The bus still smells of yesterday's sweat from tired bodies, dust from the road, and faint traces of fuel from the empty gallon nestled in-between the driver's seat and the frame.
I jostled my way into the bus. My blouse was already sticking to my back and it's not yet 7 a.m., but Lagos was already awake like yesterday.
I dumped myself hard on a seat close to the window and dragged my bag closer to my chest. My eyes were still heavy from not getting enough sleep last night. I yawned unconsciously and pressed my head against the metal frame. Then I lied to myself that one day I would be used to Lagos life. But tell me, how does one get used to chaos?
The conductor kept shouting, “Oshodi! Oshodi straight! Enter with your change o!”
I listened to his voice, maybe it could serve as a disturbance to keep me from falling asleep on the bus. Violently, people started pushing in like it was the last bus to heaven. I felt a sharp elbow to my side. I turned to see an old man who had hit me without remorse. I swallowed the irritation. After all, we are all hustling.
Then she enters. The girl from down my street.
I notice her every morning. Always dressing to work like her work is to be on the front page of a magazine cover. Her handbag for sure would be worth my annual salary and her hair bouncing like it costs my three months’ rent. And her perfume filled the bus before she even sat.
I glance from her to myself. My scuffed flat shoe is almost screaming for help. I wore the same black skirt I had worn twice already this week, my hair tied back in a bun because braids have become too expensive. Somehow I felt small beside her, like she had bent Lagos to her will, while I am the one bent by Lagos.
I closed my eyes for a moment and whispered inside me: God, please, why do I have to be the one dealing with an endless cycle of traffic, stress, and a boss who thinks shouting is a management style?
It wasn't long enough for the bus to jerk forward. I held onto the iron seat in front of me. Then I was looking out the window, letting my thoughts drift with the streets of Lagos. For a moment, I feel as though the whole city is one big bus, all of us squeezed together, sweating, hurting, but pretending we’re fine.
I shut my eyes again, almost drifting to sleep when I heard a phone ring. I checked my bag quickly and it wasn't mine. It was from the beautiful girl sitting just before me. I shut my eyes again with no intention to eavesdrop, but in a cramped bus like that, her words spilled freely into my ears.
“Hello… Yes, I told you I would send it once my office pays… I know…" she paused and continued. "Oga bear with me, " he said if I don’t come to his office again, he won’t approve of it. I just need him to approve it and I'll send the money. I can't have money and not pay my ama’s hospital bills. Please, just give me time.”
Her voice cracks. She tries to hide it, but I hear it. She was at the edge of breaking from carrying too much. I glanced at her again, this time I looked too well. Even though her face was beautifully painted and her clothes shining, I could see her truly now, her shoulders were slumped like something heavy sat on them.
Just then her phone beeped. I can’t help but catch it as she scrolls past, it was from Palmpay.
"Loan payment overdue. Please settle immediately."
She takes one quick deep breath, rubs her forehead, and types again with trembling fingers.
And suddenly it hit me, the girl I wished admired from afar was barely floating above life. Just like me, she was struggling too, if not more. The only difference was that she hid her battles behind perfume and fancy hair.
My mind drifted to yesterday evening, when I came home so tired and frustrated. At that moment I wished I could just switch lives with someone else, anyone, maybe it would be easier. But this morning proves me wrong. Why, if those I wished to be like had burdens they carried that were heavier than mine? Just like the lady who sat before me, I would carry her mother’s hospital bills. Or maybe drag debts behind my polished face.
The conductor shouts again, jolting me back. “Oshodi last bus stop!”
The driver pulled to a stop. Like sheep being driven to the slaughter, we all rose, bodies pressing, elbows bumping
I step down carefully, my flats nearly hitting the dusty road. My eye caught the girl as she adjusted her bag. Her eyes caught mine and she smiled at me with a little wave. I guessed she recognised me from our street. I smiled and waved back. This time, there was understanding in my eyes.
Then I walked toward the pedestrian bridge, and she took the opposite direction. I breathe differently. Consoling myself with the fact that life wasn't only tough with me. Just like the girl I didn't need to look like my problem. And even though my shoes might be worn and cheap it didn't hurt much.