Road rage

“Oloriburuku! Were! Olosi! Alakori!” Road rage yelling coming from all angles.

I am covered in sweat as I sit patiently behind the wheel.

The AC of my truck has broken down. And the automatic window winder is not working. But my sweat glands are working.

I am in the middle of a traffic jam that is a mile long on both sides of the road.

And I am right at the point where the traffic jam begins, because my truck is actually the first vehicle in the vortex of the jam. The road traffic cop is confused. He doesn’t know what to do, because there is nothing any one could do.

Now I see why everyone has religion in Nigeria.

So I am sitting there, sweating it out.

The story is simple. A car has broken down on the other side of the road,

A bus loaded with passengers, which was right behind the car that broke down, changes lanes and comes headlong to face mine. Traffic jam—the headlamps of the bus are staring at the headlamps of my truck. As traffic piled up behind the two of our vehicles in both directions, pafuka don quench!

Suddenly an okada bike rider dashes in from nowhere and runs headlong into another okada from the other side of the road. Six bodies from both okada bikes are flung all over the tarmac. Some are lying immobile, and people are screaming:

Oloriburuku!

Were!

Olosi!

Alakori!

Madam, go hire driver!

Jaguda!

I think this is where we will sleep today, because I don’t know how this situation can get resolved.