As dusk set in, the traffic on Lagos mainland roads thickened. As a cab driver, I knew the nooks and crannies of the city that served as shortcuts to parts of the city. I swerved my car into a one-way street and slowly drove on.
Then it began to rain, big drops of water hammered against the windshield as the street quickly turned into a gridlock with cars ahead and behind me.
An old woman wearing an old African print gown stepped onto the road. Everyone saw but no one reacted. Motorcycles weaved between cars and passed through her. That was when I gasped and jumped in my seat.
I blinked and set my wipers faster. She was right there, cars rolled around her without honking and pedestrians in raincoats walked by as though she wasn't there.
I breathed a sigh of relief, realising I was seeing beyond the physical, a gift that often picked the worst timing to set my nerves on edge. Who was she?
Then she appeared in front of my car and I slammed on the brakes. “Finally,” she said, smiled and climbed into my back seat. I checked the rearview mirror and my stomach tightened. Her reflection wasn't there. You would think I would get used to these occurrences after a decade.
“Look, I don't mean to scare you,” she said. “It's an unhappy circumstance but I need a ride.”
“To where?” I blurted.
“Just follow my directions, son,” she said and somehow I felt calm. She directed me through roads I had never noticed before. At one junction, I saw a market filled with shadows bargaining with one another. I shuddered.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The city beneath the city.” She chuckled at my shocked expression and pointed ahead at the cemetery. “Drop me over there.”
She opened the door, paused and pressed a piece of paper into my palm. “For your trouble, son.” And then she vanished. I gulped as goosebumps sprayed out on my hands and the hairs on my neck stood on end.
I unfolded the paper and inside was written — don't let them bury you tomorrow. My blood turned cold as I sat for several minutes rereading the message.
The next morning, I called in sick and stayed home, ignoring every knock on my door, calls and texts on my phone.
In the evening, it was reported that a construction crane collapsed onto the bus stop I usually queue at to pick passengers and seven people died.
I returned to the cemetery the next day and narrated my experience to the groundskeeper who looked at me from the corner of his eyes like I was insane.
He led me to a weathered grave and on the headstone, it was written that the woman died forty years ago.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "unhappy circumstance".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image created by AI using NightCafe Studio
