Being a road user isn’t an easy thing especially in the rural parts of our community, where there are no good roads. Potholes are like open mouths, and during rainy seasons, we have the potholes filled with water.
But that morning, I had no choice. Mama had called, saying Papa was sick again. I grabbed my bag and set off. I hopped on arriving at noon, so I boarded any vehicle that was available which happened to be Baba Lani's old truck
That truck was a monster. Its paint had long peeled off, and it groaned like a dying cow every time it moved. Most people in the village called it "the ugly truck." And truly, it was. Ugly and loud. The kind of truck that made kids laugh and goats scatter when it roared down the road.
But Baba Lami’s ugly truck had something the fancy cars didn’t, it could survive anything.
Halfway through our journey, a heavy rain broke out. The muddy road ahead had swallowed a small salon car already. The passengers stood helpless, staring at their wheels stuck in the mess.
I suggested we turn back.
But Baba Lami smiled and patted his steering wheel. “No worry. This truck no dey fear mud.”
And just like that, the truck growled forward, wobbling and spitting mud like a wild beast. It shook and squeaked, but it pushed on. I held my breath the whole time. Soon after, we made it.
That day, I got home on time. Papa smiled weakly when he saw me. I cooked him some pepper soup and sat by his side. And while I was there, I thought of that ugly truck; the one people laughed at, the one nobody liked to ride in. It was ugly as for but it got the job done.
Thanks for reading
@ritaetim