by Ifeanyi Dike Jr

 

I still cannot decide if this trip was more hustle than holiday. I had only just recovered from the drunken couple when the London riot threatened my plan to raid the entire stores on Oxford Circus. There was also the enduring thought of the work I had waiting on my Lagos desk. Yet, I was determined to make my trip back worthwhile. I had planned everything to the T, from collecting my 300 pounds V.A.T to rebuking every in-flight conversation that came my way.

I guess today was not my lucky day. Neither was any other day for as long as I can remember.

The cabman arrived a few minutes late but I forgave him because 35 pounds to the airport was such a bargain. I had been up all night transferring 3000 songs to my computer so I was desperate for any chance to close my eyes, even if for a minute.

Unfortunately, the cabman had a different idea.

“Are you Christian?” he asked, stretching my seat belt towards me.

“Yes” I responded, in a tone that I hoped insinuated reluctance.

“Shall we pray?” There was heft in his voice, giving a new leash to confidence. I mean, this man did not know me, whether I was a Russian Buddhist or a British Jew.

This was one of those “did I hear you right?” moments. I thought that this only happened in Nigerian buses. Clearly, I was wrong.

“Yes, it is okay” I said, with logical hesitation. I doubt that the words even made it out of my mouth pleasantly.

My goodness! This man prayed for so long. Even my sighs did not interrupt him.

“Sir, can we stop praying now? We have to be at the airport in thirty minutes,” I said, trying to remain polite.

“Okay, okay.  Do you care for music?” he asked, already stretching to power the stereo.

The only thing I cared for was sleep.

“Yeah, that’s fine” I responded, hanging dearly to my last nerve.

He slipped in a tape. Finally, I could close my eyes and relax to whatever music was about to play. However, for some reason, a sermon played instead. You’d expect that this man would realise he put in the wrong tape and change it immediately. But he had not met any expectations so far.

Obviously, this was his “on-the-go” tape. He had memorised every sentence, every vocal mannerism, every word and was determined that I would too.

I on the other hand was determined to sleep no matter what.

“You should come to my church you know. It’s just around hackney. What church do you attend?”

“I go to church In Nigeria, hence my trip to the airport.” My voice was heavy with sleep.

Could he not detect this? To what end was this man’s persistent interaction?

“O really? My wife and kids are in Ghana”

The preacher on the tape was now talking about being a cheerful giver and Mr Cabman was concurring. He minted such Biblical jewels as scriptures to back what he was saying.

“School is hard in Africa isn’t it?”

“Had the drunken couple sent him to continue what they did not finish?” Was what I immediately thought.

“It’s okay, it’s improving”

“My kids are in school in Ghana, it’s been so hard to put them through.” This was my first inkling as to where this conversation was going. The tape about cheerful giving, keeping me up for an unnecessary conversation. Was his plan to swell his pocket with my sympathy, as he had probably done with other passengers?

I hoped not.

Once we pulled over at Heathrow, I handed him 35 pounds. Then he held my hand, drew closer and whispered, “I beg, add something”