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I left
the place with heavy heart and was also tired because the big luggage I carried
was a burden. No sooner had I made a slight move than someone in a ragged short
sleeve and torn jean at a close distance waved that I should wait. I thought he
was a beggar or one of the agbero
boys who might want to give a clue on my lost book. He appeared empathic, thin
and hunger-ridden like someone just released from the prison looking for
assistance. I went back to see if I could find something for him, after all the
area is the fortress for the beggars. I could remember my first day at the area
together with my brother. On getting to the bridge down to the next road some
Arabian young lads came to me, holding my cloth and begging to give them money.
I, a good Samaritan could not hesitate to give them one hundred naira left with
me on that previous day. I pitied those innocent young urchins- their future
and safety from the gnashing teeth of sexual abuse by the motor park boys.
As we
walked down a little bit, two old women –one of them deformed- had started
praying and begging us for alms but I was cash-crunched. So I needed to snub
them after casting sympathy on these poverty-ridden women whom the economic
hardship and petrifying dearth had turned to mendicants across the street.
A brother whom we were going did not care as if he knew them but however
warned me to be careful because men of the gangland did make use of begging
opportunity to perpetrate their evil.
As I got
to that man, he fixed his big eyeballs on me and asked in commanding tone to
give him my wallet which I did without any hesitation. “Hey give me your wallet
and your phone?” He asked. At first instance I wanted to scruple and think
what was going on. He gave me the spiteful and hostile slap of my life and I
hurriedly gave him my old Nokia phone which he rejected after returning my
wallet back to me empty. As if he had known I had another phone beneath my
pocket, he requested I bring the second phone I had with me which I instantly
delivered to him without second consideration. He looked my white chain wrist
watch, and then ordered me to vanish from his sight after returning the first
phone- a small Nokia- I showed him.
“What else are you still waiting for? Go! You want me to
squeeze your head? He said.
“Ah. Em” I wanted to have a say. “And what do you want to say? I
think you are stubborn. You want to die!” He said with a voice so chilling
while he gave me another slap and used the middle finger of his right hand to
show me the way I was heading to before he called me back. I looked at this man
again who was eye-following my strides like a vampire about to spring as I was
going perplexedly with my eyes looking strange on the street of rowdy and
boisterous movement of men and vehicles. All what I knew was that I was going
to somewhere left with fifty naira, a change remained with me since my previous
journey.
I
boarded a taxi going to Ojo and suddenly regained my cognizance to discover
that I was being subjected to the spells of men underworld. They had rendered
me hopeless in the city I did not have any relative or friend with eyes alike.
I regretted giving attention to the man who by charm got all I had. Who was
there to share the pain- nobody. I was in the taxi cab confused and inactive
like a manhood that has lost its potency, thinking of what to do and the only
solution was if only I could locate a bank to withdraw money and precede my
journey but I did not have a dime in my account because I cashed out all what I
had before my first board from Ife to Ibadan. I held my faith in God very
well-founded and went directly to a mosque nearby.
At
first I thought I should beg for alms from the congregation of the mosque, but
later decided to hold unfaltering with my faith that God would open the gate of
mercy. He understood all what happened to me and the good luck behind it. Three
minutes after observing my prayer a friend, a student in a nearby university
called me on the other phone that he saw my post on Facebook that I would go
home that day. I told him where I was and he quickly located me after some
minutes. I told him every story as it happened till where I was at the moment.
“guy you have to take heart and accept what happened as a blessing.”
He said pathetically as we were heading towards another motor park.
“Thanks, my soul brother. But I am confused and still don’t believe I am
a victim of this.” I responded with broken voice as my eyes were almost laden
with tears.
We
arrived at the park and talked about other things while I looked someone beside
me leaning on the bus to discover he was my friend going back home.
“Suleiman!” I exclaimed.
“Mosun!”
he called my name with outmost surprise because it had been a long time we set
eyes on each other. An expedient need for survival and academic pursuit had set
us apart. What a great reunion, I thought.
“How
are you?” He asked as we embraced each other. “Guy, we are pulling it.” I
replied.
His
whelming smiles cast the mark of despair from my face. We tried to talk a
little while ‘Yomi was busy paying my transport fee to the driver who was
drabbled by perspiration. I showed my gratitude to him as he was about
going back to campus while Suleiman and I had our seat at the front. He
discovered that I looked dispirited and queried what happened which I did not
waste time to narrate the brutal accident that struck me.
“Really?” he asked in astonishment. “Yes!”
I replied. “I do hear such things happen but I haven’t met anyone as a victim.
You are the first person.” He said with a brotherly sympathy as he gave me five
hundred naira left with him. “You can have this. I will find another means
when we get back home”. He said.
As the
bus sped we enjoyed the cooling brace of nature and talked on other things till
I got to where I alighted and bade him goodbye with handshake.
When I
got home, my mother who I had told the incident while in Ibadan consoled me
upon my misery and advised not to think of it too much. For three days I
was engulfed by the sickness of this misfortune. That was normal by nature, but
after three days of mourning and grief I thanked God for the wise saying of my
grandmother still found a safe abode in my heart. I wonder what could have been
my fate if I was not pitied by Heaven. Who can say if the supplication made my
friend remember me at the moment I was in despair or my good heart while
giving attention to the man who brought the misery to me open the way? I
believe no one knew the work of providence. The misery was a memory that
had come to live with me, though I learned my lessons.
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