There's a popular Nigerian slang used to describe people who aren't street smart or a wealthy man's child who is ignorant of what everyday children face- Ajebutter. I remember vividly, about eight years ago, I was preparing for my SAT exams, which we call WAEC in Nigeria. It stands for West African Examination Council. I was perceived as a big boy, so my parents allowed me to travel by myself to school. My exams weren't going to start for a few weeks, so I planned to stay at my family house, where my grandparents lived for a short while. The night before I travelled from Ogun State to Lagos, my parents gave me a guide on which buses to board and some Lagos tricks to watch out for the bad boys methods of robbing and kidnapping. They also warned me not to let even police officers put their hands in my pocket or search my belongings without me being present. It's well known how the Nigerian police sometimes plant fake evidence of drugs or weapons during searches as a ploy to extort people.
The journey started from Otta, Ogun State, where I boarded a bus to Iyana-Ipaja. I tried to keep a straight face in the bus, but a woman beside me could tell instantly that this one was Ajebutter. I was holding my phone carelessly by the window, and she advised me to be careful that thugs could slap me while the bus was moving and steal my phone. I quickly gripped my phone tight to avoid a sad story. Hours passed sitting in that bus, the traffic jam was frustrating, coupled with the terrible driving of the Danfo driver. I wasn't familiar with Google Maps at that time to track how far I was from where I'd get down. I thought I was still far from Iyana-Ipaja, but apparently, the bus had moved past where I was supposed to alight and board the next one. As an Ajebutter, I was scared to ask the passengers beside me where we were. My instincts told me if I kept shut, I'd definitely get lost. So I mustered up the courage to ask a woman in the front seat if we were close to Iyana-Ipaja. Nigerians are dramatic people; someone immediately shouted, '
Ah, a ti kó ja tipe tipe, a tà fe de Oshodi',
Meaning: 'We passed Iyana-Ipaja long ago, we'll soon get to Oshodi.'
At that moment, my face just turned white. Instead of Iyana-Ipaja, I had found myself heading to Oshodi. I was confused and didn't know what to do. Different scenarios started playing in my mind: What would I tell my parents if they called and asked where I was? What if I couldn't find my way and someone stole me? An elderly man sitting behind me by the window noticed my confusion. He reached out, held my hand and said,
Relax, when you get to Oshodi, you can still board a bus going to Ejigbo.
He probably overheard me mention my destination when I spoke to the woman in front. When he said those words, it felt like a huge weight was lifted from my heart. I was already standing, ready to jump out of the bus, but those words calmed me. I sat back down and waited until the bus ended its journey at Oshodi and parked properly at the garage. After that encounter, something shifted. That scared boy who didn t want to talk to strangers and was frightened of the road surprisingly transitioned to someone who could do anything. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the whole bus scenario or not, but I felt different. For the rest of the journey, I made sure to ask questions whenever the road seemed unfamiliar or I wasn't sure where to board a bus. Of course, I made sure the people I spoke to didn't look suspicious. If I needed help, I would ask bus drivers at the park or attendants at a fuel station. I eventually got myself to Ejigbo in one piece. I called my parents but definitely didn't tell them about my encounter. Knowing my parents, they would never stop talking about it. The mockery from my parents and siblings alone would have led to uncontrollable tears, LOL In summary, that small encounter taught me to network. Networking in that small sample space (the bus) would have saved me a lot of stress and high blood pressure.
Thank you for reading ♥
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Yoruba to English Translation by Me
Non-Fictional Story