Some time ago, in my state, I entered a private car for just a fifteen-minute drive that cost more than what some people earn in a week, and at the same time, I entered a commercial danfo with my body squeezed and almost tore the clothes I wore that day. Of every way I have moved through this country, nothing has taught me more about where I live than an Okada or keke napep tricycle.
For me, I don't know about others. I always feel this specific vulnerability when I sit in an open tricycle. No window between me and what is happening on the road. No way I can run away from the climate conditions and the free air hitting my skin. The smell of suya and some street foods from the local food vendors.
An unexpected discussion between two people on the roadside becomes part of my journey whether I want it or not. And all these physical potholes become a topic of discussion between the rider and me, which gives me headaches sometimes.
This last week, I took a keke to where I was going inside the early morning cold after the long hours of rain that fell the previous night. This cold was so much that if I'd told anyone outside the country, they might not have believed it. Right in front of the driver's seat, there was this Psalm 23 sticker fixed there. We did not even say more than two words through the ten-minute drive, but I got to where I was going safe and feeling strangely present, like I had been briefed on the whole thing before the day started.
What I just said above: in an enclosed means of transportation, there is nothing like that. Though there is always protection from weather because the windows and the doors can be easily closed. But also accidental contact with the actual texture of where I live. The unfiltered thing is that a car that has a window doesn't have access to.
And some mornings when I feel like going out and I feel like everything looks distant from me, I just take okada or enter the keke just to tell myself that I live in a place that is real.
Thank you for reading.
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