Chronicles of an Oluyole JJC (2)

Unequally Yoked

Coming from the South-South part of the country where motorcycles had been banned in the major towns, it burgled my mind to see okada flying past the road with two persons stuffed at the back.

 

Sii! Ni bo?” the bike man with broken helmet signaled to me.  He had a passenger on the motorcycle. “Why you go dey ask me, ‘Ni bo? Werey!” I muttered as I walked through the walkway.

 

As if that wasn’t enough annoyance, another bike man was bellowing “Akpata! Akpata! Nibo?”  That was at Mokola Round About.

 

There was someone on the bike already and I was more startled when I saw other okadas with passengers at the back still looking out for more.

 

“Why them dey look for person when they already carry one?”  “Na so dem dey do for here?” were some of the questions that throbbed my innocent mind that cool dry November morning.

 

While inside the taxi, different bikemen drove by, carrying more than a passenger –some with a lady tucked in between the bikeman and the second passenger, others dropped a passenger on the way and continued with one passenger.

 

“Who carries two passengers who never knew themselves from Adam? Who does that?” I queried within. It was new to me and I swore to also partake in the communion as soon as I could.

 

I was running late to my destination that day and couldn’t wait for the MICRAN taxi to fully load –sometimes in IB, it could take eternity.

 

“High Court for Ring Road,” I answered the bike man who asked “Nibo?”  and sat on the bike, waiting for him to move the thing. One! Two! Three minutes! He was still on the spot scouting for a second passenger. My patience was already thinning faster than a conductor waiting to collect money bus passengers.

 

He started the bike reluctantly and we left after I insisted that I am paying for the full journey –me no get time to waste.

On the way, Ogbeni was still asking, “Ni bo?”  turning left and right like a hawk looking for its prey!

 

“Make you come down,” the bike man said after taking a narrow route. My heart melted like wax under the blazing sun; it ran faster than Usain Bolt.

 

He had picked another passenger along the way and I was in the middle.

 

“What if they arranged this and something happens to me? What if they kidnapped or robbed me and threw me out from the bike?”  I questioned myself.

 

“I wan piss, abeg!” the bikeman pleaded with us and rushed off to the other side of the road. We left afterwards and soon got to my destination and paid him off.

 

Recalling that event, as a newbie in IB, made me laugh! Anytime I board a bike, na me dey tell the bike man to wait if him go see another passenger join me so that the money go reduce. Hahaha!

 

In Ibadan, you don’t buy a flight ticket that you can enter the business class. You can enjoy your business class on a bike. If you enter alone, you are in the business class –just flag down a bikeman and tell him to go and you pay the whole fare without him “Ni boing” any passenger along the way.

 

Or if you’re too rich, there is the economy class where the bill has to be shared between two persons.

 

Don’t think that I cannot fly business class too, like the Otedolas of this world.  Fly your first class to Abuja. I too will take a fly a bike from UI to Iwo Road on first class. You fly plane on first, I fly bike on first class! All na fly; both first class!

NB: Part III, the last part comes same time tomorrow.

Emmanuel Egobiambu

A creative writer, editor and public affairs analyst skilled in research.

2 thoughts on “Chronicles of an Oluyole JJC (2)

  • May 18, 2017 at 9:41 pm
    Permalink

    Bss…. Mentor sir… Anytime u encounter the pen, miracles cone forth…
    Thumbs up sir!

    Splendid writ up

    Reply
    • May 19, 2017 at 8:34 am
      Permalink

      Thank you for the kind words, Vinson.

      Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge