Zainab flagged down the first bus she saw and hopped in. The woman who went in before her was nice enough to make space for her. She thanked her and brought out her phone.
Four months in Lagos, Zainab has learnt to appreciate anyone who made time to be nice to another person, for Lagos was too busy a place for any form of niceness or goodness. She used to live among people who cared about her wellbeing until it became clear that she had to leave to keep them from starving.
The light on her phone came on and it made the nice woman flinch and Zainab apologized immediately; she couldn’t wait to launch the new android game she had downloaded some minutes ago. She launched it and played, and after a while, the screen before her blurred. The burning sensation between her thighs was beginning to call her away and she could not help but follow.
On and on they went until they got to the hotel she was just coming out from. “You slut!” she exclaimed. She has always known that her body has a mind of its own, but she never believed it would betray her like this. The moment it took her back to, was one she liked to think that she didn’t like, but her body definitely liked it and made her relive it.
She had bathed, oiled and perfumed her body and was dressed to leave when Dule asked for one last massage. She tried to talk him out of it but he didn’t budge, and even though she didn’t want to, she gave it to him in the end.
In the grand scheme of things, Zainab didn’t have a real name for what she and Dule shared. They are everything and nothing to themselves, or so she thought. Little – nearly nothing – was said about emotions and they were fine with that. All he had to do was place a call, and Zainab would go running to him. He would come up with the most ingenious ideas and they will both spend their day giving it form. They would brainstorm, make plans, strategize, eat, and make out after. They hardly spoke about anything other than their career ambitions, and life was good like that.
Soon she was done with the massage. She stood up and went to respond to the WhatsApp messages that came in earlier. Dule lay still for a while and then turned. He dragged himself up, gently pulled her down onto the bed and started to touch her. She turned and looked at him, but she couldn’t see his eyes in the semi-darkness, and that left her slightly upset.
Somehow, she liked to look into the eyes of her men and tried to understand what it is they wanted. When she didn’t get that from him, she was going to gently push him away and stand up, but she smiled instead and readjusted as his hands reached her inner thighs. Seconds after, her hands went limp and her cellphone dropped.
She had always thought that foreplay was everything and that penetration was over rated, but every time he slid into her, he made her rethink those thoughts.
This time, he wasn’t going to waste any second trying to make her feel good, so he went straight to the only thing that was keeping him from her, and started tearing away. She tried to slow him down but he wasn’t interested in playing petty. He took out his obstacle in no time and claimed her; the soft moan that escaped her lips was melody to his ears and a confirmation that he was home.
“Aunty, ejó mofe bole”. It was the nice woman, and she had gotten to her bus stop. Zainab came out of her reverie and adjusted on her seat so the woman could pass. She apologized as the woman made her way out and got a smile for it.
As soon as the woman was on the ground, the rush began; about six persons trying to take up the one seat that has just been vacated. Lagos.
At 7:30pm, bus stops in Lagos are already crowded with workers who would scratch and claw to get on buses and be on their way home, and they got their own share of that rush. Luckily for them, their bus conductor was an efficient one; he worked his magic, and soon they were on the road again.
Zainab turned, for the first time, and looked around her; she realized that they were already at Anthony. On her right sat a middle-aged woman who packed her hair into a bun. She had a short black gown on and her facial makeup was fresh. With a closer look at the woman’s face, Zainab found a smile. This woman would occasionally run her hands over her eyes; her nose and her lips and that suggested that she was in a beautiful place, far away from the present. Please don’t judge her.
The typical Nigerian story only sounds right when there have been struggles upon struggles and then there is a happy ending. As a people burdened by the need to rise above poverty, we often find ourselves fighting against the elements and against ourselves. And where there is no strength, we just hope.
We tell ourselves, in the face of great difficulty, killing hardship and pain, that we can make it if we try. This hope is what we carry as we strive each day. It is what causes us to steal from others, lie to loved ones, deny long-standing friendships, give up secrets, maim, live in other people’s skins, fight the truth or run away from home. “I didn’t run”, Zainab thought to herself. “I only left because I could no longer withstand the pressure.”
The pressure, she continued, usually starts building at a very young age for most first sons and daughters and the only way to stay sane is to hustle. Where that is taking long to produce fruits, these persons are forced create another world away from their reality and go there at the end of the day like today. They go there to draw strength. They go there to escape.
So Zainab looked at the woman and shook her head. She wondered what the woman’s escape world looked like, and smiled when she compared it to the one she just came back from. The sweet smell of fried groundnuts soon took her attention to the woman sitting in front of her. She too had a distant look on her face as she chewed away. “What is it about this bus?” Zainab mused. Everyone certainly had a place in their head to go to while they waited for the usual Lagos traffic to dissolve.
Everyone? Scratch that. The man who was now sitting behind her would not stop talking. He spoke of the achievements in his life, his wife’s family and the occupancy rules of their house, his son who just started teething, the people he knows in Lagos and finally, about Big Brother Naija. He just didn’t know when to stop.
You could never imagine Zainab’s relief when their bus ran into a pothole on the road and caused everyone to bump into themselves. The silence that ensued was heavenly, but did it last? No, the man had more to share.
Zainab switched off her phone, put it back into her purse and placed her head on the window. She let the cool evening breeze gently massage her face as she wandered off again; she too had a place to go.
Image: Google
CHINA TORI 
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