Charade

He rattled a fist in front of her face and told her not to shout again, or he would bury a punch in her womb. She ignored his warning and slapped her palms together, daring him to do his worst. They were standing at the bus stop causing a scene. He was the conductor, and she a passenger.

They called him Choker, a nickname from the garage, because of his big fat hands and the daring fight he had on his first day, although his real name was Chike Ezejimofor Anulika.

“Can you not see that she is pregnant.” One onlooker uttered.

“Pregnant or not, she must give me my change.” Choker protested.

“Look at this illiterate oh, e no go better for you. You no sabi anything pass to dey harass woman.”

Choker writhed with pain at the pregnant woman’s words. His big veins almost sprang out of his head. He raised a muscled hand that he suspended in the air, contemplating the thoughts of letting it fall on her face.

“Hit me.” She said, raising her voice and dragging his trousers. “You must kill me today. Come and see oh! This illiterate man wan harass him mama.”

The pregnant woman, although not older than her assailant, went by the name of Rose Afolake Oluwatobi. She shook her stomach with her third trimester, dragging his belt, trousers, and boxers underneath his formerly white singlet.

“Madam, what is the problem? Take am easy.” Onlookers voiced while gathering in numbers.

“Calm down both of you. Trouble no hard to find.”

As Rose pulled him to her, Choker turned to face the crowd, and his croaked voice settled on the air like a village storyteller whisking at those who would hear his tale.

“This woman enter for Obaleinde, talk say she dey go Beggar. I tell am say make she hold change for hand. She agree oh, she no talk anything for there. Before we even reach this place, she buy gala for road. Na so we land, she come put 1000 naira for my hand. And na even old 1000 naira oh. I come tell am say make she give me change or I no go give am back her money. She come slap me for head, dey insult my mama.”

“Na lie. This illiterate dey lie. I no insult anybody mama oh.”

“So wetin you come talk?”

The woman tightened her grip on his trousers and screamed a soft cry. Then water started to rush from between her legs. The whole place fell upside down. Rose sat on the floor and spread her legs. One bystander fell on her back and rolled her eyes, and before long she had transported her soul into the abyss.

“Egbami oh, is she going into labor?”

“Calm down. Give her space.” The conductor shouted.

“Wetin this one dey talk, shey you sabi midwife work?”

“Yes, I actually graduated with a degree in medicine,” Choker replied in unusually crafted speech.

“You be doctor, you come do conductor?” One bystander muttered.

“Na the country now. Shey you no dey here with us?” Another one quipped.

He knelt by Rose, rested her back on the floor, told a seller to give him clean water, and rinsed his hands inside the bowl. There was a towel vendor close by. He dragged a fold from her and placed it underneath her legs.

The crowd was awed by his machine swiftness and precise placements of his ploys. They made a mental note not to judge without finding what lay inside a soul.

He placed a palm on Rose. She slapped his hand away.

“If you touch me, you will die.”

He pulled closer to her in the same esteemed voice.

“Madam, do you want to save yourself and your child?”

In her pain, she did not fully protest.

“Breathe.” He whispered. “Push gently with the contraction.”

She shrieked and pushed, her screams piercing the day. Their seesaw went on like a tug of war till a baby cried, and everybody smiled.