Mess it up – A Flash Fiction with Humor

“Oshodi, Oshodi…”

I heard the conductor calling. The terminal was filled with danfo and the air was cold as the harmattan breeze cuddled us under the early morning sky.

I entered the bus on my right. Inside, it smelt of dust and harmattan. The seat was covered in black leather. I sat on it as my perfume battled the smell of dust.

Moments later, the bus was full and we were ready to drive off. 

“Oya, make una bring money! The money na one thousand five hundred.” The conductor called so I handed him the crisp one thousand, five hundred naira note from my purse.

The radio was on, the FM station was playing ‘buga’. What a good way to start a day, right?

“Ogbeni, you nor go pay? Alaye, stretch your hand well, abi you get leprosy?” The conductor called to other passengers in his croaky voice.

A little girl seated on her mother’s lap was singing along with the radio, “you don work you don try, try, you suppose to dey…”

Fifteen minutes into the trip, I heard my stomach rumble. At first, I thought it was hunger until I felt another rumble that led to a very silent flatulence. 

I was shocked. 

I had to mask my face like nothing happened. It smelt of rotten egg and beans. I blamed Aproko doctor for advising his viewers to eat eggs and drink lots of water.

“Na who do this rubbish now?…”

“Kilode?…”

“God forbid,” a fat lady who was sitting in the middle bench said. 

I was using my hand as a fan to blow off the stench. Nobody knew who had done it so I was relieved.

A while later, my stomach was churning and I was sweating profusely. I needed to use the toilet ASAP. 

I had to take deep breaths but it did little or nothing to help my situation. Then, I remembered my mom’s advice to rub saliva on my stomach when I was pressed and nowhere near a toilet.

I observed the people in the bus and when I was sure the coast was clear, I dipped my hand into my mouth and touched saliva. I brought my hand to my navel but my black gown prevented me. I just rubbed the saliva on the navel point like that.

We were just a few minutes away from Oshodi when we met traffic building slowly. I cringed mentally. I needed to get to the office quickly to relieve myself. Despite the fact that I left my house early, I still met traffic.

My friend Linda had informed me about the job opening in a Law Firm at Oshodi and I submitted my CV online before moving here to live with her in Ebute Meta. 

Since I came to this Lagos, I have been sleep deprived, eating when I can and managing my resources. It’s been two months but I don’t think I have adjusted properly.

A little boy seated on his mother’s lap, two seats away from me began crying. His mother seemed ruffled by his tears and reached into her purse. The child was wailing bitterly at this point so she brought out a bottle of Lacasera and gave him to drink. He was quiet as he wedged it between his lips and closed his eyes. 

I envied him so much that I could feel tears in my eyes. I breathed in and opened my eyes wide to avoid tears dropping on my already made-up face. I wish I was home with my mom right now, I would not be worried about where my next meal would come from.

The bus shook as we encountered a pothole and my anus did it’s thing, another silent fart. 

At first, I was sure no one would notice but the man seated beside me looked at me suspiciously. I just looked him straight in the eye as if daring him to expose my secret but he said nothing and just opened the window behind me. 

“Na wa ooo,” he said and looked ahead, “some people too do ooo.”

“Fish pieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The little boy screamed and everyone laughed despite the smell.

I bit my lower lip as my stomach tightened. Which kind wahala be this? I really needed to use a toilet as soon as possible or else…

There was a gunshot followed by another. Some people were running while two bikes swerved out of the traffic into a street. 

“Wetin dey happen?” Someone asked but before anyone could answer, there was another gunshot and I saw a helicopter above my bus for the first time in my life.

The music had stopped and a reporter was saying something but my eyes were fixed on one of the bike riders whose head was covered in a black helmet but his pose was very athletic. I wanted to see what he looked like but his back was turned to me. 

“Them say one person go rob politician house but it was not successful,” the fat woman in the middle bench replied. 

“Meaning that this traffic will be a long one until they are caught, right?” A young lady with wire rimmed glasses asked. She looked about my age.

“Na so we see am,” someone replied and I knew I was fucked. 

What a way for a good day to go bad, right?

I closed my eyes as I imagined a peaceful beach with kids laughing and my legs soaked in the sea with coconut in my hand and a straw in my mouth. There was another gunshot and before I could open my eyes, I felt something hot and mushy escape my anus. 

The little boy who was in his mother’s embrace said something and she let him off her lap and handed him the empty bottle of Lacasera. He urinated into it and dropped the bottle beside her. She carried him on her lap as his thumb went into his mouth. She gently removed his hand and sang him a song despite the commotion outside. 

I miss my mommy. I was so uncomfortable and irritated. How can a grown woman shit on herself? Most importantly, how am I going to get down from this bus? Thank God I am even wearing a black gown, but what about the smell. Oh Lord!

Some police officers were in hot pursuit of the criminals but the man on the bike sat there and removed his helmet. To my disappointment, it was a beautiful woman with a very clear skin, I knew this because she threw her head back to relieve her back. 

Some minutes later, the bus began to move and there was no traffic on the road. 

Thankfully, I was the only one aware of my situation. 

A few minutes later, the man beside me opened a bottle of Lacasera and gulped it only to spit it out on the fat woman who was in the middle bench.

“Oga, wetin be your problem?” She asked more from irritation than anger.

I held back my laughter as he tried to explain that he had just drank urine thinking it was the Lacasera he bought before entering the vehicle. The little boy’s mother apologized but the fat woman would not have it, in her own words, “she smelt bad for business”. 

I felt sorry for her but I felt more sorry for myself. We are almost at my destination and I smell like poop. If I stand up, I am sure they will know. 

What a way to start a day.