When I looked up, everyone was deep asleep. I’d been glued to Instagram skits since the journey began. We were on our way from Aba to Umuahia.
I took off my AirPods and gently placed them back in the case. I was still petting it because it was barely two weeks old. My brother and I ordered it on Konga, and I honestly have no regrets.
The guy sitting next to me was wearing a headset. I could hear the bass coming from them.
“Isn’t it too loud?” I pondered. What is even my business?
The other passengers aboard the bus appeared to be far gone in their sleep. While some rested their heads on the seats before them, others drove jangolova with theirs. It looked like the lady in the first row would hit her head on the window. She kept swinging her head, and I could do nothing as I was sitting in the last row of the 12-seater bus.
I heard sounds. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing, but after paying close attention, I realized it was someone moaning. In a public bus? It was so gentle under their breath that no one could hear. But I did hear. I craned my neck to look for the dogs that could not wait till they got home, but everyone appeared to be sleeping.
Dummm! Finally, the woman in the first row successfully smacked her head against the window. She looked around to see if anyone had seen her, but I looked away. She brushed her fingers through her hair and went back to sleep.
A phone rang loudly, waking everyone up. It belonged to the guy in the third row travelling with his girlfriend. I suspected them of being the moaners earlier, but they looked sound asleep. Earlier, I saw them cuddling and feeding each other plantain chips – trench love. He muted the call.
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“Why don’t you take it?” His girlfriend said. “Are you cheating on me with your Ex, Ebuka?”
“Why are you talking like this? I’m sure she’s calling to know if we’ve reached,” he said calmly.
I wanted to laugh, but I held myself. Ebuka could have done better. I looked out of the window; we were already in Umuahia.
“Do I look like a fool? Ebuka, am I stupid? She called you before we left the house. She called again when we got on this bus, and now she’s calling you. Wait, does she even know we’re travelling together?”
“Babe, calm down…”
“Oga, will you stop touching me!!!” the lady in the first row yelled at the man behind her. She was sitting next to the lady who had smacked her head against the window.
Everyone on the bus except the guy sitting next to me looked in her direction. He was buried in his phone.
“Oga, if your hand touches me again, you won’t like the outcome,” she yelled.
“What is wrong with you? Don’t you have respect?” the man said calmly. “Who is touching you?”
“Can you imagine this old man?” You keep touching my waist, and you’re asking me if I have respect? Are you okay?”
“Oga, apologize to her; maybe your hand mistakenly touched her,” the guy sitting beside the man said.
“I said I did not touch her,” the man yelled. He looked furious at this point. “Why would I touch her? She is old enough to be my daughter….”
“Oga, I am not your daughter,” the young lady cut in. “I know your type. She is like my daughter, and that’s how you defile young girls.”
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The man looked like he was in his fifties. He was dark-skinned, bald, and grey-bearded, and he had a tattoo on his left arm.
Arguments ensued inside the bus. Everyone was talking and suddenly had similar experiences to share with anyone who cared to listen. The couple before me had ended their conversation, and the guy’s hand was no longer across his girlfriend’s shoulder. I missed how that conversation ended.
“It is Okayyyyy,” the man sitting in front yelled. “Madam, he has apologized; Uncle, do not touch her again.”
“Driver, please, I’d like to come down here,” the man said. “I don’t understand who trains these young ladies these days…”
“I have seen you naa. Adagi n’agwo ofe (an elder misbehaving),” the young lady clapped back.
The bus stopped.
“I’ll come down here too,” the man sitting next to the man said.
They both alighted. The driver zoomed off. The guy sitting beside me didn’t say anything amidst all the chaos. I could still hear the bass coming from his headset, and I wondered if his ear drums were still intact.
“Where is my phone?” the lady yelled.
“Wait, I can’t find my phone, too,” said the lady who had struck her head against the window earlier.
Everyone looked in their direction and then at the back windshield. The men had vanished.
“Otilo,” the guy next to me with the headset said.
