by Ifeanyi Dike Jr

Today, there was no mischief, just heroism. And it felt damn good.

 

It is not very often that one enjoys the privilege of an interesting bus trip, free of noisome pestilence. When the chance comes, embrace it, regardless of the form it takes.

As usual, after boarding the bus to Benin from Lagos, I plugged in my earbuds in preparation to sleep through the entire six-hour journey. The earbuds were like a ‘do not disturb’ sign. I was uninterested in extended transit conversations and did not hide my stance. I was not rude about it either; I replied hurriedly when necessary and continued my routine, inattentive to the various on-going banters.

Usually, I gave it sometime before I unplugged to see what was happening—if I needed to jump out the window or take cover. Today’s racket however, took an aggressive turn. They could not have been talking about typical soccer or politics because the women were also actively involved in this increasingly loud conversation. 

When I finally took an interest, it was laughable, yet severe what was going on.

A man had put his father on the bus in the care of a fellow traveller he met at the bus station but he had not left any contact information. His father was probably a little past fifty years old. He spoke with an acquired accent and had a transparent duty-free nylon bag filled with chocolates. Obviously, he was well educated and had spent some time overseas. He looked like the wealthy sort that barely had problems. Except today, his only problem was that he wanted to get off the bus. As far as he was concerned, we had already reached Benin even if we were barely thirty minutes into the journey. The way he bellowed at the driver, you would think they had a pending score to settle. But the driver was clueless and confused at his attitude. The man made no sense.

He said things like:

‘You think you are smart. You think you can owe me and go scot-free. You have another thing coming. Drop me now so I can take a taxi to my house. We have gotten to Benin; I see no reason why you would not drop me, now!”

By now, everyone was almost certain that he was mentally unstable. All efforts to pacify the man who was getting angrier by the second failed. The passengers grew increasingly worried when he threatened to strangle the driver. And it was not beyond him because he was seated just behind him. 

“Oya, oya driver drop him abeg,” said one woman from the back. “This is a matter of life and death.”

“We cannot continue this trip with this man behaving this way,” said another worried passenger.

Passengers where agitated and at this time wanted nothing more than to drop the ‘mad man’ off the bus. He had threatened to jump out of the window anyway, if the driver did not stop and he was not bluffing.

The driver pulled over at a petrol station to kick the man out. He rained him many more disoriented insults as he untied his luggage, spoiling for a fight as he made his way.

“Let him go,” they said, “before he kills us.”

I consider myself cynical, but even I could not believe they were actually going to let him go. Wander into the streets with his merchandise and be the rose of Sharon to Lagos touts. Clearly, he had lost his mind but putting him out on a highway was not a worthy solution, so I stepped in.

“I don’t think we should let him go. It’s too dangerous,” I said, gallant as ever.

“Na your family?”

“No. But, he will surely get lost and his family would hold the driver and the company responsible. They may even sue.”

The driver seemingly had a second thought following what I said.

“What should we do then?” he asked, confusingly.

“Let us get him to a hospital so that he is sedated, then go to the police station to report the case and then get their contact for whenever his family comes to claim him.”

In agreement, we quickly ran to get the man who had already walked a good distance. We stalled and indulged him until the police arrived in a truck to take him to the hospital.

“So you called the police,” he said calmly and pitifully. The man, with his sense of lawfulness intact, fully cooperated.

Today, there was no mischief, just heroism. And it felt damn good.

 

Editor’s note: Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija.