First Night

Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoy this. A short story about the dangers of travel in Africa. In recent times the news has covered stories of sea pirates. Many of you probably can not imagine any of this. Here in America, I get to hop on the Greyhound with a carefree spirit. In Nigeria, every journey is at the risk of death.


SAFE LANDING
We were finally allowed off the plane. The large Virgin Atlantic Boeing 747 aircraft had brought us safely over 5200 miles, crossing the north Atlantic ocean with one stop in London. At this moment I was a long way away from America. I thanked the air hostesses for a pleasant ride as I passed them on my way to the exit at the back of the plane. They smiled, looking smart in their uniforms. They wore bright red knee-length pencil skirts with matching red jackets over a white open-necked blouse. Lovely silk red and mauve coloured scarves adorned their necks, reminding me of the Tie Rack that I loved to visit at London's international airports. They sold the most beautiful, colourful and soft scarves and ties that I ever saw. Just then I turned to descend the rickety retractable aircraft steps. Looking out of one of the oval windows after the plane had reached a full stop, I had watched the ground staff drive the steps to the plane and position it for the passengers to disembark. Halfway down, I paused on the tiny platform and looked around the tarmac. My gaze focused on the old airport building in the distance. A plain white multi-storied building, it was not very big compared to some of the major airports of the world. Surprisingly, to me anyway, it was modeled after Amsterdam's Schiphol international airport back in the late 1970s. Amsterdam's was, and still is, one of the largest and busiest of European airports, comparable to Heathrow, Frankfurt, Charles de Gaulle and Madrid. The design of Murtala Mohammed airport, located here in Ikeja-Lagos, is simple and the surroundings far from spectacular. It looked exactly as it had the last time I'd been here ... eight long years ago. Dad had taken two month's leave to enable us have a family vacation. That was the last time we were together as a family. Inhaling as deep a breath as I could, I perceived the thick humidity of Nigerian airspace. I was home. This was home ... the land of my peoples.

A HELPING HAND
An old lady struggled above me with a large hand luggage and I turned to take it from her. How did she get this on the plane? I wondered how she was able to sneak it past the hostesses. I continued my climb down, now with two bags instead of one, until my feet touched the runway. Lucky for me, both bags were on rollers and I wheeled them towards the airport entrance. It was a long slow walk. Slow, only because I permitted the elderly stranger to set the pace lest she think I were fleeing with her bag. Finally, with half the passengers ahead of us and many still scattered on the tarmac behind, we reached the airport building. I guess whoever is in charge of the airport deems it unnecessary to supply shuttle buses from the plane to the airport building. Perhaps he ought to visit other countries' airports to see how they provide conveniences for their passengers. I ought to give him a piece of my mind, I thought, but of course there's no way they'd have a suggestion box. They hadn't eight years ago.

THE AIRPORT
I handed over the woman's bag and wished her well. In a heavy Yoruba dialect which I did not understand fully, she thanked me and rained down blessings upon me and my family for the kind act I had just displayed. I thanked her in her own language, Eshe Ma [thank you mama] being one of the few Yoruba words that I do know. We parted ways and I joined the queue for Nationals. It was a long long line. Standing there I overheard a security guy telling someone that the airport terminal's air conditioner had broken down since last week. The week before there had been an electrical fault that had just been restored yesterday. Imagine if I had arrived two days ago? The entire airport might have been in sheer darkness. Finally I got to the front of the line and was called to a booth. I handed over passport and landing card; they were passed on to another officer, standing behind the first, who stamped the passport before returning it to me. With not so much as a smile, I was dismissed and moved on. I turned left and paused at the head of the wide staircase. Looking down, there were people milling about like busy bumble bees. In the hot stuffy atmosphere, with archaic fans in motion, the noise of conversations and reunions seemed abnormally loud. All sorts of accents and languages could be heard. A lovely array of colour seen in the various traditional outfits painted a pretty picture ... from attire typical of the northerners to styles associated with the mid-westerners. Long forgotten memories rushed through my head and swamped my senses. Wow, had time stood still in this part of the world? I got to the bottom of the staircase and hurried to grab a trolley. I was too late and no trolleys were left. Oh well. The heat became nauseating and in spite of the slow moving fans, I felt unwell. Sauntering over to the conveyor belt, I found a seat close by and sat down.

THE CONVEYOR
Forty minutes later people began getting agitated. Where are our bags? What in the world is going on? I was still seated. Some time later we heard an announcement that the bags had been sent to the wrong conveyor belt. We were asked to be patient and an apology was offered for any inconvenience. Before long, a whirring noise caught my attention. The belt had begun rolling and suitcases started to appear. Weary passengers gathered to wait for theirs, blocking my view in the process. Craning my neck, I monitored the belt until at last my suitcase surfaced. I dashed over and yanked off the brand new grey samsonite I bought a week ago, hurting my foot as I did so. The suitcase had landed hard on it. Putting the case on the trolley, I waited for the second piece of luggage. This one was a darker grey large duffle bag. I'd had it for a couple of years now. All done, I proceeded through customs with nothing to declare. Of course I was stopped and subjected to the routine of random checks. I could barely contain my irritation and snapped at the officer when he carelessly tried to shut the duffle and got the zip caught on the fabric. Breathing hard with a definite look of annoyance, I pulled away the bag and tried to fix the zip. Silently I dared him to ask me to hurry up. Huffing and puffing, he said nothing. I managed to zip up the bag and left.

THE BUS TERMINAL
I walked through the lanes and corridor until I was beyond the double doors. A deep breath escaped me as a wall of heat hit me. Crowds waited around anxiously for loved ones and other arrivals. Pushing my trolley ahead, I escaped the scene and strolled to the taxi park. Glancing at my favourite black leather watch, bought in Virginia for seventeen dollars once upon a time, the time showed ten-thirty. An old smallish man in a faded white up-and-down outfit, complete with cap, approached me: Madam, which side you dey go [m'am, where are you going]? I looked over, acknowledged him, then hesitated. I had planned to spend the night at one of the hotels I remembered from family travels. Instead I found myself saying: I wan go ABC; na how much [I'd like to go to the ABC bus terminal; how much is your fare]? He reached for the trolley and tried to push it for me. I said, na how much ... no push am oh, make we talk first [I asked how much; leave the trolley until we're agreed]. He stopped ... how much you wan pay [how much do you want to pay]? We began the age-old custom of bargaining (which I absolutely hate). Twenty minutes later, agreed on a fare, he pushed my trolley to his worn taxi while I followed. Baggage in the boot [trunk], I collapsed into the cab and he shut the door. The ride to the ABC bus [coach] terminal was not bad and I alighted with my things. I paid the old man who called out in parting, go well, hear [have a safe trip]! I made my way to the ticket counter. The place was crowded. I asked for a one-way ticket to Aba, a traders' town in Abia state, located in the southeast of the country. If you hurry you fit catch the bus wey dey leave now now [if you hurry you can catch the bus that is about to leave right now]. I paid, took the ticket and thanked the lady as I ran to catch the bus which was leaving now now.

THE NIGHT BUS
An hour later, seated next to an old woman I waited for the bus to depart. I deliberately chose the seat because I had no energy to strike up conversation with the young guys on board and I figured the old lady would soon be asleep. This was the night bus and if we left by midnight, we should be in the east by tomorrow evening. I was a little nervous. Armed robberies were notorious on these night buses and on these routes for that matter since the thieves assume everyone to be a wealthy trader. My parents were actually home because they had retired some years back, and my baby brother was with them. They had no idea that I was on my way because this was a surprise visit. Only my sister in England knew. I got out my cell phone to switch the sim card to a local one. Then I sent my sister a text saying, all's well so far. Bus leaves any moment from now. Keep me in your prayers. Her response was so quick, safe trip & I'm praying for you. I muted the phone lest it attract attention and someone think I was loaded with money. I was very anxious. No sooner had I put away the phone, the bus driver shut the door and made the routine announcements. We were on our way.

PREMONITION
I ended up falling asleep before mama, the old woman next to me. She was headed to villa [village] to see her newborn grandson. Her daughter had been married eight years with no issue [child] and mama's excitement and joy at God's favour & kindness overwhelmed me. I drifted in and out of sleep, noting when we had left the outskirts of Lagos, and sending my sister periodic updates. Looking out at the pitch blackness, I imagined all sorts of shapes and things in the bushes along the roadside. We passed a row of little huts and kiosks with burning lanterns. Their occupants were selling bread, drinks, and other snacks to hungry travelers. My thoughts dwelled on how brave they are to be out this late selling stuff. Or, maybe, how desperate they are to make some money to feed the family. Some of the women had little babies strapped to their backs in wrappers. A hard life. Miles down the road, something lurched in my spirit ... premonition? The driver and conductor whispered amongst themselves. Those at the front seats strained ears to eavesdrop. Over a few minutes, information filtered to the back of the bus. Suspicious activity was occurring further down the road. People began standing up and peering through the windows. I did too. There was a car on fire a long way ahead, in the center of the road. Something was amiss.

ROBBERS
I sent a text, sis pls pray, something's up. She replied, stay calm and let me know what's up. The whispers were no longer whispers. Everyone was awake and on maximum alert. All the vehicles ahead of us started reversing, backing up for miles in the dark. Did I mention that the roads are strewn with pot holes and no street lights? At the point where we were, damage to our side of the road necessitated that we cross the median and form a two-way traffic on the other side of the highway. The reversing drivers opened their windows and were shouting, go back, go back, na armed robbers oh, go back, go back. Besides the burning car which was closer now, I couldn't see the "armed robbers". Our bus driver had seen and heard enough. In high speed, he backed up the bus in a perfect straight line (except for dodging the vehicles behind us and the potholes) for over five miles until we reached a turn we had passed moments earlier. He navigated the turn expertly and the bus lurched on. All this while, we who stood at the windows were waving to all cars behind us to go back, mouthing armed robbers as if they could see us let alone our moving frightened lips in the blackness of the hour. Our driver was awesome. He knew this new road and assured us that we'd be alright.

SAFETY IN NUMBERS
We entered Edo state, crossing its capital Benin-City, and continued on to Delta. Passing a huge clearing where, during the day an open market would be in session as well as other petty traders' businesses, we happened upon the longest line of vehicles I ever saw. A queue of cars trying to head to Delta state was at least a mile long. No other cars were coming in the opposite direction. My pulse picked up and I felt faint. What now? Another text, wahala [trouble] for Benin. Reply: I had to text mom and dad to pray. You'll be fine. That was the end of my "surprise" visit home. A text came in from mom, are you alright. Your sister just woke us up with her text. Your father and I are praying. I returned my attention to the scene on the road. A luxury bus, not one of ABCs vehicles but it belonged to one of the smaller companies that plied the Lagos-Aba route, had met with ill-fate. ABC and Chisco were the giants in this business which meant they were more expensive and more secure. They always travelled with one or two military escorts on board. All this while, our two soldiers had relocated from the back of the bus to the front to monitor things with the driver and bus conductor. Their guns, rifles to be exact [I think], were clearly visible hanging over their backs and ready for action. My silent prayers intensified. All the horror stories I had heard in the past popped into my awareness. I was prepared for the worst. Apart from all the vehicles parked on and off this major roadway, tension was palpable yet I forced myself to feel the safety in numbers.

SIRENS
People got out of vehicles to exchange information and update the newcomers on the situation as they saw it. One man in our vehicle learned that a couple of miles ahead, a group of robbers had waylaid that unfortunate coach, forcing out the passengers at gun point after collecting watches, jewelery and all monies they had on them. The passengers fled into the nearby bushes and hid for hours, praying that the thieves would leave. The thieves proceeded to ransack all the bags in the cabin as well as those stowed underneath in the bus' hold. Over two hours later they were still at it. Our bus driver decided we must continue. He was fearless and said he would speed past the robbers who were now busy inside the other bus taking what they could. By the time they would notice us, they'd not care to pursue. We all screamed in fear and outrage. Driver, you are going nowhere. Are you crazy? It be like say something dey affect your brain today ... you wan make we all die [its like your head's not on straight, you want to get us all killed]. He ignored us, revved up his engine and before he could shut his door we all started running off the bus. If he wanted to drive into the armed robbers' lair, then he'd go it alone. He was forced to turn off the engine again. A long while later, the sound of police sirens broke into the din. Several police cars raced past us into the thick of it. Delta police to the rescue ... or were they from the Edo state side? No matter, there was hope after all. More than forty minutes passed ... one brave soul started his car and took off. Then another. Then another. Soon we realized that traffic from the opposite direction had started to trickle through. More cars drove on. We clambered back unto our bus and the driver followed suit. As the bus passed, I peered out the windows at the aftermath. The robbers were now gone and I saw a sight that I will never forget. The bus had been shot at ... all tires were flat, no doubt to prevent any attempt to get away. A hefty elderly woman emerged from behind a bush. Her clothes were torn and dirty and she had mud and leaves in her hair. She was shaking with emotion; eyes teary and wide with fright. Clothes and suitcases littered the roadside. Other folks came forth to where the bus stood. Some searched for missing shoes for their feet and gathered items they identified as theirs ... in my heart I cried. It was now after six thirty and the sun was just beginning to rise over Delta state. It would be a glorious day.