Who’s To Blame

Often times, when an accident almost happens, we are often quick to point fingers and pass the blame but the underlying cause of the accident is much deeper than we see. Here is an example of such an incident.

See if you can answer the question at the end.

🛡️

She mused about the long day she had spent with her friends. There was nothing better than rushing home after learning that she had the rest of the day to herself. No more classes. More free time.

Her face fell as she thought of the mountain of plates awaiting her. As if that wasn’t enough, she also had her clothes to wash as well as her younger brother’s clothes. She couldn’t wait for him to grow up and wash his clothes by himself. But that would probably never happen. At least not while her mother still lived. Her parents were ‘konk’ African Traditionalists.

They believed the kitchen was the place for the woman and the man’s place was on the field. Even after all her academic achievements, she knew they would expect her to end up in one man’s house doing all the chores after a long day at the office while her husband would just come back from work and relax because he was the man of the house. No chores for him.

Even though they would both go to work. He would be obliged to rest because he was tired although she would arrive home before him and still do all the house chores on her own. She was still musing on her imaginary life with her future husband when she turned to cross the road. She didn’t see the Keke (rickshaw) charging towards her probably because she was too busy planning how she would tackle the problem of her future husband.

🛡️

“Haez. Ogbeni, pay your money jor!” One area boy yelled at the keke in front of his. The stench of alcohol permeated his own keke as he started calculating the amount of money he had given to these boys in one day.

Translation; *Hey. Pay your money*

He would suffer every morning; waking up by 5 am just so he could commute the white collar workers to the next park. Out of the ₦200 he made from each ride, he was required to give these boys, one hundred for each round. He hadn’t even taken out the bill for petrol, feeding allowances and other expenses. As for saving any money, that could only happen when it rained and the area boys had to huddle together for shelter under the bridge. Or if he could find a way to outsmart the boy.

He stepped on the accelerator and jerked his Keke to the left. The old woman in the back screamed, “Take am easy.”

*Be gentle*

The area boy, still partly occupied with the other keke, barely noticed his escape attempt until one of the other area boys began to shout and chase the get away Keke. Now he knew he was in trouble.
If those area boys caught up with him then it would be the end of business for the day. That was if they would not go as far as damaging his windscreen and bashing him. He feared for his passengers’ safety but he feared for his livelihood more.

When they caught up with him, they would not only seize his keys, they would also extort money from him too. All the money he had made that day would disappear. From his side view mirror, he could see that the number of people he had offended had grown from just two measly area boys to a group of five. One of them was even carrying a broken beer bottle with a jagged edge.

The keke driver’s fingers began to shake as he fought to keep control of the Keke. He approached the first bend rather sharply causing his passengers to jostle against the metal sides of his vehicle.

“Haha, broda. Small small. Abi you wan kill person for here? Why you know give them the money Na?” The other female passenger commented. He wiped the beads of sweat off his face as he refused to reply to her.

*Brother, slow down. Do you want to kill someone here? Why didn’t you give them the money?*

The female passengers were always the ones talking but most times they couldn’t fully understand the situation at hand. The last passenger, a male, simply urged him on silently and occasionally looked back at the vandals chasing the vehicle.

The driver knew that a police officer stood a few metres away from the bend but he knew the officer was not to be trusted. The officer, he knew, wouldn’t intervene in his case but would rather take him to the station for disruption of public peace. He knew the policemen and the area boys worked together as the policemen saw the area boys as the local vigilante troop. What he didn’t understand was why they were called area boys.

Sure. They were from the area but they were anything but boys. Most of them were homeless men with eyes red from drinking and smoking all day; men who had nothing better to do than to live off the living if others by threats and intimidation.

No. He couldn’t have suffered this much just for some free loader to come and reap what he had sowed. With this thought on his mind, he breezed past the officer, who was too busy haggling with an okada man to notice him, and took the final bend that would lead him to freedom. He expected to see a free road as he had just jumped the red light. What he didn’t expect to see was a young woman strolling across the road.

🛡️

The okada man sat on his bike watching all sorts of people walking up and down. His shirt clung to his body and boasted of pools of sweat.

Other commuters had it easy. Okada men had to stay under the sun for hours. His once brown skin had now darkened so much that he could almost claim to be a relative of charcoal.

“Lawanson. Lawanson.” He called, his words slightly muffled by his Fulani accent. Not one passenger looked his way. He couldn’t even blame them because it wasn’t peak period yet. By four, people would be scrambling for rides and then he would make his money.
For now, he just had to seat here and keep calling for possible passengers. He could get lucky and find a desperate person who would be willing to pay the first price he called. Hopefully it would be a  university student.

Hopefully, it would be one of those girls who looked like they belong in the Mami water realm with their short tops and even shorter skirts. He wonderd why they wore clothes clearly meant for children. They came in all shapes and sizes, wearing all sorts of revealing clothes.

He found it very irritating when they would speak to him in a funny way almost as though they were trying to swallow their words or make fun of his accent. Often times, it made him mad but he couldn’t do anything about it. The only joy he could get was watching their accent change when he mentioned the price they would pay. Then they would become people who spoke pidgin as though they developed the language.

He could even see one of them now. Perhaps, she would be in a hurry to get somewhere. She had to be. How else would he explain her hurried walking pace? He started to call out to her and she turned towards him attempting to cross the road. That’s when he heard the roar of an engine and he saw the keke coming towards her.

“Shey you wan die? Nonsense,” He yelled at her as the keke driver finally honked. The girl jerked out of her reverie and in a split second she hurried to safety barely missing the keke.

🛡️

She shot the okada man a look of disgust as she continued her walk. How dare he speak to her in such a manner? She didn’t even have the energy to hurl insults as him. She just kept her head up high and walked past him as though he had not called her attention to the keke.

She would have heard the honk, she argued in her mind.  Eventually. It wouldn’t even have hit her. The okada man was just over reacting.

It was all her future husband’s fault. If she hadn’t been too busy thinking about him and the pestle she would use to pound his head should he refuse to help with the house chores then She would have noticed the keke. She wasn’t even married to him yet and he was already putting her life in danger. She shook her head and sighed at the thought that all her musing hadn’t decreased her dislike for dish washing. 

🛡️

“Abi you no see that girl. You for hit am oh,” The male passenger finally spoke. The keke driver didn’t even care. As far as he was concerned, he had invaded the area boys for this day. He would have to change his commuting route for the rest of the day.

*Did you not see that girl? You would have hit her*

By tomorrow, the area boys would have drowned their sorrows in alcohol and women and they would have forgetten about today. But for now, he still had to keep going because he wasn’t safe until he got to the keke park where he would have the solidarity of his colleagues..

🛡️

The okada driver just stared at the ungrateful lump of human flesh that walked past him without a second glance. Back home in his village, a girl like her could not even try such because she would be married and not walking across the road like a jobless person.

He only wondered what kind of man would marry a girl like her and for once, he was glad he didn’t have to take a university student as a passenger.

So what are your thoughts on this?
Who is to blame?
The girl?
Her future husband?
The area boys?
The keke driver?
The male passenger?
Or the okada man?

Cast your vote in the Twitter polls.