Love is so illogical and full of pains and heartache, so Naomi discovers when she finds herself at a crossroad. Where she has to make a choice between her true love Godfrey, who after three years of absence reappeared into her life to claim her back and Tony, the father of her unborn child and the man she is set to marry.
What is the right thing to do, to listen to her conscience or follow her heart?
CHAPTER ONE
Naomi stood far off, far from the maddening crowd at the bus stop. With arms akimbo, she watched in helpless dismay the frenzied rush for buses as they stopped to discharge passengers.
With all the years she had spent in Lagos, she was yet to come to terms with the wild hustle and bustle that was Lagos. She still marvelled at the chaotic and sometimes bizarre activities that went on quite normally in the city.
She recalled the popular refrain: “THIS IS LAGOS.” a bold statement that epitomized the essence of the city, the hub of all that is evil or enviable; where the poor and the rich are juxtaposed while jousting for survival.
The city of the smart, the bold and the astute; “be wary, and look about you when you stand;” so the song says. Indeed, Lagos is unique and unlike any other city in the country.
Eko akete! Lagos for show.
She shook her head at the show of shame and forced her mind back to her present predicament, how to get transport to Apapa Road in time for her appointment. She came from Wilmer to Mile Two bus stop with the hope it would be easier from that point, but evidently, it appeared her quest for a bus was far from over and wondered how she would accomplish that particular feat in this mad rush.
A big dilemma for she couldn’t envision herself engaging in the pushing and shoving others were doing to get aboard a bus. Neither could she stand at the bus stop for the rest of the day.
She gazed once more at the sea of heads, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other in anticipation of buses which had become scarce. The incessant fuel scarcity was back after only a month’s respite.
It was already a nightmare moving about in Lagos by public transport with fuel available, you could imagine what it would be like with fuel scarcity.
When it started, it was comical witnessing the war of words between drivers and passengers over the slight increase in fares. Now as the situation worsened as the weeks go by, passengers were prepared to pay any amount without a murmur to get to their destinations and workplaces. But the buses were no longer available anyhow; many were parked at home, and others at empty filling stations waiting for fuel supply.
The available ones still plying some routes might have procured petrol through exorbitant black market price while some spent sleepless nights on queues at a few filling stations that sell before they got petrol for their cars.
As such, fares increased to more than a hundred percent in some cases. Under the prevailing circumstances, commuters blamed not the drivers but complained against the system that brought about the problem. Their outbursts were directed towards government; some were more vociferous in their condemnation of those in power.
Public buses, restaurants and beer parlours became the people’s court, where everyone had a voice, and judgments were argued and deliberated raucously with no agreed counsel. Rumours were brandished more than facts; people were interested in making their voices heard, more than in proffering any cogent action plan. She had heard it all many mornings on her way to work.
The sound of a car horn roused her from her musing, she looked around and saw people scrambling, shoving, and pushing their way into an already jam-packed molue. She watched them and shook her head helplessly. Molues seemed the only means of movement readily available, they ran on diesel and so were not affected by the petrol scarcity.
She had never commuted by Molue before, but right now, it looked like the only alternative, if she had to keep her appointment. She prayed the next one would not be as completely jammed as the last. “If I could just manage to get one leg on the running board....” she thought silently. Even getting on the bus was not necessarily the end of her agonies, for, stretched into the distance were long lines of crawly cars, despite the fuel scarcity.
Traffic Jam! That`s what it meant. She sighed; ''Double wahala!” In fact, to any newcomer in Lagos, the traffic situation is always a shocker. You can’t move about in Lagos without the fear of traffic jam, or ''go slow'' as it is aptly called here. To meet up with appointments; the fear of ''go slow'' gives you the wisdom to leave well ahead of time.
Naomi checked the time, 9:15 am; she couldn’t believe she had stood at the bus stop for over an hour. Her appointment was at 10 o'clock. Unless a miracle happened, it didn’t look feasible for her to get to Ebutte Meta in time. What would she do? This is an appointment she couldn’t afford to miss?
A deep car horn penetrated her consciousness once again; she looked to her left and saw a blue Mercedes Benz V-Boot stopped a couple of meters from where she stood. She looked around. Everyone was paying attention to the car, but the car’s single occupant appeared to be paying attention to her. She assumed the car stopped for her.
From where she stood, she bent slightly and peered inside the car. The man behind the wheel looked like an Alhaji; no mistaking the look, and the long cap. She straightened and ignored him. After some minutes, he drove off.
She had noticed whenever she stood at a bus stop, cars stopped to offer her a lift. But she always declined such kind gestures; it was not in her character to hop into cars with total strangers. She had to be cautious, a lot of evil things are happening in the country and she wouldn't want to be a victim.
However, in her present predicament, a second sense told her the best option would be to hitch a ride if she had to meet up with her appointment. She had to choose between her fears and her career. While still battling with the thought, a red Datsun Cherry car slowly crossed her line of vision, as she looked up, her eyes connected with that of the driver. He moved on a little and stopped. With a shrug she walked towards the car.
''Please, I am going to Apapa Road. I wonder…'' she stated tentatively.
The driver nodded silently and moved his briefcase to the back seat. She opened the door, entered and sat down with a grateful sigh. He drove off.
''Your fare is two thousand naira,'' the man behind the wheel said unexpectedly
''Two thousand what?'' Naomi exclaimed.
''Two thousand naira,'' he replied coolly, both hands on the wheel and eyes straight.
''Just from here to Apapa Road? That’s too much, even a chartered taxi wouldn't take that much,” she said with feigned indignation.
"You should know this is a private car, not a taxi or a ‘kabukabu', and that we are in the season of fuel scarcity."
Naomi almost blurted out that if she were to pay, then it is no more a private car because the meaning of kabukabu is when a private car operates for a fare as a taxi. Instead, she said, "Even at that, two thousand naira is simply going through the roof." She kept a straight face, to maintain the illusion of seriousness and not ruin what she suspected was a joke.
“Of this car?” The man asked, glancing at the roof of his car. “Nothing can go through the roof of this car, madam.”
Amused and at the same time grateful for the man's sense of humour that made her feel at ease, she relaxed back on the car seat.
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