Opening the Door for Death: Part-2

After making ourselves as comfortable as we could, I began to observe our friend closely. I have to repeat that she was remarkably fat. Nature is unjust, I mused. It is more generous to some people than others. It was after a bit of struggle but she did manage to strap on the seatbelt. Unbelievable! She must have exhausted the entire roll of the belt as she bravely strung it around her frame. The car makers are generous, I thought.

"I hope you can still breathe?" I asked.

Look at you! You think I asked that aloud? No be me and you!

I continued to study her and follow her comedic performance. Look, we were sitting behind her, so I had full liberty.

The upper side of her arms were dotted all over with ripples of fat under the skin. You know how it is with some fat people—how it seems that pockets of fat threaten to fall off their sides and arms. I imagined that if the temperature in the car was not controlled, our friend might drip fat into the whole car before we got to Warri! My daughter glanced at me as I let off an audible chuckle over my stupid imagination.

"You'd better try and mind your business during this trip," I cautioned myself. But I was to throw caution to the wind. Naughty me.

Presently, we took off after the inevitable prayers by one of the itinerant pastors at the station. I don’t mind some prayers to kick off any journey in Nigeria, especially given our driving habits and the condition of our roads and commercial vehicles. What I do mind is these prayer merchants soliciting offerings after praying. Collecting offerings at a passenger station just doesn’t go down well with me. I see it as a type of begging, and I detest begging.

About thirty minutes after we took off, our driver pulled up at a favoured station to fill the fuel tank. I think our friend's tank was empty too because she was fidgeting and gesturing helplessly at a faraway snacks shop. It was obvious she wanted something. I figured that getting out of the car to go get it would be a herculean task for her. Mohammed simply had to come to the mountain. Even if this mountain managed to go to Mohammed, the effort could consume a good part of our travel time, I realised. I decided we will help ourselves by helping her.

"Do you want something?" I asked from the kind side of my voice.

"Yes, please," she moaned. She had this smooth, sweet voice, by the way, a high point about her. Was she a broadcaster? Sitting for long periods at work could bring on body weight. "I want a can of Maltina. My leg is beginning to hurt at the place where the doctor fixed something."

"Is Maltina the doctor's prescription for the pain? If you want to drink Maltina so early in the day, why don't you say so plainly?" I grumbled quietly.

I asked my daughter to go get her the can of Maltina, a kind assistance for which she was grateful. I kept watching her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her mannerisms told me she was going to be the journey’s most interesting character and entertainer.

In less than two minutes the contents of the Maltina can disappeared, escorted with a generous serving of mineral water. The feasting-on-the-go that many travellers indulge in had just begun for her.

Two and a half hours later, we arrived at Lokoja. Everyone scrambled out as soon as the driver manoeuvred the bus to a stop in front of a popular restaurant. Most travellers eat at Lokoja, whether or not they're hungry. Some eat out of habit, and some just to pass the time. Few eat because they're hungry. I watched our friend drag herself into the restaurant as I sauntered around for lack of something more useful to do with the waiting time.

When the pitch of the music from loudspeakers positioned outside became unbearable, my daughter and I escaped into the restaurant to find somewhere to sit while we waited, just in time to watch our friend demolish a full plate of rice and chicken and another bottle of mineral drink!

"Wow," I whispered to my daughter, "this woman is not helping herself at all."

"Yes O!" she concurred. "I wonder what the problem with some people is," she queried. "I watched on television a very fat woman fry seven eggs for breakfast. I was shaking all over as I watched!"

I laughed aloud. One person is feasting herself, and another is shivering and shaking all over with concern for her! Isn’t life sometimes an irony? Well, mountain bodies come at a high maintenance cost, don't they?

We got back in our bus. As you would imagine, she rudely terminated her comedy show by executing the rest of the journey in a long sleep that was full of noisy snores. Only God knew what dreams she had.

You ask, "What are you driving at with this story?"

There you go again with your impatience. You think I won't tell you, abi?

(To be continued. This story is Culled from my book Laughing Over Serious Matters. For other articles visit https://www.chrisekpekurede.com/blog)