On the Road to Makurdi: Episode 2 (The Stranger on the Bus) BY SHARON SALU

I wasted no time pinging and subsequently chatting with
her. It was such a relief to read her reply.  And that was
how we started chatting back and forth.
Then, we graduated to sending each other voice notes.
I remember the first time I sent her one of those. All I
said was:
"Hi, Sewuese … I hope I pronounced your name
properly.  Emmmm … Just wanted to say wassup and see
how this thing works."
This thing referred to BBM's Voice Notes, a feature I had
neglected until I met Sewuese.
Within five minutes, she replied with a voice note:
"Hey, you butchered my name! Is that what you people do
in Lagos?"
Then, she ended it with a laugh.
It sounded more like a peal of bells to my ears, a
wonderful sound, quite unlike any I had ever heard
before.  It was not just her voice, but the power in her
voice that I found surprising. There was an unrestrained
carefreeness that matched the flow of her written words.
She corrected me in a subsequent voice note, taking her
sweet time to teach me how to pronounce her name
properly.
Then, we graduated to the phone call stage.  We would
even have tried Skype but she kicked against it, telling me
in plain words:
"I won't make it easy for you.

You can already hear my
voice and chat with me in the comfort of your own
room. But if you want to see my face … Ah! That one is
not free o!"
It was during that particular conversation, barely a week
after the first voice note that we first discussed my
coming to visit her in Makurdi.
There was never a question of who would come and see
who. I knew it would be me going to see her and not the
other way round. We came to agree that I would visit
her in a couple of weeks.
So, I made several inquiries and finally decided to visit
Makurdi by road. The decision to travel at night,
however, was not entirely voluntary.  It was a decision I
made as soon as I discovered that the journey would take
12 to 13 hours by road. I did not want to travel by day
and arrive at night. No, I wanted to arrive in Makurdi
during the day to capture in my mind a city I had never
visited before.
Since I had no intention of staying at a hotel, I called
around a few of my friends in Lagos to find out if they
had relatives, friends or generally, non-enemies I could
stay with while I was in Makurdi. The plan was to leave
Lagos on Thursday night, arrive on Friday morning and
after resting, spend the rest of Friday and Saturday with
Sewuese, and then return back to Lagos on Sunday.
My friend, Daniel, who had served in Gboko, a smaller
town in Benue State, for his national youth service, had a
few friends who lived in that part of the country.
Thankfully, he hooked me up with a friend who lived in
Makurdi. His name was Luke Abanyam, a young
businessman who had been married for less than six
months to his wife, Hannah.
When I spoke with him over the phone, I joked with him
that with so many biblical names between him and his
wife, I felt like a heathen for not bearing a similar name.
However, I offered to be christened "Paul" while I was
their guest. Luke simply laughed, waving my offer aside
and said he preferred to call me by my own name:
Bolawa.
After sorting out my living arrangements as well as other
details like what to do when I got to the bus park, I simply
counted down the days till my departure for Makurdi.  I
could hardly contain my excitement.
The day when Sewuese finally told me her last name,
"Uchi," was one day before my trip to Makurdi. She had
refused to even send me her picture, despite repeated
pleas, and was not on Facebook. So, I just had to be
patient to meet her in person.
As I packed my bag the following day, doubts assailed my
mind.
Was this girl even worth the trip?
Traveling at night was risky and I was crossing several
states to meet a woman I had never seen. I had to trust
that everything she had told me about herself was true;
that she was a 24-year old graduate of Ahmadu Bello
University, Zaria where she studied Civil Engineering.
Apart from her university education, she had spent most
of her life in Makurdi. She had two sisters and a twin
brother who she kept saying she wished I could meet.
She talked freely about all her family members, but not
him. For some reason, he was off limits. I decided to
add Sewuese's twin brother to the list of things I wanted
to discuss with her in person.
I went to the bus park in Oyingbo as planned and
boarded a bus going to Makurdi/Gboko.  The bus was not
a very big one: there were just about twenty of us there,
minus the driver and conductor. I chose a seat at the
very back because that was the one of the remaining two
seats left. The bus was a white one with several bumper
stickers precariously placed everywhere but the actual
bumper of the bus, completing the typical road transport
adornment.
As I took my seat, after putting away the single travelling
bag I carried, I surveyed the other passengers, the people
I was going to spend the next 12 or so hours with in this
small, but fairly comfortable space.
The driver, called "Captain," was a man who looked like
he could singlehandedly knock the senses out of any thug
who dared to cross his path. He looked more like a heavy
weight boxer than a bus driver.  But knowing how varied
and colorful the life of a bus driver could be, I would
certainly not have been surprised to learn that he was a
bus driver at day, and a boxer at night.
Or at least when he was not driving.
He looked to be in his mid-40s and the sharp way he
looked around, coupled with his red eyes, suggested that
he had taken a few hot drinks before getting behind the
wheel.  In his world, drinking and driving was perfectly
normal.  None of the passengers questioned or even
challenged him.
The conductor, on the other hand, was a lean, sprightly
young man who looked to be a teenager.  Just like the
driver, he came equipped with a sharp tongue.
As we waited for the bus to fill up, I took a quick survey
of my co-passengers. From where I sat, I could not see
their faces. Just the backs of their heads.  But, I could
easily tell the men apart from the women just by looking
at their heads. There were women whose heads were
adorned with elaborate hairstyles and not-so-elaborate
ones, a few people wearing clothes that would have
infuriated the fashion police, and of course, there was the
occasional woman in an ankara outfit.
Typical passengers. Nothing special about them.
I could not suppress my excitement and I wondered:
Can they tell? Do they know what I'm going to do in
Makurdi?
While the thought still lingered in my mind, the bus
conductor shut the door, and a few of us prayed before
the bus hit the road.
For the first few hours, I could not see much, and I
honestly wondered how our driver could see at all. But,
he skillfully navigated the roads, many of them ridden
with potholes right in the middle of the highway. I kept
wondering why I had not just taken a flight from Enugu
or some other location and then taken a bus to Makurdi
from there. This journey was taking its toll on my body.
When we reached the outskirts of Ondo state, the driver
jumped out of the bus and disappeared into the bush for
a bathroom break. He was gone for more than 30
minutes.  I began to think that we would stop there for
the night, but thankfully I was wrong.
Just before the driver returned, another passenger
entered the bus. Nobody seemed to mind, as they did not
complain. Neither did the driver nor the conductor.
They must have had a prior arrangement to pick him up
at that location, but I still found it very strange.
"I hope this guy is not an armed robber," I thought to
myself as I studied him closely, where he sat beside me.
The guy looked to be in his early 20s with haggard
features, but he had a very calming presence and when
he smiled or pursed his lips, little dimples appeared in his
cheeks.
He caught me staring at him and I looked away more
than a little embarrassed. That was when he introduced
himself.
"My name is Anthony, but you can call me Tony for
short," he said, flashing a benevolent smile and
extending his hand at the same time.  I took his hand and
instantly, I felt a warm, tingling sensation all over my
body, as if someone had just poured warm water laced
with mint, on me.
What just happened?
Nothing looked different, so I just shrugged it off. Maybe
I was just tired. Or maybe it was a reaction to the cool,
night breeze, wafting in through the windows.
Whatever …
Tony had deep-set eyes, but even in the dim light of the
bus, I could tell that his eyes were red, like the eyes of a
person who had been crying for a long time. But, I did
not ask him about tears. No. I asked him the next best
question.
"Tony, do you have Apollo?"
He just laughed and mumbled something about the
weather and being awake for too long.
"I understand, Tony," I said, genuinely. "I myself left
straight from work.  So, I'm tired too, but it's all for a
good cause."
"Really?" he asked, looking very interested. "Tell me
more."
And I did.
All my parents' advice from childhood, to never talk to
strangers, had apparently been dumped in Lagos before
we got on the road. Now, as the bus rode towards
Makurdi, I shared my secret with a stranger.
I had been itching to talk to someone about Sewuese and
it appeared that Tony was the right person.  I told him
about Sewuese, and how I met her. He did not seem
surprised about the BBM thing or that I was travelling
from the West to what was known as the Middle Belt, to
meet this girl in person. In fact, I thought Tony was just a
good listener, but as time progressed, he turned out to be
full of good advice too.
"Have you thought about what you'll do after meeting
her?" he asked, in a very serious tone.  "You know this is
essentially a long-distance relationship, right?"
"Yes o, bros," I replied.  "But no … I mean … I haven't
really thought that far. I've been so focused on meeting
her that I haven't really made any plans beyond that
moment."
"Well, you should. You guys have already connected on
an emotional and intellectual level, from what you've told
me, but this meeting … Is it purely physical? What if you
don't like what you see?"
"Bros, I don't know o. I think what we have right now,
trumps any potential disappointment in the physical
attraction department."
"In English, please!" said Tony, laughing at my choice of
words.
"If I was only interested in a physical relationship, I
could have picked any of these Lagos babes, you know.
They're readily available and easily accessible.  But, I've
never met anyone like Sewuese.  I doubt that something
as flimsy as what she looks like will destroy what we
have."
I meant those words, but even as I uttered them, I could
not help wondering about the other question that was still
hanging in the air: how would we build a successful
relationship that transcended the distance between Lagos
and Makurdi?
I did not know the answer, but like all the other things I
did not want to worry about, I pushed it into the far
recesses of my mind.
Meanwhile, our conversation shifted, for the time being
to politics, sports and all the stuff guys in their 20s can
talk about in such a short span of time.  Our gist even
expanded to video games and in each topic of discussion,
I was shocked at how little I knew, compared to this guy.
I had to ask him at some point, what he did for a living.
He seemed very reluctant to talk about himself, but he
mentioned that he read a lot of books and that the
internet was full of information nowadays. He was on
his way to Makurdi to visit a relative. That was all he
told me.
When I tried to press him for more information, he said:
"My life is dry, believe me. Yours is more interesting."
After that, I gave in to the lull of sleep and drifted off to
la-la land. Being a very heavy sleeper, I did not wake up
at any of the other stops and in fact, only woke up when I
felt the warm rays of the sun on my face. I opened my
eyes and caught sight of the rising sun. Tony was wide
awake. I don't think he slept at all.  He said:
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I nodded in assent, simultaneously yawning. I looked at
the time. 6:48am.
How much longer? I wondered.
"Just a few more hours," said Tony, in response to my
thoughts. "Meanwhile, enjoy the sunrise. Don't take it
for granted."
I knew we were nearing Benue State when I started
seeing more cars with the license plates proudly
announcing, "The Food Basket State."
Eventually, we entered Benue State, got to Makurdi and I
got down from the bus to fetch my bag. Tony, who was
following closely behind me, was telling me he needed to
call someone, and went in search of a recharge card seller
at the motor park. By the time I retrieved my bag, I did
not see him.
So, I asked my fellow passengers, if they had seen the
young man who sat at the back of the bus with me. They
looked puzzled and one by one, they said the same thing:
no one else sat at the back of the bus, apart from me.
"You were the only one in the back o," a tall, heavy set
man, said. "No one else entered this bus."
"Wait, Oga, there must be some mistake," I insisted,
alarm rising in my voice.  "I said there was a guy … Tony
… tall, like this," I said, using my hands to describe
Tony's height to him.
"My friend, you must have been dreaming o …" he said,
walking away quickly.
I stood there looking and feeling very stupid. Was this a
dream?
Strange. Very strange.
Then, I took my inquest to the driver and conductor.
Same story.
"Ah, Ogbeni, abi you dey craze?" the conductor began. "I
talk say nobody enter this bus for Ondo …"
I decided to drop the matter.  Maybe I had dreamt the
whole thing. After all, I was quite tired when I got on the
bus the night before.
"It must have been a dream …"
That was what I told myself over and over again, because
the alternative theory was not one my mind was ready to
accept.
                  – to be continued –