\u201cHow did you two meet?\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s one question I get a lot. It is putting it mildly that my fianc\u00e9 and I are an antithetical couple. We can\u2019t be more different.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He\u2019s a millennial, and I am Gen Z. He is street-smart and rugged, and I am a baby girl with skin that is giving what it\u2019s supposed to give. He is the only son of a single mother, and I have loving parents and three, pesky, younger siblings. He is a Staff Sergeant, and I am a beauty editor at a fashion magazine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Yet Lagos brought us together in the weirdest and most unconventional way.<\/p>\n
We met on a Friday evening. It was a beautiful evening because I got off work early, and I had no tasks to take home for the weekend. That meant I could afford to watch movies on Netflix and catch up on the series I had been watching for the past two months.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My colleagues and I were chatting about our plans for the weekend as we walked to the bus park. Gerald was heading to a party\u2014like he did every weekend whether or not he had to work during the weekend. Simbiat was going to meet her in-laws for the first time, and Gerald was teasing her about what to expect. Korede was \u2026 Korede never shared her weekend plans. She was always so mystic.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cOshodi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIyana-Oworo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYaba, Sabo, WAEC.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The conductors at the park yelled the locations their buses were headed to, adding to the cacophony of the bustling underbridge<\/em>. Fuji music blared from speakers located God knew where, impatient drivers honked like they didn\u2019t care for the auditory health of pedestrians, and peddlers and hawkers chanted to attract buyers.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cBottle water, cold mineral.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBuy your cashew, sweet cashew.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlantain chiiiipssss.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The air was burdened by the noise of the park and the stench I always got a whiff of, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it by scrunching my nose and holding my breath\u2014the acrid, burning smell of stale urine mixed with the mustiness of weed.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We walked towards the man yelling Yaba at the top of his lungs. The bus he was standing in front of had only two seats left, and the four of us were too engrossed in our conversation to split our company.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n One of the agberos <\/em>at the makeshift park under the bridge at Obalende directed us to the bus set to move after the one currently loading.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We got in and continued gisting <\/em>and laughing about the tale Gerald was regaling us with. We didn\u2019t realise when the bus got filled up. The bus driver, who doubled as his own conductor, came around to collect the fare from us. Once he was done receiving fares and handing out change, he pulled the bus door close. The metal edge of the door hit my arm, and I cried out.<\/p>\n \u201cDriver, you hit me,\u201d I exclaimed as my colleagues told me sorry.<\/p>\n I sniffled and shut my eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.<\/p>\n The driver didn\u2019t turn. He walked ahead to settle the agberos <\/em>and pay owo load<\/em>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Maybe he didn\u2019t hear me. I massaged my arm and continued talking about dramatic in-laws.<\/p>\n The driver returned to the bus and put on his seat belt. He was about to turn the key in the ignition when a gruff voice said, \u201cDriver, come down and come here.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My colleagues and I turned to see who had the audacity to ask a danfo <\/em>driver in Lagos to \u2018come here\u2019. My heart sank when I saw a soldier with a small scar on the side of his face. His eyes were cold and unreadable, and his lips were chapped but pink.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jesus, what is about to happen? <\/em><\/p>\n My thoughts were reflected on my colleagues\u2019 faces.<\/p>\n \u201cEhn<\/em>?\u201d the driver asked with a slight tremor in his voice.<\/p>\n God, abeg. I don\u2019t need soldier drama this evening. I just want to get home, eat, and Netflix in peace. <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI said, \u2018Come down and come here\u2019,\u201d the soldier repeated.<\/p>\n God, abeg. <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The driver nodded and came down, and for the first time, I noticed how young the driver was.<\/p>\n God, let this soldier temper justice with mercy. <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The entire bus stood still with apprehension as visible as the bare roof of the bus.<\/p>\n The driver rounded the bus to stand by the window beside the soldier.<\/p>\n \u201cOya<\/em>, say sorry,\u201d the soldier ordered.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I turned to watch the scenario unfold; maybe because I was worried, or maybe because I was curious. I had heard of military personnel abusing their power, but I had never been an eyewitness to it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A part of me wondered what the driver did to offend the soldier. Another part wondered why the soldier had to be so petty. Couldn\u2019t he just forgive or ignore whatever the driver did?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Not one passenger on the bus said a word, but the screams of the shock and confusion on our faces could have been heard all the way from the Third Mainland Bridge.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhen you were closing the door, you hit her,\u201d the soldier said, pointing at me. \u201cApologise to the lady.\u201d<\/p>\n My jaw slackened. One of my colleagues gasped lightly.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I did not know o,\u201d the driver said, his relief evident on his face and in his voice.<\/p>\n \u201cDoesn\u2019t matter. Apologise to the lady,\u201d the soldier said with a steely voice and well-enunciated diction that was quite startling coming from a Nigerian soldier.<\/p>\n The driver turned to me. \u201cMadam, sorry. I didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded. \u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n I was too shocked at the scene to utter anything other than those two syllables.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you satisfied with his apology?\u201d the soldier asked.<\/p>\n \u201cAhh<\/em>,\u201d Simbiat said under her breath beside me.<\/p>\n Ahh <\/em>was the only word my brain could process. Was this really happening? Or did I teleport into a period drama, or perhaps an alternate Nigeria? I thought chivalry passed on a long time ago.<\/p>\n I managed to nod, and the soldier said to the driver, \u201cYou can go back now.\u201d<\/p>\n The driver bowed and returned to his seat.<\/p>\n I smiled, grateful for the sole act of chivalry towards me today.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d I said to the soldier.<\/p>\n He smiled back. \u201cPretty ladies like you should be treated with respect and decency.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Gerald cleared his throat at the strange yet flattering words of the soldier. I faced forward, and my colleagues and I shared a smile as the driver drove out of the park.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Simbiat said quietly, \u201cE be like say na to go marry soldier o<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n I chuckled at her words, and we continued our discussion.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Traffic was light, shocking for a Friday evening in Lagos. We made it down to Sabo in no time, and I bade my colleagues bye. Little did I know that the soldier\u2019s bus stop was Sabo too. We soon found ourselves sitting in the same keke. <\/em>We got talking, and he managed to charm my socks off. We exchanged names and numbers, and the rest\u2019s been history. Beautiful, romantic history.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nothing can ever make me get tired of telling my not-so-meet-cute with Ade, my knight in camouflage armour. I will always be grateful for that lovely evening at Obalende.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cHow did you two meet?\u201d That\u2019s one question I get a lot. It is putting it mildly that my fianc\u00e9 and I are an antithetical couple. We can\u2019t be more different. He\u2019s a millennial, and I am Gen Z. He is street-smart and rugged, and I am a baby girl with skin that is […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":9455,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[33],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9423","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-features"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9423","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/13"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9423"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9423\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9426,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9423\/revisions\/9426"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/9455"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9423"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9423"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heirsholdings.com\/hhpeople\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9423"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}