Sometime recently, I was in Ibadan for a very important event. My initial travel plan was to get on the Lagos-Ibadan evening train by 4.30pm the day before, attend the event and return by train to Lagos on Thursday evening. Travelling on wednesday would mean leaving Lagos on ‘Keima’s birthday which would contravene an unspoken rule we have about being physically present on the children’s birthdays, as much as possible. The next best arrangement was that Kamba would drop me off in Ibadan very early on Thursday morning and then continue his work-related trip; this seemed perfect.

Then life happened and Kamba would not be able to make the trip anymore. I had two options if my trip was to still be a reality; to either get on the morning train to Ibadan on thursday or get a cab from the park. The challenge with getting on the morning train was that I had an important virtual meeting scheduled for 10.30a.m; the train would arrive Ibadan at 10.40a.m and the scuffle of disembarking the train would disrupt my 30minutes meeting. Getting in a cab to Ibadan on the other hand seemed all too scary, considering the fact that I had not done inter-state travel via public transport in a very long time; too many horror stories that touch, and I just wasn’t mentally prepared. 

I went to bed that night, fully assured that my trip to Ibadan was cancelled. There was no way I could convince myself to ‘wear cloth and enter express’ in public transport, and since the train timing would clash with my meeting, it was a no-brainer. My decision seemed like a fair, justifiable decision that anyone would understand, and so I went ahead to have a happy night rest, with a few drops of ‘beef’ for Kambz, for distorting my plans.

To my utmost surprise, I woke up on the optimistic, “I-can-do-all-things” side of my bed on Thursday morning. I asked myself how a slight challenge like mode of transportation could make me cancel a long-standing commitment, just like that. I jumped off the bed, took a bath, grabbed my travel bag and headed straight to the bus park. The priority for me was getting into a cab early enough so I could arrive in Ibadan by about 9.00a.m and settle down for my meeting.

When I got to the park, I was the last person required for the Toyota Sienna to move; everything seemed to be on track, yaaaaay! I paid my fare and the journey commenced. Minutes in, my fears and hesitations bubbled up to the surface. This one that everyone was already seated in the cab before I arrived, what if they were a gang and I had just entered ‘one chance’? Omo!!! I quelled this thought quickly with a reminder that the Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer, therefore ‘nothing do me’. Nonetheless, I took a cursory glance around to study my co-passengers; there was a youth corper, 2 young farmers (I could tell from their farm gist), 1 market woman and two other young men. All correct!

Soon after I conducted this ‘head-count/profiling exercise’, I settled into the trip and got lost in the beauty of the greenery and cool breeze blowing lightly on my face; nostalgia set in, beautiful memories of several trips on this route as an undergraduate. As though to jolt me out of my daydreams, the car began to jerk; mild spasms gave way to heavy vibrations and after what seemed like a lifetime, the car let off a very loud sound, struggled immensely and finally came to a stop.

A passenger’s repeated screams of ‘Eje-Jesu’, ushered the rest of us hurriedly out of the car as we tried to make sense of what had just happened. Yes, we were glad we hadn’t ended up in an accident, but this is Nigeria; we were quite concerned that we were stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a broken down vehicle and we just had to move. 

Apparently, my worst nightmare had just played out and here I was, standing by the roadside trying to flag down any vehicle that would be gracious enough to move me away from where I was. I eventually got on a rickety bus to complete my journey, but before the bus stopped to pick us, 2 men on a motorbike had circled endlessly and aimlessly around us severally, as though profiling us for an attack; this was indeed spooky. 

The rest of my journey was spent in honest, quiet meditation and solemn prayers in my heart. Amidst the traffic, I got into Ibadan at 10a.m, flew a bike from Iwo Road to Bodija, got cosy with my laptop and had my meeting by 10.35a.m. Afterwards, I moved on to the main reason for the trip, laughed out loud, danced some, ate some fine Chinese cuisine and took pictures. 

My return trip to Lagos that evening was via the train and it was SMOOTH. When compared with my “Cab-bus-bike” ride in the morning, I knew that I had hit gold and discovered a National treasure.The convenience! The calm! The comfort! To be honest, the train ride renewed my hope in Nigeria; I was so proud of the fact that something seemed to be working so well. I soaked in every single bit of the journey and almost didn’t want the trip to end. 

By the time we got to my stop in Lagos, I knew that I would get on the train again and again. I took up the unpaid role of an Evangelist, broadcasting the extreme goodness and reliability of the Nigerian railway system. I called Kamba up as I made my way home and told him we would have to take the children on the train ride to Abeokuta and Ibadan. I also called my ‘Efostic’ up and told her to put a trip to Ibadan on our to-do list when next she is in town, because ‘Babez, you just have to experience this’.

Then came the news of the attack on the Abuja-kaduna train and I was distraught and torn for so many reasons. I shuddered at the thought that ‘I could have been on that train’.  I wondered if there was any like me who had ditched the countless troubles of road travel (kidnap, ritual killings, robbery, traffic) to experience the comfort  and ‘security’ of being on the train. I can’t imagine what those moments of explosions and sporadic gunshots could have been like for the passengers; the first time travellers, the veteran train users, the curious tourists, the adventurous youngsters, the innocent children, students, professionals, business Men, job seekers, the young, the old. Anybody! Everybody!

Ordinarily, the journey from point A to point B should be as easy as deciding to go on the trip,  getting into the car, bus, train, plane, boat or whatever and arriving there safely. But in today’s world, even extremely essential travel has to be steeped in heavy doses of Psalm 91, immersed end to end in the precious Blood of Jesus and then handed wholly into the hands of the Almighty God. That’s all the security we have, particularly Nigerians living in Nigeria.