The Bus that waited

In Abuja, there is a bus that nobody sees.

It only comes out when it rains small-small, that kind of evening rain wey no be too much.

Femi was waiting at a bus stop in Wuse, around 7pm. He had just lost his job. His phone was dead. No money for Bolt. He was just standing there in the small rain.

A small yellow bus, old model, pulled up. The driver said, "Enter."

Femi entered. Inside the bus, there were only three people:

A woman holding a baby that was not crying.
An old man holding a big yam.
And a young girl in school uniform, doing homework on her lap.

Nobody was talking.

Femi said, "Apo."

The driver didn't go to Apo. He kept driving. Past Central Area, past Airport Road, going, going.

Femi got scared. "Oga, where you dey go?"

The old man with yam answered instead, "We dey go where everybody dey go."

The woman smiled, "No fear. We all miss our stop before."

The school girl looked up from her homework. "My stop was two years ago, but I fell asleep."

Femi understood.

This was not a real bus.

This was the bus for people who missed something - a job, a chance, a person, a goodbye.

The bus finally stopped in a place that looked like Femi's village. Bright. Quiet.

The driver turned, "Oga, you fit come down here and start again, or you fit stay for bus dey go round."

Femi came down.

The rain stopped in real life. He was still at the bus stop in Wuse. His clothes were dry. On the floor beside him was a small boiled yam, still warm.

He ate it. And he walked home, taking the long road, not rushing.

Sometimes you miss your stop so you can find a new road.