Few people would disagree with my saying that one of the groups of people outside our political leaders, who have been most oppressive to the Nigerian people are transport operators in the country, particularly the intra-cities operators. Those who live in Lagos, especially and don't own a car, are quite familiar with inexplicable hike in transport fares up to 200 per cent or more in many cases, in addition to other shenanigans of commercial vehicle operators. With the fuel hardship of the past few months, commuters have been perhaps worse hit in Lagos than anywhere else around the country as commercial vehicle operators in the state continue to squeeze hapless commuters real hard. So when earlier today, I boarded a bus from Egbeda towards Iyana Ipaja in Lagos and the conductor announced that the fare was N50 for a route that normally costs just N20, I was pissed, to say the least. But as I was already more than late for where I was going, I had to board that particular bus rather than wait in the hope I’ll get another at a lower charge.
My irritation turned into out right indignation soon afterwards. The bus conductor, in response to complaints from the passengers of the insensitivity of bus operators to the plight of commuters, looked me in particular in the eye and, with all the coldness in him, said in Yoruba: you should all count yourselves fortunate to be aboard this bus. I countered instantly; what exactly did he mean by ‘fortunate?’ I wasn’t hitchhiking in the bus, of course. And I couldn’t remember him demanding N100 as fare and I begging him to accept N50 from me instead. So, where exactly did ‘fortunate’ fit in with me or any of the other passengers? As I was trying to establish what ‘fortunate’ meant, the driver interjected with: “make I tell una, na Nigeria we dey and nobody send una o.”
I was still trying to match both driver and conductor word-for-word when, few moments later, the full import of the conductor’s words hit home. Come to think of it, I really needed to be thankful considering that our petroleum minister is an overused and over recycled geriatric in government. Yes, grateful I should be for despite the fact of our having such a man who has certainly exhausted his relevance and whose ideas about petroleum issues may be better suited to the petroleum ministry he held 25 years ago, I can still get a vehicle to board to my destination, irrespective of how the fuel in it came to be in this country.
The thought came to me of how much of the route to or from work I have had to trek in recent times in order to cut down the amount of money I spend on transportation per day. I imagined how the soles of my shoes must be feeling for the punishing routine I have subjected them to, and although I cannot not hear their curses, I nonetheless realized that I should be relieved that on this one occasion at least I have enough money and there is a bus to help me take the heat of my poor soles.
I also remembered the man who sat in the front seat of a bus I boarded sometime last week. I recalled how excited he was to be able to catch a bus after almost two hours in the sun. His gestures as he demonstrated how he elbowed and pushed his way through the crowd to secure that most prized seat on the bus, flashed through my thoughts. And that further informed me that the only thing I actually owed that driver and his conductor was gratitude for their being able to provide a bus with enough fuel to take me to my destination.
My thoughts then went to the current face-off between the Nigerian military Joint Task Force and militants in the Niger Delta. I thought of just how many young men and women, however culpable they may be in the whole setup, must have been wasted in the on-going battle. I thought of how more than any other factor, the lives of these people and other helpless innocent ones are being wasted because of the cluelessness and inflexibility of successive government regimes in this country over the oil-rich delta region. I therefore, agreed with the conductor that I must consider myself fortunate to be just one of the ‘on-lookers’ rather than one of those unfortunately caught up in that war. Then again, it also occurred to me that every November 10 in this country we remember Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists who, almost 14 years ago, died for the same Niger Delta-government-oil issue and I convinced myself that really, I should consider myself more fortunate than the families of those slain sons of the Niger Delta.
The internal monologue followed me into another bus (as I made my way to Ojodu-Berger) in which I sat next to a widow for whom I was to become an impromptu spokesperson. According to the woman, she had been brought by a friend who lives in Ayobo-Ipaja, Lagos, to Lagos from Ondo State under the guise of getting her a job. On getting to Lagos however, her friend tried to force her into selling her infant son to another woman. Having tried unsuccessfully for days, the friend sent her out of her (the friend’s house). The poor woman she could barely say two consecutive correct words in pidgin English) who had never been to Lagos before, ran into a man who raised N500 for her out of which she had to spend a part to feed her little son. For whatever reason, she chose me to confide her plight in so that I could help her appeal to the other passengers. Hence I took up the role of her mouthpiece and amongst us, the passengers, we were able to raise a tangible sum of money to enable her transport herself back to Ondo. I placed my fuss about a mere N50 side-by-side this pathetic story and I immediately felt the urge to go into the next mosque or church for thanksgiving to God for small mercies.
And when I got into the office about an hour later and this image of President Yar’Adua stared at me from a newspaper page on the desk, all my anger at that conductor or his driver totally evaporated almost instantly. I took a long look at the eyes of the image in the newspaper and saw that they belonged in the face of a clearly overwhelmed, fatigued and clueless man who seems to be asking himself: “what have I got myself into.” So, I surrendered and accepted that N50 or not, clueless as our leaders have been, the fact that between them and oil marketers, oil can still somehow get fuel into the country, be it at cut throat prices, should be celebrated by the likes of me rather than blame or harass drivers and conductors who are only trying to get the most from a honeycomb they have been presented with by those who should guard it.
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