"Driver, stop!" everyone screamed. The danfo halted.
Before they could drag me, I pushed the conductor and fought my way out. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, tears blurring my eyes.
"Catch her! Stop her!"
People chased me, but I didn't look back. I don enter wahala!
"What just happened?" a voice whispered.
The passenger next to him shook him. "Oga? Oga stand up!"
"Eii! Chimo! She has killed him o!" a woman screamed, pointing at me.
What just happened? I thought. My eyes blurred, and I tried to process the situation.
“Is he dead?”
"Conductor, my change o!" I shouted, as I climbed inside the danfo.
Ever since I moved from Ibadan to this wild Lagos, getting change from these conductors has been a wrestling match. Lagos people and unnecessary wahala na 5&6. I squeezed my body into the cramped second row.
He gripped my shoulder. On pure impulse, my hand swung backward to rip his fingers off me. My fist hit his chest.
It wasn’t even a heavy blow, but the man froze, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into the bus seat. He didn't blink or breathe.
The bus went dead silent.
"God, which kind thing be this?" I muttered.
Our argument was heating up, insults flew, but the other passengers just watched us like a cinema.
Suddenly, a young man in a sharp suit at the back row cleared his throat. "Young lady, you don’t talk to an older woman like that.”