Written By Egbebu Emmanuel
Onyedikachi…
Muddy roads and slushing puddles filled with equally muddy feet. A humdrum of noises ranging from the clanking of metal as butchers sharpened blades, to the groans of grinding machines as they oozed out red tomato juices.
Deftly, she wedged through a gap small enough to suffocate a child. On her head, a bale of wares that weighed almost half her own body, balanced on her head shawl which hid the already greying, coupled with her own 200 pound body, she moved among the mashed throng of people towards the voice that bawled,”Cele, Ijesha, Mile 2!! Cele, Ijesha, Mile 2!!!”.
“Kuro m bi !”, she cursed without violent intent ( she was one of those women who’d sadden at the thorough spanking of a child) but necessity called for ferocity. She twisted, bent and ducked through densely packed bodies at Oshodi market, though short of limbs but quick of pace with powerful strides, her heavy breasts swinging in her work- stained blouse in the busy but still awakening dawn. At 5:30 am, few people were this agile.
With such complexity of movement and focused competitive mind, her thoughts still strayed into the future pondering over what her children will eat for dinner with the prices of cassava flour high and tomato a rare ‘ruby’. Silently she muttered a prayer to her God – who seems to listen sometimes. She makes this journey everyday, wishing she didn’t have to, wishing some sort if miracle would break this routine. But she would still do it the next day, the next day, and the next.
And the day after that
She was one of those early traders whose commercial “headquarters” was located at Asuani market. The bus conductor, on seeing her rushes foward and with such dexterity he hauls the bundle into tha back of a “beautiful” yellow bus.
The Danfo Its front was sloping downwards and its trunk was tilted upwards like a charging bull. Like some entranced worshiper bowing to his deity. The metallic god of huff and puff. On its body were stickers of some long white-bearded man and leaping tigers and some Arabic words, coupled with pictures of a popular Fuji star.
But before the heaving, sweating body could rest on the wooden seats of the movable metal hunk, a pilfering over fares occurs.
“Asuani se 60 naira o! Hold your change”, warned the conductor.
“Ko se 50 naira mo?”, countered the woman.
“Mama, owo epo ti wón”.
Not budging, she makes to step out of the bus.
“Wo! Mi ole lo mo”, she threatens.
“Oya ewole”, the conductor finally succumbs.
“Aba je o”, she mused to herself in silent triumph.
Funny, she wasn’t the only woman who has to go through this. She was just a blind pick in this raffle of events. A pawn in the game of corruption, mal-administration and mal- apropism. A victim. She may not even know the reasons for this increased hardship. She probably doesn’t even know the name of the Minister of Agriculture. Why? Because her main priority is survival. It had been her main priority for the past ten years. Not to live. Not to be comfortable. But to survive. To inch away from the barrier between poverty and starvation. Her struggle for nere survival has surpassed all her other wants. She has to survive first. Then “live”. Before sitting down to watch tv and start asking questions and wondering over the reasons for the depreciating economy of a hopefully “unblighted” country. But right now,she has to get to Asuani market first. Though it brings no cause for humour, funny enough, this woman and her likes are one of the pillars balancing the economy. This, is the life of a Typical Lagos Woman.
Iya Eko…….
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