MY CHANGE!

It was 8am Monday, and by all standards, I was late going to be late to work, AGAIN!

Crazy fun-fact about me, punctuality isn’t in my dictionary and tardiness happens to be my middle name. I can’t show up early to save my life- for real. But let’s not dwell on that.

I stood at the bus stop of Palmgrove, alongside countless other would-be passengers, ready to push, pull and shove just to get a seat in the next available Danfo bus. See, if you grew up in Lagos like I did, then you’d know that everything is a struggle with us—from getting a seat in a bus, to shopping in the market, down to walking on the road. Today was no exception. It was survival of the fittest.

After twenty agonizing minutes of waiting under the sun and feeling the make-up melt on my face, a bus finally came. I did the needful and got a seat, and during this great battle, some of my make-up got on a guy’s crisp white shirt. Oops?

The fare to Ojota—my destination—is 100 naira. Some bus conductors like to be greedy and charge an extra 50%, but I happen to be an expert negotiator who lets no one get the better of me. I paid with a 1000 naira note and endured the rants of the conductor- 

“I NO GET CHANGE OO, I DON TELL YOU BEFORE YOU ENTER”.

I need to learn to start carrying my money in change.

“Conductor, my change!”  I said to the conductor who pretended not to have heard me. I honestly don’t know what the deal is with bus conductors and holding on to passengers’ change, even when they have it, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let 900 naira go.

We got to Maryland and I once again requested for my change. And again. And again. 

“Auntie I go give you your change, we never reach your bus stop”

It was 9:15 am and I was officially late. I couldn’t help but ponder on what would be waiting for me when I got to the office. Query? Suspension? Sack letter? God forbid!

These thoughts continued to derail me as I alighted from the bus which carried on to its final destination- Ketu. 

As I looked on to the departing bus, I couldn’t help but notice the smug look on the conductor’s face. What the heck was he smiling about? Then it hit me, my change!

I made a move to run after the bus, but it was like trying to get blood out of a stone. The deed was done. So I did what any frustrated Nigerian in my situation would do. I screamed;

“WAKA!!” accompanied with a show of five fingers.

That day, I made a vow to follow up on my change with busconductors until it reaches my hands.

Have you ever been scammed by a bus conductor? Tell us your story.