Ibadan: A city full of comic relief – My 40-minute experience!


    By Olansile Ajetunmobi Umar (OAU) – Saturday 16th September, 2017: 10: 18a.m.
    It’s a dull Friday evening and the noise-making short pedal of my wristwatch danced to the hours of fifteen minutes to five. Waiting endlessly for about fifteen minutes on a single spot with no sign of any white Ibadan locomotor enroute my destination, I was forced to be a gentle guest of this Ajumose Bus that honourably soft-pedalled in front of me as if it’s an oracle who had seen my psychological torture at the terminus- I needed to leave the spot because of the pregnant sky which was about to weep. You know I am not really good at singing lullaby, if peradventure the cloud begins to cry. At this juncture, I had no choice than to board this Agégé bread-like bus, even if I had to spend 40 minutes on a trip of just 15-20 minutes. After all, 40 minutes was finally spent. Imagine! Just from UI to Ojà-Oba ooooo.
    Asùnlè was the first stop where the drama began. In fact, Ibadan people don’t take last- òrò yìí náàni! “À b’órí yín wá burú ní?” was the response from two dark Ankara-wearing men. It landed on my ear in two different serious tonal lashes. Why the rhetoric, you might wonder? The #30 ticket meant for their destination was given to them for #50. Without any reply from the driver, his conductor and his female ticket-issuer, the two men finally kept mute like a deserted cemetery in a tick forest. As I was smiling silently, another voice struck from the man behind the wheel like a thunderstorm in the dry season. ” J’érù è sílè” rented the air from the driver. The load belonged to this young woman whose first utterance was to abuse the driver when he told her not to drop the load where she did. At this time, I began to enjoy my stay in the bus, though, I continued to check the enemy on my wrist. But to confess, boarding the Ajumose Bus was like a divine intervention. After all, without it, this experience wouldn’t have been shared. I sha kept mute, observing and jotting on my black, but functional toy.
    Before the bus zoomed out, all sorts of stinky body odour took batons from one another. In fact, the face of one beautiful lady in front of me and mine met about three times, for no other reason than the smells. She had a handkerchief on her nose, but I had none. This time was hellish for me, to be candid.
    As the bus moved, another man who was not privileged to sit because he was a late comer, uttered with confidence, “London gan-an, won ò gba wèrè.”  As if the man had been to London before, another utterance from his oral cavity struck my cerebellum that he’s a Facebook Londoner. Another man even complemented my silent conclusion with, “àwōn elòmíì gan-an, won è kúò ní’lu baba won….” To show how serious he was, he smiled alongside his friend.
    At exactly 5:30p.m., we finally got to our last bus stop. If not for the Màpó Hall, I wouldn’t have known it’s time I alighted. Honestly, a 40-minute ride in an Ajumose Bus can be a comic relief! Mine was!