IFEATU'S BUS CHRONICLES: THE YELLOW BUS IS A BATTLEFIELD PREPARATORY ARENA

One of the things you won't be told about sleeping on a Sunday night while listening to Bradley Cooper and Gaga's Shallow is that you will be waking to a blaring alarm and the busy Lagos roads on a Monday.

It had rained the previous night. The weather is obviously cold. Take a bike and you will alight with your teeth clattering while your body shivers. So, you take a bus with a mind ready to tackle whatever lurks on the road.

The road is abnormally free. I am still wondering If I slept past Monday into a Tuesday.

The passengers are all calm till a lanky guy dressed in brown chinos, a cream coloured shirt to match and black heavy boots makes his way into the bus to sit by me.

He has his earphones tucked in his ears.

"Yes?" The conductor says in his hoarse voice after a couple of minutes. The young man casts a rather blank gaze at him and continues to listen to whatever was tingling his ears from the speaker of his phone.

"Yes?" uttered by a bus conductor in a Lagos bus is certainly not an affirmation. It's an urging for you to dip your hands in your pocket and pay your fare. Call it an undocumented culture and you won't be far from the truth.

Clearly, the young man was new in town. "You have to tell me to pay and not say yes," he tries to correct the conductor in his Hausa mingled accent. His English is clean and sleek with a lace of that recognizable Hausa smear. It's the way educated northerners speak, I have heard it countless times from the fine broadcasters on NTA, from my friends Muaz and Abdul. Everytime, I hear it, I recognize it.

My gaze stray to his fingers. They are well groomed just about the way our northern brothers would. I have a hidden ability of stating where people originate from by looking at their fingers.
Weird thing, I know but it's true.

"E funmi owo joor," the conductor yells from the corner of the bus where he hangs his plump tall frame like the flag poles you would effortlessly spot at embassies and consulates.

"Excuse me, I will give you. Your bus is tight," Mr Northern brother replies with slight irritation.

Brother Conductor was slightly not going to keep calm without a fight. He cursed and swore in Yoruba and 'Mr Polished Northern Brother' cursed right back in English and Hausa.

The driver, an elderly man had been quiet all the while.

"Him go give you, leave am," he urged his conductor. We ride amidst the passengers murmuring about who was at fault and who wasn't while I was scoring the two 'bus titans.'

"Eko Hotel o wa o," Mr Northern Brother informs the driver. The bus gets to the gate of the popular Eko Hotel, makes an abrupt halt and he alights handing his fare to the conductor.

The conductor has an angry look on his face but I have my scores. There was no point of putting up a fight. If they made an attempt to fight, Mr Nothern brother would grind those tiny toes of the conductor with the sole of this 'caterpillar boots'.

Nothern Brother 1 Vs Conductor 0 .

A letter from John

My bucket hat donned my head. It served the scorching sun right, my scalp was not one to be burnt for no offense. I relaxed my tired body against the board of the trawler. James yelled at me, "Don't just sit there and watch I and father. We will still catch some fishes, you can't just lose hope",he seemed to say. I peered at him through the corner of my eyes and closed them again. I felt cold water being sprinkled on me and I jerked up. It was father, I had no choice but stand up and join James.. I was not a man who wanted too many things. All I wanted was to catch some fishes yet the little things kept hiding and refusing to walk into the loving embrace of my fishing net. I may not desire many things but I sure desired to be loved not the kind of erotic love some of those Samaritan women would profess to men who lust after whore mongering. I sought for a love that was pure and chaste. A type that I couldn't even explain. I sought to be loved deeply by G...

WHY I WON'T BE BUYING ANYTHING AGAIN FOR A LIFETIME

Heads up, people! Walking into a shop to purchase an item does not look appealing to me anymore. This is one of my decisions for the new year being that if something is not worth it then there is no point buying it especially trying to impress another fellow. I have chosen to stick to buying experiences rather 'things.' One of my observation is that experiences cannot be stolen or compromised. They stick like your gum sap sticks to a tree. So maybe before you buy that expensive Emporio Armani wristwatch or Jimmy Choo shoes, it might be imperative to checkmate if there are experiences that same amout can buy you. Don't get me wrong, it is as clear as crystal that you need to shop for clothings, food, phones or luxury from time to time but bear in mind that your happiness can't be tied to any item. That vibe you get is nothing but a fleeting one . “One of the enemies of happiness is adaptation,” Thomas Gilovich reveals. “We buy ...

Mrs Woobag

Call her Woobag! He wooed her to make her a bag Whose mouth has been gagged A slum bag filled with punches Wearied with abuses in bunches Despised punching bag! Lengthy love letters turned assassination letters Man-handled by the man who gave her love's handle Love remains blind till it gains sight Woobag's face tells the story when his fury kindle Who will bring you down from that scary height? Fair face turned blue Kicks and slaps await you on a queue Upon your monster's punch tune You disappear in a ruin Your monster The master in feminine batter Who like a lobster Clinched your soul with claws till it splatter Your phlegm-trickling nose seeds Watch the master's deeds Innocence robbed Will there ever be a refund? Woobag! You await the right time and cry in a bag You may not become an old hag Till your bridled tongue you wag.

JENNIE IFEATU

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