Buses: The other side of luxury
By Ohanja Oluoja
ONE thing about the luxurious bus business, most notably those plying east-north, north-east routes, is that there are rarely any known competitors to it’s eastern dominated proprietorships. Ever heard of the clan fraternization of Nnewi town? Obviously well noted as the Ikemba’s home place as well as the mainstay of automotive parts dealership in Nigeria, whether imported originals, or ‘Ngbuka’ (i.e Belgium parts) or yet pre-fab copy technologies but the town’s flip characteristic is that it continues to reign as the haven of luxury buses ownership in the country, dare me and I’ll go to NARTOA to confirm Ekene Dili Chukwu hails from it and so too are all the latter estrangements of the lineage of proprietors in the business, since then to date, including of course de-young-shall-grow and emecheta, emecheta!
Noticeably, recently though, there has been a partial incursion of J-5 mini-buses into the scene, partial in the sense that these mainly carte fresh agro-cash crops of Northern farmers to ‘ogboewu’ formerly in Onitsha, while on their way back and in view of ever rising prices only engage in just a little ‘Igbuozu’ or ‘Cua-cua’ or ‘Jigil’ or yet ‘Kalabuleism’ as the term latterly applies in sister-state of Ghana!, and all that the parlance terms denote are that these guys practice or engage in “ijewurruu” to make a day’s success on the roads. Ask me why and I’ll go to NARTO to reaffirm!!
Currently however, Onitsha has been denied it’s terminal status in networking distribution of cash-crops around the east. The activities have now systematically relocated to Okwe in Asaba end of the Niger bridge. Ha ha ha the former tail-end is now “Head Bridge-Asaba’. Who says money does not relocate to where it’s blood-pressure would be in a little more check? Ask me and I’ll tell you that those Bakkassi kingpins whom may have ignited the previous Onitsha mayhem are now like biting helms of their dresses, because farms may be managed by shifting cultivation but not ever garages. Moreover, markets, once shifted is shifted for good and dear avid, could that be why Chief Ibori sneaks off his palatial government House to carry out personal surveillance on the rising economic suburb? And please don’t let him know I let the cat out but last week, we almost touched noses on the high way, only that he blew past in a sleek hummus and I flew by in a neat ‘copter, but for the highway KERBS oh! All the same, I thank ‘anebi’ for the close shave!!
So now was this sombre evening at the garage and I’d concluded due arrangements to acquiring duly my attach tickets, mark you sir, attach seats were never discussed until a sellent of the main seats, but then if wishes were horses and horses were actually the hooved Bearts they were, then how’s the expected sellent of main seats to occur so regularly if not by pipe-dreaming?
I’ve just hinted on J-5 incursion into Onitsha –Kano bound passenger freighting, like I did also hint on the last Onitsha – Bakassi mayhem and consequently the sudden shift of “Ogboewu-garage-market” to Okew-Headbridge and emecheta, emecheta and someone’s still talking about main seats sell out before the attach seats. Well brother ‘a kan maganan gaskiya ko?’ I certainly make no bones about my buying attaché seat, not that I loathe comfort or rather luxury, but if not for the reasons of prices which ever fluctuates because ‘paatrol’ prices raised the day before yesterday, like it raised again, yesterday and had risen yet again earlier today, but then for anything else but for provision of decency in the buses, I beg your pardon dear avid, I mean decency by every ramifications in meaning.
So then Hajia had arrived the garage in a usual hooded attire of ankle length gown, a necklace mostly concealed under a severely light silky-veil. She bore just one neatly cut-to-size ‘portmanto’, as beg ya pardon, called up a dicko would that spell a little unfamiliar.
Then her other luggages ofcourse consisted of simple ladies hand-bag which strapped to a side of the upper bossom but please don’t allege me just yet of so much “eyes drooling” because occasions there are, that even without the slightest reflex response of a glimpse but a speck of a moments reaction to an attractive reflection would just be o.k enough, to register memorable scenarios in the human ‘mendulla’.
Ha, ha, ha! no wonder, one day a mulatto told me whether you no get ‘mendollo’. I almost got thinking she meant whether we no get president, as beg ya pardon I go soon shut up! Now for this recalcitrant habit of mentally ‘camcoding’ garage scenerios, you see, the truth’s that it theaterises the typical realism of the Nigeria federalism where every man is of his tribe, but the Naira must re-spell for Nigeria, aa-beg-ya-pardon, is someone getting the logistics?
So then the newly entered ‘Portmanto’ carrying madame acquired her tickets and made to locate her assigned number in the stream of posh seat-rows within the buss. Now again dear arid, better be warned once more that in the bus, don’t go relying your mental intuitions on persons these days, merely by outward appearances, for one, there appear to be even well lettered guys cooperating the garages, ho, ho, still wish the horses were actually hooved and secondly, always braze it out and let spades be spade or trowels, trowels!, but you’d need to see the boys at a gyration, never encountered a livelier open field carnival, talk about sell-outs, that one show them at upper-Iweka.
Now entered Hajia, Portmanto in one arm, tickets in the other, and scanning the rows from one to the next but not lucky enough to have to come to her allocation so easily. She reached this impeccably dressed guy occupying an axle in one of the seat rows, and sensing his derminative aura and utter pompous disposition, she simply showed on her portmanto, thus enabling her smoother asses through the rank of the reat-rows, she proded until she eventually arrived the very last where we were, aa mean, nearly every one of us on attaché, but merely temporarily restive until bonafide occupants to the rows arrived, and each person perhaps retreated to his point of attaché.
‘Sanunku’ the madame greeted subconsciously displaying a speek of a moments revelation of a golden incisor in her upper dentition. We returned her greeting, and she officially, and or formally requested if someone could assist her locate her seat number. Well l’d offered to do just so, and retrieving the tickets off her grip, at the same slumping an heart beat, her ticket wasn’t asking I relinquish our occupied back-bench row. However too, like I’d earlier indicated, I make no bones about my attaché options. So I understudied the document in my possession, only to discover it would be clearer sorting back-down the way she’d just come. So on we went, each by each, we searched out the seat numbers until we thumb-printed her’s, just above the head of this extremist-seclussionist, so-full-of-himself kind of character.
‘Ora ascuse sa…’ I alerted his overly possessive self-consciousness “Yes can I help you…?” He reverberated frowning.
“ehn na madame number you siddon…”
“How’s it ya concern? You nko where’s ya seat… ndia alla…”
‘Oga, aa beg no be say na fight, we es-spirit-de corps…” I replied in practiced gentleness.
‘You, you’re a corper? he fired back almost rising to his feet and pointing offensively.
“Common agberuu like you, calling himself a corper dan Allah kafara hanya, corper … ha, ha, ha!!!
We simply stared at him silently as he acted his soliloguay but just then another voice broke losse form the rear “bark dog condusses bark dog”, the cripple on coller-wheels whom too shared one of the back-bench chairs called out. He acted so familiarly with nearly every person around the garage, but mutedly enough he had a ticket in his possession and so his seat was his seat. More over, as the times trickled by, just before Hajia’s arrival, he was nearly the envy of every male presence around the immediate environ as he chatted excitedly with a lady compassion whom fed a baby in her arms. How related they were, I wouldn’t tell, but they were quite a marvel to observe.
“Back dog, back dog…” the voice echoed again. Soon the Bus’s back door glided open and there was a sudden eruption of a swarm of persons and goods all scampering to gain assess into the Bus through the open back door. The horns in front hooted simultaneously, a warning signal to eventual embarkation! Mr. ‘neatly-clad’ guiretly and simply frisked underneath the occupied chair, his arms remerging moments afterwards with a dry-cell powered public address apparatus.
“Ladies and gentulumen…” he opened up with the P.A. “..when eeman bros, siddon for chair o e. put im arm for jaw, wetin dey worriam o! e nefer sell at all…
Ladies and gentulumen eeman bros products na di best, eeman bros medicated soap, e.no get rival, eeman bros bodi lotions, e.no get deputy. The man shifted out of the seat row adjusting a strapped brief case across his shoulders and half-minding, half un-minding our embarrassed standing presence. He seared into the Bus and Hajia took her place while I’d relieved her of the portmanto to have its shoved into the suspended shelving above. Dare, I motioned to return to the rear “..To na gode mallam… “She greeted calmly.
“Ki yi zamman lafia Hajia…” I’d replied immediately, navigating my return to the rear. Of course, with Hajia’s characteristic composure and compact luggage size, I shouldn’t requirer a second knower to infer she was due for a sombre voyage, believably to sandi Arabia, for the holy pilgrimage.
“Yes, yes, every person, ya tickets out..” it was the conductor taking over the stage now.
“Yes, yes,…” he announced again as he scrutinized paper pieces, seat to seat. I too equally had mine, on the rendy.
Finally, aa beg ya pardon, dear arid, the likes of eeman bros, whom either hawked or preached some length into the Bus’s voyour neither worked with the Bus nor bought tickets but under a certain kind of gainful arrangee with the Bus captain, conducted their affairs in transit, for passengers cash exchange.
Ha, ha, ha!!! aren’t these mobile markets a challenge to Mr. President’s cautioning, that commuters travel with minimum cash in hand, but may they not patronize to see how smooth the journey rides…? Ha, ha, ha, Africa, my Africa..?