by Michael Ace

I was traveling back to Ibadan on Thursday when something I would consider interesting but tense happened. We were about reaching Alakia when we got hooked up in a heavy traffic. Everybody was tired and stressed up so no one was ready to act Jesus for another. Everyone kept fighting for space. Then it happened.

I love it when a woman knows her right and defends It the right way. Not like the jobless cowards that rant about feminism on Facebook when behind closed doors, their boyfriends beat them to pulp at every single misdeed.

This woman was also trying her driving skills like everyone else to find her way out of the jam. There is no preference about gender on the road; everyone has equal right. One way or another, she got scratched by a Micra. She did what anyone would do. She protested. It’s reflex. The Micra driver in his almighty garage spirit and self acclaimed superiority denied being wrong. So everything became a drama. I unplugged my earpiece and before I could focus again, I heard the sound of a dirty but heavy slap.

Wawu! Somebody please tell me this is not happening. Attentions were diverted. Some said he was wrong to have hit her; others felt she was rude- you don’t ralse your voice against a man, this is not a white man’s land. Everyone was busy doing what they knew how to do best: talking, passing blames, judging and analysing the cause of the ruckus. No one stood up for the woman. She was surprised and kept staring. She was so blank. Well, I did what I love doing best too. I closed my mouth and opened my eyes.

Then the woman swifted into action like she was ignited by some unseen spirits. She went straight into her car, picked her phone and made a call. No one knew who she called or what she conversed about. The Micra driving was still ranting and celebrating his supposed victory when a Black Maria pulled over on the other side of the road. Three hefty soldiers alighted and was heading directly towards the scene.

Come and see panic o. Everyone was beginning to shiver. The woman remained sitted on her bonnet while the man was there hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Nowhere to run to. They arrived, the woman pointed and that was when everyone realized that they can feel gravely pitied towards someone and still unable to raise a voice. I didn’t do it for the man; he was wrong. I pitied him because of his family, his children and his business. No car was allowed to move. We all stared.

25 minutes later, one of the soldiers gave the woman a peck and they drove away. The man was there beaten and broken. He couldn’t move or talk or look. He wasn’t lifeless but he had less of life left in him. His co-drivers rushed him inside his cab, everyone in there came down and off they went.

Everyone looked at the woman as she smiled and zoomed off. Some hated her for being heartless and mean. Others said she was strong but she shouldn’t have gone that fatal. Some others said she could never have a happy home as she was too pompous and unsubmissive.

I said she knew her right and she commanded it.

Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

Micheal Ace is a poet and writer from the city of Ibadan, Nigeria

Op-ed Editor