UnKNOWN

‘… No! But, I hope he is different from the rest of presidents we’ve had oo. And why are you calling him ”upcoming president” when the elections hasn’t even come self?’‘ E be like say you no sabi this country they call Nigeria. They will just rig this election and give it to Ola Kunle.' "These and more are reasons I dislike voting – rigging, gun shots and the rest of violence." "Common fuel that we own is now expensive in our country. How can one liter be 24 kobo?’ ‘Asin eh, me I don tire for that country. Even yesterday, I see as ogar Sunny no on him gen yesterday. He be like say them don sack him wife.’ 'Sack Simisola? Ah! But that woman dey overwork. How people go just decide to wicked like this na?’ ‘ Na why she no comot early this morning? I dey try reason with my wife say them don sack am. My wife say na lie say na belle she carry. Now, she go come dey beg for garri and rice.’ ‘But that woman dey help us, normally when food no dey house,’ The yellow-shirt man said with emotions, ‘but, we no get food to support am now.’ 'Whoever sacked her should have allowed December and February to pass before doing this heinous act.’‘ 'This Nigeria don spoil na. Why brother go sack brother? If you go steal now, them go call you thief; if you work, them go either sack you or no pay you for work were you do.’ ‘When will these things stop in this country?’ ‘Na me you dey ask? Na me be God. Even God don tire for this country, I believe.’ ‘I think the hope will surely come. Let’s keep our fingers crossed and see as events unfold na.’ He didn’t seem to concern himself in the discussion. What mattered most was the fact he has to be in the office before his boss arrives. He picked up his phone and decided to call Tayo as he promised to but then decided against it. His car has just broken down, now he has to board a taxi to his office. It’s 7:43am and in less than 30 minutes, he has to be there before the CEO. Yesterday, it was Simisola that was sacked. Today can’t be his day. But, what did Simisola do to warrant the sack? He doesn’t have a clue. He needs to hurry up. How is he going to get one cab now? ‘Taxi!’ He shouted. The taxi pulled up in reverse, its once-red paint now dulled to a tired shade of brown. The doors were stained with dust and streaked with scratches, each one a silent witness to years of wear. A strip of waterproof tape clung to the cracked windscreen—an improvised shield against the elements, holding on until a proper replacement arrived. At the wheel sat a driver who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He wore a bulky, worn-out brown cardigan and an oversized cap that drooped slightly over his brow. As he maneuvered the car, he smiled with easy confidence, revealing a charming gap-tooth grin punctuated by a few broken teeth—souvenirs from a fight, perhaps, or life’s rougher moments. His forehead bore its own set of scratches, as if it, too, had stories to tell—maybe even rivaling the taxi doors for the title of most battered surface. From the radio came the soft, steady rhythm of Give Me Love by Miliamio, a surprising tenderness in contrast to the rugged scene. With broken English, the cab driver ask, ‘where you dey go?’ ‘Egejeje Junction.’ He replied. ‘I dey no go that side today. They are shoot guns in the that place since today in the morning.’ The cab driver said while frowning his face. ‘You go find ano….’ 'Please, I will double your payments. Just take me there, I am late for work already.’ He didn’t know when he said that. He never liked this taxi a bit. ‘I no fit go that side, but pay e no go too plenty?’ ‘How much do you charge for a normal ride?’ Not his intention as he was not sure if the brakes are in perfect conditions. ‘ On a normally, is twenty kobo that I use to collected it. You know say things is really hard. Even chopping money for soup cook no dey easy for finding.’ ‘No worries. I’ll pay fifty kobo. Let’s go now.’ 'Money first. Pay me my Ego’ ' Fine.’ He searched his breast pocket for money. He couldn’t find it there; he searched the right pocket on his trouser and found some coins there. ‘Here, take it and please let’s be going. I’ve spent more time than I should.’ He said while handing him the money. ‘How do you open the door?’ He asked. ‘Wait Mohammed go do it for you open.’ He stepped out of the cab and turned back to open the door for Tim. Once they were both inside, the driver started the engine, and they eased onto the road. But something about today felt off. The sky hung low and brooding; the weather had a mood of its own. Even the people on the sidewalks seemed hurried, moving with a kind of anxious urgency that made the slow crawl of the taxi feel surreal—like everything outside was being controlled by some unseen hand, sped up by a remote. No one smiled. Inside the cab, soft music played—a calm contrast to the tension in the streets. The driver, it seemed, had excellent taste. The interior was surprisingly clean and well-kept. The seats were plush, their softness unexpected, and carried a faint, pleasant scent. It felt like a small world apart from the chaos outside. Then What Did We Do began to play. A favorite. The urge to sing rose in him, but the lyrics escaped him. Instead, he whistled along to the tune, catching its rhythm with ease. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling as he smiled—and then, without a word, joined in the whistling. For a moment, they shared the song. And in that moment, the world outside didn’t matter quite as much. ‘From the way I look at the look at you, you be a teacher?’ ‘No. Just drive carefully.’ He replied rather rudely. ‘Ogar, na it be true say we dey enter prepiratception?’ 'What is that? What is prepiratception?’ He tried suppressing the laughter. 'Time where food go hard to bought for market. price things go higher up the go.' 'You mean Recession?’ ‘Ogar, na it be that. Reception!’ He smiled displaying his gap tooth. ‘I don’t know oo. The look of things is no longer funny. Let’s just hope this recession doesn’t come.’ ‘I beg o. I have 7 children to put them food for mouth. I need pay house rent. I no get another money-making way.’ They had been on the road for nearly twenty minutes now, and he silently hoped they would arrive within the next five. But as the taxi approached the upcoming bend, a sudden shift in energy unsettled the atmosphere. The corner unfolded into chaos—people were scattering in every direction, fleeing in panic without a clear destination. Confusion hung thick in the air, like smoke after an explosion. It was as if order itself had collapsed, replaced by a frantic desperation that sent everyone running, heedless of where their feet might carry them. ‘What is happening? Why are they running? Please reverse the car. No, let me come down. Open the door! How do you open the door?’ He asked not waiting for answers. 'Ogar, shea me I am told you this before. I don’t…’ ‘How do you open the door?’ He asked again. ‘ Wait make I como do am. Na only me sabi how to open nam. This door I don give am to Mechanic plenty times. They no fit do am say my money no plenty. So, I say make…’ ‘Mister’, the anger could be noticed in his voice, ‘ cut the crap and please let me out. I need to find safety before whatever happens next affect me.’ He commanded. “I am Bidemi Mike, you are listening to Afrique Radio, your number one radio in Africa.” came a voice on the radio “there have been a coup d’état earlier today. Please .." ‘Another coup d'état?’ He asked to no one in particular. ‘Open this door, driver.’ The driver was battling with the handle. ‘Ogar fast na. Let me out of this place before the unknown welcomes me.’ The driver finally opened the door, and as he stepped out, the rapid thumping of his heart echoed loudly in his chest, each beat a reminder of the chaos around him. What lay before him was a scene of devastation. Mama Tayo’s stall, once a small sanctuary of bustling trade, was now engulfed in flames. The fire had consumed everything—starting from the roof and spreading down to where she used to sit, arranging her wares with care. What remained were only ashes, the wind scattering them into the air. The windows, now shattered, dangled precariously from their frames, flames licking at their edges, threatening to swallow whatever was left of her livelihood. Not far from the stall, a sight that chilled him to the bone caught his attention. A woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform, lay motionless by the roadside. Her life had been abruptly taken by a bullet, which had struck her near the left side of her chest, just beneath her shoulder. The ground around her was stained with blood, a stark contrast to the dust and grime of the street, marking the place where her life had ended. Nearby, a small boy, no older than five or six, stood alone, his cries piercing through the frantic noise of the fleeing crowd. He was abandoned, left to fend for himself as the world around him continued its frantic rush for safety. His tiny body trembled with fear, but no one had the time to stop and offer him solace. Everyone was too absorbed in their own survival. The chaos continued to unfold as a Peugeot, racing through the turmoil, swerved suddenly. In its wake, an Okada rider, unable to regain control of his bike, was knocked to the ground. His body was sprawled in the street, the motorcycle a tangled mess beside him. The image was disturbing, yet in that moment, it felt almost insignificant. There was no time to dwell on the suffering around him; no one had the luxury to pause. The only instinct that mattered now was to flee, to escape the violence and find a place, any place, where the chaos couldn't reach. He didn’t even notice when his legs started moving, but soon enough, he was running faster than the motorcycles speeding by him on the road, propelled by nothing more than the desperate need to survive. The world around him was reduced to a blur of panic and motion, and all he could think about was finding safety. ‘They don kill Ola Kunle o. Person wicked.’ He manages to pick this from a lady running beside him. 'My pikin oo. Who dey house with am?’ Another asked. ‘Ah! Na so we go take die?’ The pot-belled man exclaimed. He felt cold splash of water on his face. It was his aunt again. ‘Wake up and empty those trash! Prepare food for me, I want to visit some friends.’ She left. ‘Ah! Not another dream again.’ He exclaimed.