When
time for rolling back home came, things turned out theatrical, yes and exceedingly
so. A colleague who noticed how argumentative I had grown, offered to give me a
lead-car support. His car ahead of me as we drove back home. I followed him with
an extreme gig on the accelerator, - courtesy of Guinness, that thick aromatic
Irish beer. Just know, it was hazardous!
This
is a narrative of an Angelic intervention. A thing rarely expected from a group largely perceived
as disloyal. I had never appreciated any boda-boda
rider in this country. Just know, these guys always made me sick. Until this
day, I considered them as people who; respect no body, act stupid always, dupe
their clients flat and are unjustifiably hysterical.
My
lead car soon disappeared in the thin air, just like that. I can’t explain what
exactly happened. What I know is that my colleague had his own doze to deal
with. So I found myself at a Total petrol station failing to position the car
correctly so as to refill gas. I requested
the attendant to do for me two things; position the car well and fill up the
tank after confessing that I was fully tanked-up.
A
Ugsh20,000 note filled up my tank and there was a balance of Ugsh5,000 handed
back to me. This is when I remembered that I had already taken enough gas in
the morning ahead of a planned travel to the village that afternoon. I hadn’t anticipated
getting this submerged.
There
was a boda-boda rider who enjoyed my
show at the petrol station. He kept a considerate gaze at me, as if I were his
uncle. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t trust his look. Brownish, slender
young man with a protracted nose, wide mouth. His so many large white teeth
were visible at night. It was already a half past midnight and I desperately
needed to get home safe. There was no traffic jam, and the few automobiles
moved at breakneck speed, making it risky for a blotto.
“Why
are you over looking at me like that my brother?” I asked the boda-boy. He responded
with a smile and, “nothing sir”. I opened up to him and ask for a favor to ride
ahead of me without allowing me go the wrong way. “Okay sir”, he agreed. His name
is Tumu…something William, I can’t remember fully. Tumu stopped twice, hooting
to guide me through until we reached home. Tumu opened the gate and closed with
my instructions. He opened the house door and picked two laptops from the car
putting them in the bedroom and asked for a negligible 2k for his service, but I
offered 5k and gave him my number, to call me back when the sun is up.
Tumu
hasn’t called me until now, I think he was an Angel from heaven. I hope he lives down here with us. This
reminds me of what English poet, William Blake said, “to generalize is to be an
idiot”. Indeed, despite the criminal elements within the boda-boda riders today, I refuse to be idiotic by carrying all
these guys in the same wagon again. People like Tumu are real saints who live amidst
this wrongly projected fraternity. He saved my life. May God reward you Tumu
wherever you are.
