Jollof Rice and Other Revolutions by Omolola Ijeoma Ogunyemi

Author:Omolola Ijeoma Ogunyemi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-08-12T00:00:00+00:00

Last Stop, Jibowu

2005

NONSO

Nonso’s tailbone was sore from smashing into exposed seat springs. She shifted her weight onto her right side as her cousin Dibia coaxed his shuddering jalopy forward. They were heading to the bus stop where she’d catch a Delta Lines minibus from Anioma-Ukwu to Lagos. The exhaust pipe of Dibia’s ancient Opel emitted a repulsive put-put sound as it spewed dark, foul smoke into the clear morning air. Earlier in the year, Nonso had wired Dibia a considerable amount of money from New York, enough to replace the Opel with a much newer car, if he’d chosen, but it seemed he’d found other, better uses for her generous gift.

Eleven people were waiting at the stop already, a few still bleary-eyed from cutting their sleep short to catch the first bus out. Nonso grabbed her Samsonite carry-on, aware of how obscenely clean it appeared in comparison with the bulging Ghana-must-go bags her fellow travelers had piled up in preparation for the trip. She removed a tattered American Airlines name tag from the suitcase’s handle, stuffing it deep in her jeans pocket, next to the receipt for the minibus ride that said “Delta Lines, Anioma-Ukwu, Delta State. Destination: Jibowu, Lagos State. February 24, 2005.” The driver loaded the minibus with bags, cassava tubers, two jerry cans filled with palm oil, giant snails strung together by their striped brown shells, and a large bunch of green plantains.

Nonso watched in bemusement as a fellow passenger’s black plastic bag began to jerk and squawk. The owner, a fiftyish woman in the middle of an animated conversation with a younger woman, paused mid-sentence, reached into the squawking bag, exposing the red-combed head and scrawny brown-feathered neck of a chicken, and gave it a sharp rap. The bird, dazed by this rude response, fell silent and still, meekly accepting a return to the now preferable confines of the bag. Across from the woman with the chicken, two little girls, five and six years at the most, were playing a clapping game. They sang in hushed tones so as not to arouse the wrath of their mother:

Babangida jump up, one naira fall

Uchenna take am, go buy chewing gum

Babangida call am, Uchenna come

Babangida slap am, Uchenna cry

Linking their skinny arms, they danced at this last bit, and Nonso smiled, remembering similar songs and games she’d played with friends as a child. She looked around to see an elderly woman waiting with a boy who looked about nine years old. He was staggering away from the woman with his arms stretched out, cursing her loudly any time she tried to help him. From their conversation, Nonso gathered his blindness was recent and somehow the woman’s fault.

Nonso inhaled deeply, fascinated by her fellow passengers, now surer than ever that her decision to take a shared bus back to Lagos was the right one. Her older brother and his driver had brought her from Lagos to see her parents. He’d offered to send the driver to pick her up for her trip back but she declined.

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