Chapter 4: The Transit.

After what Ayo told me the night before, I worried the fool might actually try to hurt somebody. I had to tell Mom. As a result, she decided to talk with my Lil-brother for two days until we were convinced he understood the idea of my to be absence. And mom also promised to walk him to school for four weeks.

I woke up at five on Monday morning to catch a bus at the motor park that would transport me to Kaduna, so I'd be at the Academy before 8:30am.

In the eighteen seater bus, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone through the journey. I didn't want more trouble. I did plenty of looking though, sidelong glances.

Now, it seems every one was a threat to me.

The Traffic was very smooth. Abuja-Kaduna road was a real express. Just a few port holes that are easy to manuovor .

As the journey progresses, I imagined all the negative news I've heard about the road raging from ghastly accidents to armed robbers blocking the highways to kidnapping activities to some element called militia groups who sometimes shoots sporadically at moving vehicles. I don't want to be caught up in any of these. I prayed as the journey progressed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a lady in the seat adjacent to mine having an intense conversation with a Fulani guy. I knew the guy was Fulani because he was having their familiar tribal mark on the side of his head. Fair in complexion and having a nice trimmed curly hair.

The person sharing the duo seat with me was an elderly Man in his 70s who doozed off at the park even before the Bus set out on the highway. Probably because of his age. He isn't the only one sleeping in the bus. But for me, I hardly sleep in a moving vehicle. I just can't sleep.

The peculiarities of the lady conversing with the Fulani guy stood out among all the other passengers. Her dress code, hair style and her composure tells of a unique personality. While talking to the guy, she held out one device that looks like a common feature mobile phone, but wasn't a phone actually it look exactly like a recording device. Like the sort I do see on TV when reporters or journalist are interviewing someone.

I wondered what she was up to. But it struck me almost immediately, she was a journalist.

I don't like staring at people but to be honest, I was actually staring. She was good looking. Not drop dead beautiful, but

someone any good eye could appreciate. I figured her to be around twenty-two or three. Her dark hair hung over her shoulders. Looks more natural than synthetic.

Her glasses were the kind with the large lenses and thin frames. She wore pink jeans and a tight dark leather jacket over a white sleeved top. She looked really familiar. I

was sure that I'd seen her before.

I didn't hear much of her conversation with the Fulani guy because of all the other people around me talking and the background engine noise. The annoying thing was that someone, probably a guy at the back row seat was playing loud Indian music from his China phone. It was very disturbing but no one addressed that. Probably because the dashboard of our bus was eluded of any sound system.

The Fulani guy eventually got off at a Bus stop before entering Kaduna. He was with no luggage save a backpack.

When the bus started rolling again. The passengers seat next to the Lady was Vacant. Trying to escape the snoring sporady of the elderly man next me, I was instantly having the urge to seat next to this mystic lady.

I'm a chronic shy type around girls or ladies , I could never think of what to say to them or even strike a conversation. I remained in my seat, feeling like a hapless dork. My face got warm, more so, I was blushing.

Blushing for what. I can't really say.

The bus grounded to a halt again. Another two passengers alighted, after some arguments with the driver who seemed rude to them, he get behind the wheels reluctantly again.

When the bus geared into motion again, I caught her looking at me. She smiled and drummed her fingers on the empty seat. "HI! I don't bite, neither a scarecrow nor a skunk. Come have a seat beside me." she voiced.

I was startled. And torn between mortification at the same time.

I reluctantly eased onto the seat. Not knowing if a was scared, shy or excited.

She reached out her hand. "I'm Rita."

Definitely not a common behavior for ladies to say their name first. I wondered if she was tipsy or crazy. I shook her offered hand noticing her long tender slender fingers, crystal painted nails, perfectly manicured.

Considering my poverty striking fingernails, I folded my hands across my

lap and stared at the seat-back in front of me.

Now my mumu don start again. I was dumb and confused. Not knowing what to say next.

"I told you mine. What's yours?" she asked.

I stared at her voice recorder.

"Oh, sorry." She pressed a button and slipped the recorder into her purse. " I Don't mean to be rude, I sincerely forgot to turn it off." She kept looking at me,

expectantly.

"just Call me, Phood."

"Food" she echoed. "Do you mean?"........... She paused. Her smile was very broad and sincere. " do you mean like food, real food?" she stressed.

"Yes, but starting with PH"

"hmmn, that's an unusual name" she said

"Yes, more like a nickname but I automatically adopted it" I cleared.

Her smile clued me as though she was just

messing with me.

"What kind of food do you

like?"

I shrugged. "You know, like jello rice, beans and yam, Amala and pounced yam with ogbolo soup.

"Excellent choices" she said "Last week I went to Mama-Cass, have you been at that eatery before?"

I decided it was my turn to mess with her.

"Mama Cass. No. Who is that? "

She raised an eyebrow.

I couldn't hold back a grin. I got back at her and was enjoying it.

"You can't be serious, Phood," she said. "you mean with this your name, you haven't heard of Mama Cass?"

I shook my head childishly, enjoying the look on her face and also imaging the turn the conversation might take.

We sat in silence for a while. I got really

uncomfortable like I usually do around girls when I can't think of anything to say.

Because she seemed so familiar, I wanted to ask where I'd seen her before, but that was the dorkiest line of all time. Instead, I tried, "How about you, do you

Like food?"

"Nope, I'm actually an active vegetarian for over eight years now" she claimed.

Then I remembered my Mom was once a vegetarian too when she was aspiring to be a model during her high school days. So she said.

I noticed our conversation was just bumpy-jumpy.

Without thinking twice, I let out the fire. I said the first thing that came to mind. " That tells why You're so pretty"

She turned her face ajar towards mine. "Are you bullying me?" she whispered.

Petrified, I leaned away my face from hers a bit.

That's exactly what I meant about talking with girls. Seemed no matter what I said to them, it ended up getting me into trouble.

"I'm sorry, I was just kidding." I said in a normal conversational tone, feeling embarrassed at the same time.

"No, you weren't kidding" a pause, then she added. "I'm highly flattered Phood".

There was a long silence between us, maybe ten seconds. Both of us staring at nothing. Just the seat in front of us.

Suddenly She touched the back of my hand. "I'm really flattered Phood" she repeated. "and your tone is so sincere, so you aren't just kidding."

A long pause again. Probably expecting me to say something more. But I remained mute.

"but don't you think I'm a little older for you?" she tempered.

"You can't be much older than me." I said looking at her directly, eye to eye.

She giggled. "Sweet of you to say so. I'm twenty-four."

"No way, you want to scare me off? " I said

"scare you.?"

"Yes," I said making myself more comfortable in the seat. "Maybe

you are too old for me, I believe you anyway. "

She folded her arms across her chest and scoffed. "It's okay to think that, but it's not nice of me to say. Pardon me."

I shook my head. Why did I even bother saying that to her in the first place? I just couldn't talk straight with girls without raising eyebrows, or making someone guilty.

"Where are you cruising the bus to?" she asked, obviously trying to divert the conversation. "To school?"

My brain radar immediately went on amber alert. How could she guess that. Or was it because of my obvious school bag? Why'd she want to know?

"You first. What are you doing on this bus? You don't look the type who would ride a public bus." I struck back.

She went quiet for a while as if absorbing what I just said.

"Fair enough. You're right. I'll be honest. Normally I would never ride the bus. The Fact is, I'm only riding because I have to."

"Did your boyfriend's car break down or

something?" I threw the missile.

She flashed a smile. "No. Nothing like that. I'm on assignment. I work for E.K.G. News."

It suddenly hit me. "Yeah, I've seen you on the TV. You do stories around the city. What did you say your name was again?"

"Rita." She reached into her purse and handed me a business card. "Rita Agbani."

I gawked at the card. "Wow, I'm sitting with a TV star."

"Not exactly a star. Just a junior reporter who gets occasional face time opportunity." she said.

Riding on this bus, was she just slumming?

"You said something about an assignment. What's that about?" I asked.

"It's what we in the TV biz call a human-interest story. I'm interviewing passengers to find out what life is like on public transportation. Stuff like whether scheduling and availability and comfort are adequate to serve the citizens of Abuja to Kaduna , if they face harassment from Co passengers or drivers or security operatives, or fears getting into trouble travelling the route. You know, that kind of

thing"

"Cool." I napped.

"How about you, Phood, can I interview you?" she said, not waiting for my approval, pulling the recorder from her purse.

I felt ashamed. I didn't want to have to tell her about my troubles. Especially if it was going to end up on news or documentaries.

"I better not." I protested. Shaking my head.

"It's okay. You don't have to. I don't mean to

intimidate you. Wasn't right of me to do that, You're just a kid."

Just a kid. Those words made me feel smaller .

"Nobody would care about my story, anyway." I said.

Rita sighed and looked out the window. "Phood, you sound so sad. You're too young to carry around so much weight."

Obviously, she came from a different world and had no idea. Why was life so hard? I glanced out the window too. So many people jamming the sidewalks. Coming and going. No cares.

"My bus-stop is close," Rita interrupted. "that's where I get off." she pointed towards the windshield.

That made me sad. "Are you returning to Abuja any soon?"

"Can't say for sure. My producer may want me to take a different route."

I stared at the business card she had given me. Did I have the balls to ask her? With a trembling hand, I reached it over to her.

"Can I have your autograph?"

Rita looked at me, her mouth hanging open a litle. "I would be honored to do that for you."

She pulled a pen from her purse and wrote on the back of the card. The bus pulled to a stop.

Rita gathered her beautiful leader silver coated shoulder bag, and I let her out into the aisle.

She handed the card back to me. "Be well, Phood"

I watched her alight the bus and out the

door. I took her sitting position, absorbing the remnants of her warmth on the seat while the bus eased deeper into Kaduna traffic.

Looking out the window, I saw Rita

walking away then swallowed by a crowd of people. She disappeared from view when the bus rounded a corner.

Remembering the card in my hand, I flipped it over to check out her signature on the back side. In purple ink. That's a rear pen ink colour and in perfect feminine script she had written me a note:

"Dear Phood,

Don't take life too seriously, but Never stop chasing your dreams.

Lots of Love, Rita Agbani."

"Nice" I mumbled to myself and slipped the card into my wallet and had a premonition.

Someday, I would see Rita Agbani again. And then I'd be able to tell her my whole story.

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