Can we try again?

Seventeen.

The road was unusually devoid of traffic and before I knew we were on the highway. The bus sped over the tarmac, that the scenery became a hazy blur. The air inside the bus wasn't hot and stuffy like most buses were, because the Air Conditioning was on. I munched on my snacks and sipped from my bottle of la casera as we drove on. At mid day, the driver stopped for a comfort break. He parked in front of a restaurant. People came out to ease themselves, some went inside to buy something to eat. And others just came out to stretch their legs and I was one of those people. I still had one meat pie left and some of my biscuit, my La casera was finished so I bought only a bottle of water. I didn't feel like eating anything else; being sick in the bus wasn't not something I wanted to happen.

We were back in the bus, and this time, the driver had turned on the radio. I looked at the faces of the people in the bus and it was a mixture of cosy and tired, every one of us itching for our destination that was still hours away. Some people were chatting, others were sleeping, like the lady next to me. Some were reading and others mostly the young adults were busy on their phones. I rested my head on the window, listening to some music with my headphones plugged in.

6 hours and two naps later, I felt the bus slowing down because of the traffic. We were in Port-Harcourt already, nearly at the station. I was closer and closer to getting home. My heart suddenly started to beat faster.

The bus drove into the station and came to a halt. As soon as the door opened, everyone rushed out, stretching and sighing; sigh of relief after the tedious journey. As soon as I got my bag, I headed to get a taxi.

"Which side you dey go?" The cab driver, a short and stout man asked as I approached him.

"New GRA," I replied. "How much?"

He scratched the stubble on his chin and then said, "That one go be 1000 Naira."

"For what na oga? 500 Naira, let's go."

"Ah no no no. You know say fuel no dey, give me 800, make we go," he reached for my bag to put in the boot of the car.

I let him. "I'll give you 650." I stated. Thanks to Ijeoma, I've learnt how to be a good negotiator.

He put the bag in the boot of car and I jumped into the front seat. There was a lot of traffic, as it was rush hour. But thankfully, it was moving. About 45 minutes later, and with directions, the driver turned into an estate and then he parked in front of a huge green gate. I got out of the car and he helped me bring out my bag from the boot. I paid and thanked him and he drove off.

I knocked on the gate and it was opened by Musa, after peeking through the little spy hole. Musa was our gateman. He was an elderly man, in his sixties, although he didn't look it because of his very small stature.

"Alhaji Musa, Good evening sir," I saluted.

"Ah," he exclaimed and smiled revealing his brown teeth which had been marred from years of smoking tobacco. "Sami Sami, How are you? How school? We miss you plenty." He helped me take my bag.

"Alhaji, I'm fine," I replied. "How everyone? Hope everything is okay at home?"

"Everything well, Allahamdullilah Allah."

"Good. Let me go inside and see my people." He dropped the bag at the door.

I entered inside and Aisha my sister was in the living room watching a movie.

"MiMi you're back, welcome." She greeted, but her eyes were still glued to the TV screen. Typical Aisha.

"Aisha? Really? You don't see me for nearly three months and that's all get?" I asked, eyebrows raised.