As the taxi slowed down at Nicon Junction, I took in the small crowd waiting for cars to take them to Bwari, Mpape, Dutse or Kubwa. It was way past close of work.

“Why people just full here like this na!” I looked at the passenger at my side and was surprised he wasn’t dumb, then peered at his phone to confirm if it had gone off.

“Shey I don dey talk say hold up dey for Berger! Phone no let you see road” the man in front drawled.

Soon I was standing with crowd, one boy came close to me and I held onto my bag, zipping it at the same time. I thought of home, and could smell Mom’s ofada rice and spicy stew.

“Duste! Bwari!” Someone called out

A car came to park just in front of me and I dived in! “Where are you going?”

“Duste” the driver was a beautiful man and he had a friend by his side. They both wore light blue shirts, like bankers.

“Okay, I will stop at Dutse junction where bikes stop to take people to Kubwa”


“Is that not Azeezat? Stop for her now!” The friend said

“She is going. to Mpape”

“Ah! That place that will soon be demolished”.

I thought of kubwa marker that was leveled last week and Berger camp that is soon to be leveled, and all my friends who had to move to Nassarawa, Muko and even minna.

I was soon inhaling fresh sweat and Hausa perfume. The man by my side found a cushion in me.

“Please let me buy fuel”

I took in the filling station and panicked, the queue appeared long. I held my chest, Christmas Fuel scarcity?

I glanced at the little boy by my side sleeping with his mouth open, head against his Mother’s chest. She looked alive but her eyes lifeless. I wonder where they had been and coming from.

(copyright Adesuwa Iluobe 2016)