What Do I Blame?

Abolaji Odalipupo
Nigeria
ESOL 400
Fall 2009

Just like any other day in Netcom Africa Limited, I could not predict my activities for the day. Hence, I made no promise to anyone as regards to time, visits or any related activities. It was like I was married to the job. On that very day, there were lots of phone calls streaming in from the customers, lodging complaints about erratic wireless internet service. The customer support staff was overwhelmed by the load of the “trouble calls.” A first line support was given remotely to the aggrieved customers, but it did not suffice. The issue was referred to the technical department, which showed that all the affected customers were clustered around the same serving base (wireless transmitting) station. I worked as a 3G field engineer. Within few moments of troubleshooting, it was realized that a physical presence would be needed at the affected base station.

My supervisor assigned me to the task. I quickly fetched my tool kit and ensured I had the right equipment in my bag. I dashed out of the office and headed straight to the vehicle to transport me to the site.

The Apapa base station was about twenty-five minutes drive from the office, which was located on Victoria Island. A drive out of the ever busy Victoria Island through the tightly clenched traffic at the peak of the day, to the Apapa on the mainland, which had its own slowly creeping traffic owing to the seaport’s location, would be nothing less than forty-five minutes. I was the man at that moment. The slightest thing I wanted was to receive a call from the Chief Technical Officer (CTO).

Chinedu, the driver of the vehicle, headed towards Apapa. As fate would have it, the road was slightly congested with traffic. He maneuvered vehicle through and out of Victoria Island. I still had time on my side. In less than fifteen minutes, we were at the bridge descending into Apapa. We drove along the road, which led us to a round-about, where we had to make a right turn. As the road bent, I felt blood surged through my head at the ugly sight just in front of me. It was like a rat walking into a trap. Chinedu quickly realized this and tried to renegotiate to another route but it was instantaneously impossible. Several vehicles had queued behind us. I was stuck. A trailer with a full load had turned on its side, blocking the access road. In a twinkling of an eye, the traffic dramatically built so heavily such that vehicles were at stand still. I knew I had to improvise. While I raked my brain for ideas, I saw an okada pass by.

I quickly rolled down the side window and called out. The okada rider looked towards the direction of the origin of the voice and our eyes made contact. I signaled to him to stop. “Chinedu, meet me at the base station,” I said to the driver, and I alighted from the vehicle.

“Duala Street,” I said to the okada rider and briskly got myself on the bike. He rode off without negotiating the fare with his passenger. It was a matter of urgency and circumstances, which he realized. In less than ten minutes, I was at the base station. I got off the okada and paid him his fare, which he told me at that point. It was worth the time saved though exorbitant on a good day. I dashed to the base station container, opened it and began to troubleshoot. A rectifier was burnt; hence the equipment had to shut down some redundant components and operated at a low output level. In less than five minutes, the faulty rectifier was replaced, and the station went back to an optimal state with subscribers’ connectivity increasing. Calls came in on my phone. “Bolaji, you saved the day,” most of my callers voiced on the phone. I thought I saved the day, but really, I did not.

An okada is a commercial motorcycle in Nigeria, in which the motorcycle okada riders transport passengers to their destination at a fare. It is one of the major types of transportation in Nigeria, and by far, the most common form of informal transport in the country. Okadas have become ubiquitous because they take you to your destination on time, they go where other land transport cannot get you, and most importantly, they cut through traffic like a knife through butter. Not to mention, they are available all around the cities.

In the major cities like Lagos, where traffic congestion with inevitable delays are present, an okada comes into play and literally rescues countless helpless people from the chaos. On the other hand, there are menaces attached to this form of transportation. The most prominent ones being incessant accidents, reckless riding and crime perpetration, to mention a few. These have raised lots of discussions and deliberations on its abolishment. Nonetheless, it still has its good days. Sometimes I wondered what a transportation system would be like without the okada.

When I came to the US, I did not expect to see an okada but I was anxious to see a transport system that addresses the role okadas play back at home. My point of destination in America was Newark in New Jersey. There were a lot of intriguing things about my new abode, such as a switch being flipped in opposite direction, as compared to the way it was done back at home when switching on an electrical light. Another example was the building structures around Newark residential area. I found it difficult to remember places, as every street appeared similar to me. I looked for landmarks for recognition, but every house seemed so identical, as opposed to houses in Lagos, which are built in various designs. Hence, it would be possible to remember a peculiar building, and associate it with a street, when it is sighted. After three weeks of stay, I still did not go out myself because I had not been familiar with the routes. My brother, Ayo, dropped me at school when he had the chance or at Washington Park when his schedule was tight. There, I would catch bus 28 to Montclair State University (MSU). I knew it was a process that would be short-lived; hence I hoped to familiarize myself as soon as possible.

One morning, Ayo called to inform me that he would not be able to drop me off as usual, and then I realized it was sooner than I thought. I was given the description of where and when to catch a bus to downtown Newark, and instructions on making my way to the bus station.

I left earlier than usual in order to offset the time to be spent on the bus. I memorized this and actually got on the right bus, but on the wrong side of the road. I was taken towards the opposite direction of my intended destination. Oh Lord, how could this be! I did not know where I was. I informed the bus driver and he told me to get down at the next stop, and wait to catch another bus going in the opposite direction to the downtown. My time was running out. I walked up to a young man and explained myself to him, and fortunately he said he would be heading towards my destination, Broad Street, in a moment. I had to wait for him for a ride.
At the bus station, I guess I was not conscious of the bus timing. I saw bus 11 slowed down towards me. It read Montclair-Willowbrook, so I went on board. I never remembered using bus 11 before then. The bus passed along the route I was aware of, Bloomfield Avenue, but it suddenly changed route.

I did not want another mistake; quickly I pushed the stop button to stop. The bus driver gave me a transfer ticket and showed me where I could catch bus 28 to MSU. It was just a stone’s throw away. I heaved a sigh of relief. “I would still be on time for my classes,” I thought. Then I waited for my bus to come, but it did not. I asked a woman standing with me at the bus stop and she replied that she was from New York and so returning back. I looked at my watch; I had twenty minutes before my class started. I thought I had to do something. “Montclair is unlike Newark, where there are more activities. It is more serene and the people seem to be more mindful about them selves,” the thought went through on my mind. I thought of getting a cab, but there were none that came my way. I was blank with ideas. I was in a complete dilemma and felt homesick. “I wish there were okadas here,” I thought. In this typical situation, it would have been my best option. Even if I was not used to the town, I could still make my way to my intended destination. Lo! There weren’t any. I could not stop a car for ride, because I did not know how it would be perceived.
I was on Park Street. I often looked from the bus window to the street as I was transported to and from MSU, so I figured the walk could not be more than twenty-five minutes. I resorted to walking to MSU, so I set out on the sidewalk. I walked on Park Street with the hope it would be less than five minutes, but it seemed endless. I knew the route I should follow; Park Street would lead me onto Valley Road. Valley Road would lead me onto Normal Avenue. That was the bus route which I knew. I did not know any other shortcut, hence I could not experiment. At the junction where Park Street intersects Valley Road, I knew I had to ask someone for the right turn I should make or else it would be the greatest mistake I could have made. I had to wait for a passerby to come. I was getting tired, and I was about twenty-five minutes late for my first class. I wondered if I was worthy of blame for my mishap or who or what should be responsible for it. I valued the relevance of okada at that time. My duration on Valley Road was almost twice as much as I spent on Park Street. Not too long, I heard a huge vehicle’s engine from behind, and then the vehicle briskly passed me by. It was bus 28. Bitterness swept me as I languidly moved my body on the road. By the time I eventually got to school, I missed my first class, and was also late for the second class. There was no okada to save my day as it did when I was held up in Apapa. Then, I acknowledged that it was the okada that saved the day at Apapa.

Here I am, in New Jersey. I realized I had to figure out the best means amongst the available transportation that will suit me the most. Soon, I realized that the train is a lot faster and a better alternative for me. I have to memorize the schedule and be on time. I have also learned the alternative buses I can catch to and from my home to downtown Newark. From there, I will walk to the Broad Street station to catch the train. Now I have options and I have readily adapted.