I’d rather be flying
I’m off to Abuja for Easter. As I head to the airport, I recall a trip I made to Maiduguri to honour a speaking engagement. Considering the distance from Kaduna, I wanted to travel by air. But I was in financial dire straits so I hit the road. Abraham, a friend I was travelling with, suggested we sleep over in Jos to reduce the hours we would be on the road at a stretch. Apparently it would also – somehow - have the fortuitous effect of cutting our fare in half. Naturally, I concurred.
The next day, we were at the Plateau Riders park bright and early and this, good people, is where my story truly begins. When I saw the bus we were supposed to be commuting in shortly, I nearly quit the trip convinced my enemies were trying to trick me to an untimely death. Noticing my apparent consternation, Abraham set about allaying my fears, he being a 7 year veteran of the route we were to ply, as a vet med student of the University of Maiduguri. He assured me that the designated driver, a gentle giant named Dogo had a reputation for making light work of the trip. We couldn’t be in better hands. Looking at the bag of nuts, bolts, bits and ends they were trying to pass off as a bus however, I was wary. The model was most definitely no longer in production; the windows had no shutters, the seats were laid bare by the very many years of steadily applied backsides of different sizes, the engine sounded like a frog with catarrh and you could barely tell what colour it had once been. It was little more than an accident waiting to happen really. Somehow though I eventually got on the bus and we were soon on our way.
As we gathered speed and the miles fell behind, I got less and less apprehensive. Our pace was good, the road was smooth and all my fears now seemed exaggerated. It was a perfect trip. Well, almost.
Trouble began after Kari, a little village where we stopped to get refreshed. As soon as we got back on the road it became clear that all wasn’t well. Our location, Potiskum, was still a clear over 200km from Maiduguri yet the vehicle was doing 30 or 40kmph! Eventually we grinded to a shuddering halt right in the middle of nowhere. When I say “shuddering” I refer both to the bus and my humble self. I mean, if the “road owners” had blocked us there, wetin we for tell our God?
At this point I’m wondering if there is a reason the management of Plateau Riders cannot ditch these mobile coffins. Isn’t there a Plateau State LASTMA (PLASMA?) that can seize and destroy these relics?
Finally, having changed an errant oil filter and doing some other tinkering, we got going again. Thankfully there was no further incident and Dogo lived up to his billing so we arrived none the worse for everything. All is well that ends well, no? Somehow though, I’d just rather be flying.
The next day, we were at the Plateau Riders park bright and early and this, good people, is where my story truly begins. When I saw the bus we were supposed to be commuting in shortly, I nearly quit the trip convinced my enemies were trying to trick me to an untimely death. Noticing my apparent consternation, Abraham set about allaying my fears, he being a 7 year veteran of the route we were to ply, as a vet med student of the University of Maiduguri. He assured me that the designated driver, a gentle giant named Dogo had a reputation for making light work of the trip. We couldn’t be in better hands. Looking at the bag of nuts, bolts, bits and ends they were trying to pass off as a bus however, I was wary. The model was most definitely no longer in production; the windows had no shutters, the seats were laid bare by the very many years of steadily applied backsides of different sizes, the engine sounded like a frog with catarrh and you could barely tell what colour it had once been. It was little more than an accident waiting to happen really. Somehow though I eventually got on the bus and we were soon on our way.
As we gathered speed and the miles fell behind, I got less and less apprehensive. Our pace was good, the road was smooth and all my fears now seemed exaggerated. It was a perfect trip. Well, almost.
Trouble began after Kari, a little village where we stopped to get refreshed. As soon as we got back on the road it became clear that all wasn’t well. Our location, Potiskum, was still a clear over 200km from Maiduguri yet the vehicle was doing 30 or 40kmph! Eventually we grinded to a shuddering halt right in the middle of nowhere. When I say “shuddering” I refer both to the bus and my humble self. I mean, if the “road owners” had blocked us there, wetin we for tell our God?
At this point I’m wondering if there is a reason the management of Plateau Riders cannot ditch these mobile coffins. Isn’t there a Plateau State LASTMA (PLASMA?) that can seize and destroy these relics?
Finally, having changed an errant oil filter and doing some other tinkering, we got going again. Thankfully there was no further incident and Dogo lived up to his billing so we arrived none the worse for everything. All is well that ends well, no? Somehow though, I’d just rather be flying.
Better late than be the late. 'What if" the "oil filter" of the aircraft developed fault mid-air - tell your God you are coming home!
ReplyDeleteNone is safe this days, just that one is more comfortable (note, not timely).
You are absolutely interesting to read. PLASMA almost cracked my ribs
ReplyDelete