I had refrained
ever to describe any day as my worst until last Friday. The week had slowly
wrapped up and I had to go back home for the weekends. My journey back home had
always been brief. I would usually pick up a passenger bus loading on the way
from Cape Coast to Accra. I heard the usual Accra!
Accra!! Accra!!! coming from a mouth that didn’t look promising but who cares? I
was headed home to enjoy the weekends. My genie granted my wish and I had a seat
at the front next to the driver. My journey had begun. Before I continue, let me share with you a little
secret why I would prefer to sit at the passenger seat in front when travelling;
first privilege is that, I hardly feel the speed of the fast-speeding bus,
secondly because I get to see everything that happens first-hand and in 3D whereas
those seated behind have their wild imaginations to contend with as they scream
the usual Driver! Tubu! Tubu!!
(Asking the driver to be patient and to drive carefully), to avoid the occurrence
of the bizarre pictures their imaginations were feeding them. I just smiled and
enjoyed the show.
The
journey was interrupted when the mate hit the side of the bus and screamed Wol3! Wol3!! (Originally a Ga word and an
adopted jargon to mean pick him/her up). The bus halted to pick up a
passenger. In most buses, the front had two passenger seats and the passenger
leapt in the empty seat next to me. There was something odd about him but I
just couldn’t tell what it was. As if to satisfy my suspicion, he took out a
knife and started chanting quite loudly, attempting to cut himself with the
knife in the act. He would chant louder (maybe
that was what my ear made me believe) and cut his skin harder but there was
still no sign of blood. The passengers behind were laughing deafeningly at a
Kojo Nkansah movie shown on the bus’s television while I was witnessing what
seemed to be a cult of some sort live and in HD. Anytime he attempted to cut
himself, I felt my blood ooze out generously on his behalf. I noticed the driver enjoying his overtaking competition with other equally interested drivers and
that was when it dawned on me that I was the strange passenger’s closest and
only audience. I had had enough and decided to alight at the next junction to
set myself free of this trauma but my economics lecturer always insisted that I
avoid impulse buying no matter what, only I couldn’t tell if he meant it
included cases of this sort. I brought my Jesus
closer to my lips and tried fervently to keep smiling back at him anytime he turned to
look at me so he finds a friend in me and spare me the luxury of sticking that
bloody knife in my innocent throat. Shortly aftterwards, my prayers got answered. The strange man alighted at the next junction. I felt the need to kiss the mate "thank you". I teased myself a little for mastering
cowardice but hey... even Hercules might have experienced a little bit of fear.
Another
passenger replaced him and this time round it was the sound of a bleating goat
that brought me back to reality. Passenger number 2 was journeying with the
goat under our seat with both of his legs chocking the throat of the goat. I
felt very uncomfortable by the acrid stench he and the goat shared, it was as
though they had taken a shower together. The goat was shouting for help while its
notorious hunter bleated (Matter-of-factly
both hunter and goat were bleating). My heart raced in fear any time I
heard the suffocating goat bleat. My legs shook and my clothes soaked with
sweat. I was thinking of the merciless beating the goat would subject us to if
it succeeded in setting itself free. In fact I felt my soul depart from me. I
heard an applause from behind as Kojo Nkansah continued to engage
them in his finesse in comedy and humor alike. I heard the popular bus stop!! The man with his newly-wedded but strangled goat
alighted. I had seen enough so I closed my weary eyes, said the Lord’s Prayer quietly, and allowed sleep
to bring out the best in me.
Approximately
fifteen minutes later I was awakened by a tender voice that prompted me that I
was snoring so loud. My God! She was a beauty! She had charming little eyes with
a neatly ironed face coupled with a rather cruel but likeable smile. I was embarrassed and wanted to alight. As if to worsen my plight she confidently told
me to avoid sleeping in the bus because the gates of my mouth flew open when I
did. Now I felt the need to weep but I didn’t. I sat quietly next to this
pretty face feeling like a bag of rubbish. I had seen it all and now I knew
nothing could be worse. We got to Kasoa and this pretty face alighted. I knew
she was beautiful but I cursed her under my breath, "Away with your ugly face!".
To prevent
any other passenger from joining in next to me, I sat in a way that occupied
both seats. This time we had no extra passenger so I thanked God and enjoyed
the journey. Few minutes into the journey, we picked up a woman who would be the
last of my temporal front row partners. She claimed she was a herbal doctor.
She pleaded with the driver and passengers for attention so she could market her
product. She spoke in twi and I cared
less because at least she was better than her predecessors who had occupied the
seat she now occupied. A young writer like myself enjoyed reading so I took out a
book titled ”Growing Up” and sank
deep into the waters of the captivating submissions of the various authors. I sank deeper.
Then I heard passenger number 4 take out a book and hand it out to me. She had
been telling the passengers about the various ailments her drug could cure and
asked that I read it out loud in English from the book as she could neither
read nor write. I love to read but for the first time I hated this reading
task. Everyone was looking at me with great expectations, eager to hear what the
English version of their ailments were. “Candidiasis
can be prevented by applying the leaves of…” I started out in a low and shy tone. I was
reading what I would term an embarrassing drama script as most of the ailments
captured in her book was pertaining to subjects women would want to keep secret
and discuss if at all, to their partners. I felt so ashamed. Then I heard
an elderly woman shout from behind “Gentleman
macho your voice!” You could imagine the look on my face. I raised my voice a little louder to
spill out information I wouldn’t even feel comfortable discussing with my
girlfriend. Suddenly, I heard the relieving “Last
stop!!”. I almost threw the book at the face of this self-acclaimed herbal
doctor as I sped out of the
bus and headed for the final bus home.
Strangely,
my genie again got me an empty seat at the front of the loading bus. This time, I
turned down the offer and dived into the behind of the vehicle. I immediately noticed a shabbily dressed man join in next to the passenger seated at the front. I smiled
at the torment the front row guy might witness. I sighed, said my prayers and laid my distressed
soul to a thirty-minute uninterrupted rest.
