Travelogs, Travelogues. Like Potato, Potato. 🤪

My travelogue is two days late, forgive me.😔 I've been really lazy with writing. I'd rather use prompts than write stuff out fully. It must be the indefinite strike and quarantine thingy but we overcome! Hallelujah!😄

Mind you, my journey from Lagos to Bayelsa was pretty uneventful but Timi (co-writer of SanyaGirls blogspot) says I make boring interesting so, take it from her. Find the sweetness in this.

***

06:10 a.m.

My roommate and I put all our stuff on the bed. It's going to be a 3-week break so there's no need to take everything back to our homes, right? I say my byes soon after and dash out of the house with my backpack on, my travelling bag in hand and a fancy bag with my favourite Beloxxi crackers and a bottle of water.

There are no bikes on Obadina street by this time which is weird. If it were a normal day I'd hear their horns that sound like rubber ducks in my sleep but today that I have to be at the bus station early, they're nowhere to be found. I begin to walk.

I walk past Eletu-Odibo High School and Reneca Pharmacy before my hands hurt, Bayelsa pikin no dey carry last. I put my travelling bag on my head (don't give me the look, nobody was watching. LOL) I walk to Abule-Oja junction by Miniso and wait for a bus. Two minutes. Five minutes, there's none. What?! In this Lagos? A bus to Yaba? A bike stops in front of me.

"God is Good."

"300."

"Which kin 300? Abeg 200." I'm nice na. 🙄

"Police say make we no dey go that side. Madam 300, make we dey go."

"Oya 250," that's my wimpy attempt at haggling.

Seems the bikeman is upset because he hisses loudly and zooms off. Haha. Abeg jare. I don't care. Well, I do. I need to get to the God Is Good Terminal at Jibowu before 6:35.

Pim! Pim!

What's with Lagos vehicles and their horns that sound either croaky or like whispers? I'll investigate that one day. Now, there's an almost empty bus slowing down. I run to it minding my bags. There's a market woman, a young boy, an old lady. Aha, safe. I get on quickly. Jibowu, N50. God is Good. Literally.

6:32 a.m.

I'm walking to the God Is Good terminal and fighting to get my bag back from one of the guys who works at a busline close by. There's G. Agofure, Cross Country and rada rada motors. "Oga, thank you, I no dey go Abuja. Na Bayelsa I dey go." Surprisingly, he lets go of my bag and mumbles unintelligble words, not like I want to know though.

"Fine girl, one person remaining," a voice says.

I shake my head and keep walking.

"If you like go enter anyhow anyhow bus. I dey call you, you no wan come."

Nigerians and emotional marketing. Whoever taught them guilt tripping as strategy? I walk into the terminal, get my ticket, wait for my bus announcement.

8:23 a.m.

I'm resisting the urge to walk to the counter and ask why our bus is yet to move. I lost hope in GIGM Iyana-paja but Jibowu? I sit, rather impatiently, and wait.

8:32 a.m.

Aha. Time to get on the bus.

'Seat 5'. That's me. I rush in only to have my hopes dashed. Mine's not a window seat. I thought that was my booking rule, whatever did my dad do? I'll manage though. I pull out my latest read, Obinna Udenwe's Satans and Shaitans. I can't see a thing. The bus is so dark I have to read by the light of my phone. I give up, draw my phone pattern and post on my WhatsApp status: 'I wonder when buslines would begin to take guests with claustrophobia or conditions like asthma into consideration. Cramped spaces in the name of Mover buses. Tinted mirrors so dark, there's no way light can get in. If you can't give me air, at least let light come in na. Well, it's not their fault I can't fly first class. Pfft.'

The bus captain starts the bus, revvs the engine and introduces himself although I do not catch his name. He seems jolly and already makes quite an impression. A bit of fun, I say to myself.

[Parts of this travelogue are missing. The author was either asleep, too lazy to write or just non-chalant]

Unknown time.

I don't know what time it is. I drift between consciousness and semi-consciousness. I'm asleep, I know but I can feel the bus turn and then stop. The other passengers begin to mumble. There's a baby cooing. I'm awake now. The bus captain pulls the door open and all of a sudden there's a sea of voices and blinding light. Ha! First stop.

'Fried snails, here'.

'Abeg, no touch me. You never hear Corona'.

'Your sweet banana, hundred naira.'

'Don't you want to get something to eat?' this voice is closer. I open my eyes. It's the girl sitting next to me. She's wearing my sweater, oh, I gave it to her. I remember handing to her because she was shivering. The baby is cooing again. Heaven knows I want to reach behind me and ask to carry her but naw, there's Corona. Keep your hands in your pocket, girl.

I get down. It takes time to shake the numbness I feel but I get it done. We're at Ore. The eatery here doesn't use a POS machine or accept transfers, sadly. I can't buy a plate of food with my cash. Bananas and groundnuts would do.

[Again this writer slept, prayed, slept and listened to music. She says the tinted glasses did not encourage sight-seeing. Can we forgive her? Please...]

2:15 p.m.

I'm thinking of how I, Ude Ugo Anna, advocate of social distancing agreed to travel all the way from Lagos to Bayelsa. It's not like it's the worst thing to do ( because staying in school would leave me broke and bored) but it leaves me worried. I'm observing everything with caution as I sit in the GIGM terminal, Benin. Our bus tyre is flat. I text of friend of mine and tell him I've been in Benin for more than five minutes. It's safe to add Benin to the list of cities in Nigeria I've been to. He sends laughing emojis, I smile.

"Come pick your things, we're being transferred to another bus," it's Tena. Ah, I did not say. Tena, a senior two years ahead of me in secondary school is on the same bus as me. I mumble my thanks before walking out to pick my bags. This is going to be some ride.

2:22 p.m.

Our rather jovial bus captain has to hand over to an edgy one. Obviously, the new captain doesn't want to do this but he has to. He's ill-tempered and complains about almost everything, not like it's any business of mine. I just want to get home, plus, this new bus doesn't have tinted mirrors.

The bus captain turns into a fueling station and keeps us locked in while he queues to fuel the bus. A man on the bus shouts at him and reminds him that we paid to travel and did not beg him to drive us him so he had better loosen up. I guess that shakes him a bit because he begins to play music and makes sure to leave a door open when we stop for long.

2:38 p.m.

The driver's playing a mix of all of Tekno's songs. We're at the outskirts of Benin. The streets already look familiar, same pattern just a bit different. I'm watching the scenery change from buildings to just greenry and wondering if we'd be able to beat the clock to get to Bayelsa before Riocafe Poetry House's Open Mic begins before the driver swerves and the tyres screech.

" Jesus!"

"Driver kill me o, mm!"

I know that voice. I can picture the lady and the young guy who she kept taking pictures with at the bus terminal before we left. I had registered them as a 'boyfriend and girlfriend' item until he asked the driver to change his wife's seat in a very stern tone. I smile to myself. Assumptions won't be the death of me.

3:49 p.m.

I do not realize we're in Sapele until I see a sign that reads 'Sapele Palmwime Town'. What? A palmwine town? It's complete with huts and thatch roofs. It has the look of a long abandoned tourist site. I feel sad. I want to stop and go there. Pfft, it can wait.

4:04 p.m.

I don't know how the tracks on whatever CD the Captain is playing are arranged but a song by Gordons comes on once we're in Warri. I have to sit through one hour of unintelligent and vulgar jokes about wife-beating, stretch-marks, sex and a lot of things. It's extra funny how he sings and speaks in tongues after every joke. I reckon that it's an old CD. I hope he has changed though.

4:39 p.m.

We're at our last stop, amazingly. I've never been in Warri this early. I walk into Ej Eatery, buy a plate of food at N1,450 (with my card of course). I almost cuss when I get on the bus and it doesn't taste good then I remember I chewed bitter kolanuts some minutes ago. I drink water to rinse my mouth and wolf down my food.

"I hope you don't mind if I eat the bones of my chicken," I say to the girl beside me. She snickers and makes a comment about how it's no problem so I clarify that some people find it irritating. Happy that she doesn't care, I chew the chicken bones. (Sorry if you don't like it😅).

5:25 p.m.

🎶 There's something in winiwini wanawana

Sweet than wanawana winini

Shake your low waist...

How I know all of the songs playing I don't know but I find the lyrics playing in my head. I type prompts on my phone to aid writing in full and add a note to put up this post before the end of the week. This Captain's DJ is really old school.

5:36 p.m.

Sagbama! Fela vibes!

It feels like even the CD playing can tell I'm almost home. There's a swing to music. I can almost feel the maracas. I'm shaking my shoulders and tapping this travelogue onto my keypad according to the beat. It feels good, almost ceremonial. People, I'm almost home!

5:39 p.m.

🎶 Sorry for Nigeria...

Fela, haba?! The contrast between the rhythm and lyrics is enough to keep a critic up all night but then... Truth is truth. My phone rings. Caller ID: O². I should review how I save contacts.

5:45 p.m.

Kaima.

🎶 I no go hustle till infinity but I go bubble till infinity

We drive past a chicken and paln wine spot. It makes me think of travelling to Uyo with my family. That's another story.

5:50 p.m.

Police Checkpoint.

For some reason I stick out my tongue and laugh. The DJ cues in the omo na mental case song. Spot on. 🙄🤪

6:00 p.m.

Igbogbene! I'm home! My Mom's calling. Timaya's Balance is playing. Maybe I read meaning to everything but this moment is just beautiful! Bayelsa doesn't change, does it? I don't care. I smile slyly. I'll get bored of this place soon but it's home. Enjoy it while it last, they say. Or not...

🎶 "As I get money for my pocket, balance eh..."

Let's not even talk of allowances we won't get because we're home.