The Morning of the Average Uite
By Asmaa Adeleye
It all started with the silent roads. And the morning episodes of bleak waiting. Every dawn had the tarred road pick a new grudge with vehicle tyres, the tense kind of fight between two bitter co-wives. No physical combat, I assure you, but the heat of the silence could boil you to dryness. I should not forget to tell you how the weekdays 7 am to 8 am are dedicated to doubtful waiting, after a river of alert students flood into the school's garage. The real situation of the Yorùbá's 'wa pẹ níbẹ bi ọṣẹ'. 'You'll wait there like bar soap'. Welcome once again, today is dedicated to the morning chronicles of a student, especially those living off campus.
You might think getting to the garage early would guarantee you cab luck. I do not intend to spoil your day but the only luck you would get is enough time to decide to walk like a breeze to class. That, even does not suffice as an adventure. Except for the part where you walk, run, run-walk and finally fly while sweating like a housefly that missed the road to hover in the steam of hot beans. The most intriguing part is when one or two insignificant kẹkẹs arrive and students switch completely into their hawk mode. I'm not even certain of the swiftest; hawk, eagle or the students.
For at that very moment, the brain works as if on cue, eyes triple in sharpness and legs in swiftness. Bodies pick up in a snap, a response to the referee's ‘on your mark. get set. go!’. Only that there's no referee but the human instinct to not walk into the class looking like a hardworking clown. Of course, you did your best to arrive early but your ‘Usain Bolt’ destiny bolted faster than the UI kẹkẹ. Just praise God if you have an understanding lecturer but if not, I'm afraid you and the auditorium door would have to engage in a standing competition.
Now be reminded that after winning the Nobel prize of a kẹkẹ sit, the driver might gently announces to you that he has no lower denominations with him. Ah, omo. And as the rich kid wey you be, the last cash you have on you is a mighty thousand naira. Excuse me, I need to cough in one thousand naira. It is commonly said that ‘matter wey don pass cry, na laugh you go dey laugh’. I don't even think you can laugh in this situation, I'll recommend coughing. This is the true dictionary definition of ‘dilemma’. You can't come down because the eyes of the battle are hard and you can't do a giveaway for the driver. Not in this economy. You then divide your heart in two, use the first to ask your co-passengers for help and hope for cash and pray with the other half that the driver discovers one hidden silent money in his pocket. The ‘hide and seek’ money. I still pity the brain the most, imagining different cases of scenarios and how to get out of them. And if it so happens that your first lecture is a devilish course that makes you think about your whole life in 30 seconds, I can only wish you a very nice day.
Picture credit: Pinterest
I still wonder why Lagos had to bring its ‘taxi hassle’ down to Ibadan as if being a Uite is not more than enough. But Lagos is not even the guilty one here. It is the kẹkẹ and taxi drivers who got disappearance concoction from city herbalists. Specially concocted for morning effectiveness. Or why else would the garage look scanty in the morning. So much for being the school’s garage.
There would come a particular day you decide to walk and bask in the cool ambience of the weather, one funny kẹkẹ stops by you and expects that you hop in. I know my ‘come and carry me’ expression won't desert me that day. Trust me, I'm good at recommending. Let your bombastic side eye shine.
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