The streets were busy as usual. It was a few minutes to 5:30pm and as was often the case; vehicles of all sorts, old, new, rickety, dented, painted, scratched and all were chasing each other as if competing for the ultimate Formula One crown. Drivers raced with such determination, as would no doubt make the legendary Michael Schumacher very envious. Some blew their horns loudly apparently giving instructions to naive and ignorant drivers who in their view had no business sitting behind the steering wheel.Occasionally, huge overloaded trucks blew their horns bringing about some kind of order that quickly vanished as soon as the trucks went out of sight. Everyone was in a hurry; it was obvious that the looming traffic situation created anxiety that terrified them. They did not want to be there when it happened. One major characteristic of this street was that, the heavy traffic situation worsened with each passing day. That was because, whatever the controlling mechanisms were, they just weren’t working. From the part of the street where a rusty road sign read Ulere Street to the point where it joined two diverging streets, one could count at least three traffic lights that had not seen repairs in ages. From afar, they raised the hopes of many only to discover later that none of them did so much as blink. These together with sheer indiscipline were enough to scare anyone away; but day after day, drivers came along and at the close of business each day, the heavy traffic situation descended like a plague devouring every minute and every second.
Osam stepped on the accelerator of his slightly used Opel Astra as he hurriedly made his way out of the company premises. He had closed a bit later than usual and the thought of being trapped in traffic on Ulere Street made his head, ache. He would have left earlier but one of his clients had called him thirty minutes before the close of business and had asked to see him. Frankly, he thought of turning him down but not when that client was responsible for making him meet his financial targets the previous year. He remembered the many congratulatory messages he received from his colleagues when his CEO announced during one of their numerous staff meetings that he was the only Client Service Executive to have met his targets before the last quarter of that year. There was a resounding applause that rose and filled the whole building drowning every bit of quiet that had preceded the announcement. He smiled as scenes of that particular day flashed through his mind. But his smile was short-lived. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he really shouldn’t be smiling at all. Today was different, he wasn’t in a staff meeting, people were not singing his praises; he was stuck in the middle of a heavy unending traffic for goodness sake. That’s what was happening! Looking ahead, he could see the traffic building up gradually; what he desperately wanted to avoid was approaching slowly and he felt helpless. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them as quickly as he had closed them. The situation was still the same, a confirmation that he was not dreaming. He clenched his teeth, hit the steering with his hands and then covered his ears with both hands. The noise from the honking of vehicles, the frantic shouts from petty traders, the confusion raging in his mind and the racing of time as displayed on his dashboard disturbed him and he grew angry.
Ulere Street located right in the middle of the Capital City was named after a little village located in the Southern part of Africa. It was said that, the local Member of Parliament on an official trip to Southern Africa, discovered that ‘Ulere’ which meant ‘son of a god’ in his native tongue, was actually the name of a village in Malawi. He was fascinated and it was supposed that his excitement with that discovery led him to insist on naming the street after that village. Many said that during the sod-cutting ceremony, some of the locals thought a more relevant name would be chosen for the street but they were wrong. The Right Honorable member had other plans.
“This street will be known as Ulere Street,” he said after welcoming everybody to the function. There were murmurs in the crowd but he did not pay attention. Even if he did, his mind was already made up. ‘Ulere’ came to stay.
Ulere was famous for its beautiful environs and infamous for its heavy traffic. When traffic was at its heaviest, one could stay on the streets for close to two and half hours during which no vehicle would move. The situation at Ulere had been the subject for discussion on many radio stations in the city.
‘The situation is frustrating, depressing and disappointing, we’ll all die of this!” a caller yelled frantically during one of such discussions on Voice FM, a leading radio station in the city. Several appeals had been made to the government to do something about the street but nothing had been done. Some had suggested a dual carriage road, others hailed the idea of constructing an overpass and the likes but sadly the situation remained intact.
Osam rolled down his windscreen and put off the air-conditioner. He wanted to switch off the engine but he decided against it. The vehicle in front of him had been at a standstill for ages; its engine was off and its visibly irritated driver was shouting unpronounceable obscenities at another driver.
‘Why do you ‘cross’ me like that? Are you mad?’ are you…? He yelled.
The other driver thrust his left thumb out insultingly and spat onto the street in absolute defiance. Osam’s face contorted in disgust. What on earth was going on? He looked behind him, there was a long trail of vehicles; beside him, a scantily clad little girl carrying little bags of chilled water in a near-rusty bucket was busily shouting to whoever would hear: ‘ice water, ice water!’ Others behind her were exhibiting their wares with various shouts of acclamation. They tried to get the attention of everyone on the street and when one of them decided to try her charms on Osam, she was quickly turned away with a wave of his hand. The young girl simply moved from his car to another. She could not be bothered…
Soon the vehicle in front of him began to move; he stepped on the accelerator, moved a few inches forward and came to a halt almost immediately. He almost hit the vehicle in front of him. He sighed bringing both hands down on the steering. In his desperation, he blew his horn sending irritable waves through the driver in front. The driver reacted promptly - his hand shot out of his car and he pointed his forefinger upward telling Osam to go ahead and fly if that was what he wanted. Osam could not believe it. He opened his mouth to say something but he could not. Then the driver started raining insults on him. His voice was a little distant but Osam could hear him clearly. ‘Kwase-eaa…abo-aa!’ He shouted; he would have gone on and on if Osam had not decided enough was enough. The next moment, he was out; walked straight to the car in front and held the driver by the shirt. With all his might, he pulled him out of the car after opening the front door.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Osam demanded shaking him violently.
‘Let go of me, let go of me...’ he yelled and fought back.
Osam pressed even harder. He was upset and could not be stopped. He placed his left arm under the driver’s chin and pressed hard. Other drivers came out from their cars and surrounded the two in an attempt to separate them. After a very long struggle, they succeeded. Osam was obviously not amused. He tried to break away from the many hands that held him back but they proved stronger.
He shouted, kicked and resisted but he was powerless against the countless hands that held him. They hauled him to his empty car and managed to get him to sit. Moments ago, he had rushed out of this car like an angry warrior ready to face the enemy. Now he was being dragged back like a captured slave who had attempted an escape from his master’s domain. Slowly, he reached for his seat belt and attempted buckling up. He pulled the seat belt; it did not move. He struggled with it for a while but it did not budge. Disappointed, he gave up and leaned back. The long trail of vehicles that followed his car remained exactly as they were when he left it. None had moved and traffic was at its heaviest.
But after a while, the vehicle in front of him started moving and he followed. The fact that he was still following that car, the object that had brought him so much anger, irritated him. He tried hard not to look at the driver; he would not be able to concentrate if he did so and he knew it. He could feel his body shaking with an intense desire to finish what he had began. He had to teach that man some sense. He had to let him know he could not show such disrespect to anybody and get away with it. He looked at himself in the driving mirror and was shocked at what he saw. His hair was messy; his shirt was crumpled by what seemed like a thousand fingers. And to top it all, there was a mild cut above his left eye.
‘How did he get himself into all that in the first place? He paused to think. His mind went back to the moment he moved his car out of the office. If only he could turn back the hands of time, maybe he could have avoided this mess he found himself in. He heaved a deep sigh, stepped on the accelerator and moved on.
Soon darkness began to fall and the tired and weary Osam was close to home. He had lost sight of the infamous ‘car-in-front’. It was long gone. He looked at his face in the mirror one more time and silently mumbled something. He swore he would never allow himself to be dragged into such mess again. Deep down, he wished he had stayed in his car, he wished he had never allowed his anger to get the better part of him. What if somebody saw him? What if a friend or colleague had seen him, Nana Osam himself fighting in the streets? The thought made him shiver. He had been careless and stupid.
Slowly he reached out his hand to pick his phone; he had remembered he needed to make a call. There was no phone. He searched both pockets with one hand while driving with the other. He did not find it. He searched the small safe on the right side of the steering wheel, he even tried looking down but he didn’t find anything. A cold shiver went down his spine. He bit his lips and searched again but there was nothing; his phone was gone…
