say that lines fell in pleasant places was an understatement. With the Never boring activities and serene atmosphere, I lost track of time and eventually left for Oshodi at quarter past seven in the evening.
I sure knew I was in for a bumpy ride. On getting to Oshodi it was already past eight and rain was showering. For a lagosian. The rain meant more traffic or scarcity of buses or both. That night was both, thousands of heads were at the bus stop.
I stood like a statue after being stunned by the atmospheric condition my eyes beheld, The hike in fares were alarming but didn't bother me. I needed a miracle to get a bus talk more of getting home.
I walked a mile away from the bus stop hoping for a miracle. Then God struck, can't really say It was Him or not but at that moment it could only be God. A Toyota Camry pulled up on me, and the driver asked
" Where you dey go?"
"Abule-Egba ni sir"
"Enter, five hundred naira"
" Thank you sir".
Ordinarily the fare has always been two hundred naira.
My instincts are always inerrant but on occasions like this, I termed my instincts 'the devil's voice'. As I sat down in front seat of the car and moved my backpack to the left hand, I felt a sensation like my body melting into a puddle of honey, I shook my head and looked backwards to see my fellow passengers.
They were four in number, two gentlemen and two ladies, The gentleman that sat behind was huge and a member of the beard gang, his beards alone was something worth feasting on, just beside him sat a lady, her face looks innocent though she buried it in a whole lot of make-up, my eyes moved to the next gentleman, a lanky figure wearing a native attire,
"he should be coming from an ' owambe' party" my mind whispered.
I turned to the last lady as I wiped the perspiration that's built on my face, She's beautiful, her hair were curly, she looked a better version of Beyonce. They all never looked harmful. I gave a general "good evening" greeting and sat properly.
We had just navigated National airport when I pushed my palasa phone into my pocket.
Maybe he thought I had slept, it was a quick gesture that I couldn't counter, my hands were up in fast succession to save my neck from the impending doom that had befallen it. I tried hard to slid my hands into the rope that had circled my neck.
As I struggled and adjusted my postures, the more he tightens the rope, his intentions were to snuff life out of me.
I could hear the murmurs of my supposed passengers cheering him on.
There and then I knew I was in a hot bitterleaf soup.
In that moment of restlessness, my life flashed before me like pictures, my parents,my siblings,my guardian, everyone I had ever known even my future stood before my eyes.
I had no oxygen left in the whole of my body. An idea dropped into my subconscious mind as we struggled, I was going into Oblivion, I let go of myself, slumped into the chair with my eyes closed. He flopped at the decision of thinking I was dead.
My left hand was moulded like a fufu, my eyes closed, I hoped on God for direction as I leaped with the only strength left in me and punched the driver in between his legs. My hand surely touched his balls as the car spiralled out of control and moved in different directions. There was a higgledy-piggledy situation.
You don't know how fast you can think until death stared you in the face. Even though the car zig-zagged on the road, I opened the door but was afraid to jump. I was charged up as I screamed with the highest volume my voice ever had.
The driver got back his composure and hit the brakes which prompted my fall to the tarred road awkwardly. Luckily the cars behind stayed miles apart.
As I rolled to the edge of the road and sat, the car I had boarded took off. I felt pains, excruciating ones, all over my body. Lagos moves, no matter what. Of all the vehicles that were behind only one stopped and asked what my predicament was.
I told him, he showed empathy and offered to take me home. An offer I declined politely.
I sat for close to twenty minutes at 'Ile Zik' junction, praised God and wondered if they had succeded how I'd be labeled a missing person, how I'd never be found, how.... So many thoughts haunted me as I stood with my backpack, torn trousers, rumpled shirt, wet incomplete body and took "The long walk of safety" home. (No sane man walks home from there tho)
P S : Private cars are 'saviours' they have always helped lagosians, myself inclusive get to their destinations.
For your safety please be aware of your surroundings, if possible take a picture of the number plate and send to a relative, stay away from the front seat or better still make sure you're not the only passenger who boards from your busstop.
Stay safe!
© Stephen Toochi.