FIFTY SHADES OF FAITH (5)

"Oga na you dey see am like that", another voice came. This time it was in front of her, the man with dreadlocks. "If to sey you go through wetin these boys go through, you no for dey talk like this", Dreadlocks said in a surprisingly dulcet voice, which contrasted his rugged construct. 

It seemed Isoken had just arrived at an ongoing, well-progressed rapport. 

"What did they go through that every other successful making-a-honest-living person has not gone through?. Please tell me, Sir", the peacemaker responded, agitation slowly crawling into his words. 

"Oga, the English wey you dey talk so, no fit buy pure water for market", Dreadlocks informs as he gives off a soft chuckle. "Tell me how person go come this country wey work no dey. Country wey government dey chop tax, country wey corrupt pass anything. The job wey reach person hand na him he go collect now" 

"The job wey reach person hand?", the voice was feminine this time and gave off the timbre of old age. "No be the same agbero wey dey rob people house, no be them politicians dey use dey rig election?. Abeg, oga if you no get talk for mouth, keep quiet" 

"Ahan. Mummy, you no try o", a third man inserted sharply. "How you go talk sey na the tout wey we see they fight for #200, na still this same agbero dey rob people house. You know how much dem dey make from armed robbery?. If you dey make that kain one, you go come motor park come dey fight for two hundred naira?"

Isoken drowned out this conversation from the periphery of her ears as she laid her head on the backrest of the seat facing her. It was the typical rendition by passengers who knew the length of the journey and brought up topics for discourse in order to pass the time. 

She had been asleep for a while when shouts from the passengers broke down the doors of her dreamland. She looked round, seeing people but no one appeared to be seeing her, not even the thin looking teenage girl who was sitting beside her. Her eyes were focused on something beyond. Isoken followed her gaze, which revealed a red car turned on its side, blood and gasoline flowing freely from its irregular metal work. Some people were outside, staring away from the wreckage. Their eyes were glued on something writhing on the ground, far distinguished from the crux of the accident. 

Isoken swiftly moved from her seat and out into the small gathering of onlookers. It was a child, cloaked in blood. It appeared to be calling on humanity for a fighting chance at life. Isoken sluggishly closed the distance between herself and the child, as if pulled by a mystic force. She felt the eyes of the other passengers forming telepathic footprints for her every step. Soon, she was standing over the child, who was making a pulsating sound which came off as a quiet whimper. At close range, a careful eye will put the child's age at four, trailing five. It stretched out its hand and Isoken bent low to meet it, without making any move to grasp the extended fingers. The pulsating noise continued, which soon turned into a quiver, jerking its entire body, as if a tight fist held its neck in strangulation.