The danfo bus was already full, but I squeezed myself in, the inside of the bus was filled with the smell of roasted corn mixed with petrol and all sorts of body odours.
"Third mainland bridge, third mainland bridge..enter with your change o!"
That was the words of the bus conductor I was hearing from afar. I squeezed myself in and he (the conductor) bangs the side of the door...That was a signal to the driver to take off.
I sat between a woman carrying a bag of tomatoes on her lap and a man holding onto a black nylon as if it contained millions of dollars. The bus made a sickly sound and rattled forward as he horn at a keke (tricycle) that wanted to overtake.
I checked my wristwatch, and saw it was just 8:10a.m. I was having my interview at nine. Unknown to me....The traffic had it's own plans.
To my surprise, we got to the bridge and found that everything was on a standstill. Cars coming in all three directions stopped. Various horn sounds from frustrated drivers filled the air. Our conductor peeped his head out a little and shouted at no one in particular, “No be only you dey road o..*"
The man beside me smiled and said, "This is Lagos o, you should know better that it is a matter of settlement."
The woman with tomatoes also sighed loudly and said, “If only you people know how urgent it is for me to get to the market, you won't be doing all of these.”
Well, I don't know who she was talking to, we all are stuck here and am sure we all had something to do. I was running out of time as well. A knock on the window brought me back from my thoughts.
I looked out and saw a boy of about eleven years, wearing an oversized shirt, and was shouting at the top of his voice..,“Gala dey, La Casera dey, Bottle water dey!”
“Smallie, how much for water?” the man beside me asked.
“Three hundred.” he responded
"Ehn? Say wetin, na land you dey sell or bottle water?"
Everybody burst into laughter, even I smiled as I glanced at my wristwatch to see 8:29a.m.
The traffic still didn’t ease. The heat was getting too much and it felt like we were being locked up in an oven. A baby started crying somewhere in the back row, and I heard the mother humming softly to pacify her.
The small boy hawking drinks appeared again, but as he got to the side of the bus, he stumbled. He lost balance and one of the bottled water fell and rolled toward the gutter, but as he bend down to take it his legs gave way.
“Smallie!” the conductor shouted, as he jumped down from jumping the bus. (Smallie was the new name we head given him)
Just as if time shifted gears, everybody started stretching and craning their necks to see what happened. The woman beside me also shouted "Jesus."
The boy was looking sad as he sat down on the edge of the gutter, panting. Sweat had formed a map on his forehead. The conductor moved close to him and asked, “Wetin happen? You never chop?"
The boy shook his head and responded, "I never chop since yesterday."
The woman carrying tomatoes murmured, “My God.” Immediately, she opened the small bag she was holding, brought out two ripe mangoes, and pushed them into the boys hand.
A man at the back who was eating bread and akara also passed him the remaining. Another woman at the front gave him a bottle of fanta from her bag. Someone pressed in his palm a folded note, and I did the same as well.
Smallie eyes widened. “Thank you sir, thank you ma…" He said it repeatedly, with his voice cracking.
I just stood there watching. The blaring horns, the shouts, and engine noises all seemed far away. The only sound I could hear was that of the people giving Smallie anything they could.
For a moment, the bus wasn’t filled with strangers, rather it was a small family.
And guess what, right there in the middle of Third Mainland Bridge, time stopped and generosity took over in a timeless way I would never forget.
After a few minutes, the boy stood up and we all returned back to our positions in the bus. He clutched all his gifts tight to his chest as he gave us all a bow. “God bless you,” he said. The conductor patted him, “Go home and rest Smallie."
When he left, the traffic still hadn’t eased, but the bus felt somehow lighter.
I glanced at my wristwatch again, it was 8:45a.m. Time was going, but I wasn't troubled the way I had been before.
The man beside me turned to me and said, “That was something naija would teach you say we dey always dey for each other.”
The baby also had stopped crying and was giggling.
At 8:49, the buses began to move and our engine roared back to life. I straightened my clothes as if I just returned from a very long journey.
It was already 8:52 when we got to the junction I was to highlight. I got down, even though I initially planned to take a bike, I decided against it, I need to be more calmer before arriving for my interview. So, I walked, while replaying Smallie's face in my mind.
The thing is, that morning was supposed to be all about me....my plans, the urgency, my interview, my time. But Lagos gave me something different....A timeless memory.
Even after few years, I can vividly remember Smallie's face as strangers fed him in the middle of a standstill. I can still remember then when everyone decided to care.
One thing about Lagos traffic is, it can/might steal hours from you, but there are times it gives you a minute, a minute that will/can stay with you forever.
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