Dressed to the hilt and looking as good as I could, considering my rotund limitations, I stepped out of my apartment, acknowledged the greetings from my security guard and hopped into my manage-manage car. I was poised for a happy day at work and a chance to have fun at what I enjoy doing.
I get into the car and I set off on my way. As I turn the corner, I suddenly slam on the brakes as a light flashes in the corner of my eyes. An Okada man, these useless Okada guys, I think to myself; although they supposedly fill the gap left wide open by successive government who failed to realize the need for good quality urban transportation within the metropolis….
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the average Okada man exists in a parallel world, or at least exists (mentally) somewhere between the real world and super Mario bros, or the game version of F1 motor racing. Unfortunately, in the game world, when you die, you are given extra lives to embark on another show of stupidity till you die again!
Okada men do this every day, that is, they show their well-honed idiocy every day as they get on those bikes and weave through traffic without care or any concern in the world. I slammed on my breaks and cringed at the thought of what or who I may have just run over. People began to gather. And like a swarm of bees, okada after okada after okada began to stop and park and join in what was steadily becoming a circus act, no one even bothered to pay any attention to the lifeless body wedged somewhere between my rear and front tyres!
In true Lagos fashion, I stay put in my car, AC chilling and gbedu blasting while I contemplate what to do next and rummage through the contacts on my phone trying to locate anyone with whatever influence I can bring to bear to avoid being lynched. As I listen to the soothing voice of Asa, I am suddenly lost in thought, and I recall that I had seen the okada man-victim before… at some point in the course o my journey, earlier on, I had seen him perform death-defying stunts like squeezing his bike in between two trucks and even attempting to fly through the window of a mass-transit bus, each time, he made it just by a hairs breath. Perhaps the reason why he is now lying motionless beneath my car.. (why didn’t the damn bus hit him and decommission him earlier?!) I think aloud.
Well, I am now where I am and as I think of the fate that has befallen the poor fellow, I am suddenly attacked by a rush of mixed feelings: I feel sadness at taking a life, then again, I feel the joy of accomplishment and fulfillment, I have done Lagos and the larger society a favour ensuring one-less maniac on our roads. I think of the gladness in the hearts of other normal rational people, the peace of mind that I have created since they know there is one less-speed monkey on a motorbike, and smile as a sense of accomplishment envelopes me.
Bang! Suddenly and swiftly, I am rudely awakened and instantly realize where I am and what I must do. My windshield has been shattered; the mob of senseless Okada men is attempting to drag me out of the car to bring me face to face with the unsightly sight that is beneath my car. I am helpless; a teardrop arrogantly and defiantly crawls down my cheek as the gravity of the situation downs on me. Today I am a martyr… (I repeat these words as I console myself) what I have done I , I have done for the greater good. Something in me is suddenly at peace as I take my place beside Joan of Arc, Mary Queen of Scots, Thomas Sankara, and other greats who were cut down in the pursuit of greater things for their people.
I am beaten to a pulp as I am dragged out of my car and the car is set ablaze, with one loud salute, my car explodes and in my near-death state, I nod to acknowledge my car's salute as it put up its final fight. Everything suddenly slows to a crawl.
Even I am amazed at how much detail I can take in of what is happening to me.. Every kick, blow, cut and scrape, I feel. I can see the faces of the angry mob, the brotherhood of insane okada riders, who like moths drawn to a flame, have now drowned me in a sea of heads, sticks cudgels, and petrol.
From the corner of my left eye, I see an odd-looking fellow running towards me wielding a car tyre. I laugh silently. Doesn’t this fool know my car is there on fire? What is he bringing a spare tyre for? Then reality dawn, the tyre is for lynching, lynching is the response of okada men when they lose a comrade. I just killed an okada man, so, I shall be lynched.
I wear the tyre proudly as I am doused in gasoline. I am afraid, but I shall not show fear. Instead, I try to focus on fond memories and happy times to help me cope with what is about to happen and where I am about to be dispatched to. I say a prayer… flick! A match is struck and flung in my direction… (damn) this bloody slow-motion, it seems like forever before the lit match stick lands on me and I erupt in a ball of flames and smoke.
The pain, the anguish, then it happens, a drop, then two, then buckets, and finally, torrents of rain. I am in shock.. before the fire does irreparable damage, I am saved by the tears of all the little angels in heaven who in response to my pleas, have sent the rain to take my pain away… the rain continues, and now I am soaked…
I am soaked, drenched, and restless, I toss and turn… I hear the thunderclap loudly and feel the sparkle of lightning on my eyelids… then suddenly, and without warning.
I awake, and realize it has all been a dream, well all except for the rain which turns out to be sweat/perspiration from the NEPA (lack of electricity) -induced heat.
I wake up and wonder… must I go to work today?!
End.
