It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...
THE ROADSIDE MECHANIC My brain was never interested in school work. Sometimes I wish I had listened to my father and many other relatives who wanted me to have an education. I remember getting flogged constantly in school for failing one subject or the other. I honestly tried my best but it never was good enough. SO I TOOK TO MY FATHER’S ADVICE: “Okoro, since you no wan go school, oya go learn handwork.” Being a mechanic like other jobs, is not easy. The curiosity I have for it however makes it interesting and I try to improve myself every day. I started my apprenticeship in 2005, at the age of 18. Ah! I suffered during those years. Frequently my Oga would ask me: “Okoro, you sure say you get head for this work? No come waste your time here o…” But I kept on for five years amidst all the setbacks, insults and discouragement from many people around me then. Now I am my own Oga! For me, speaking and trying to convince my customers tends to be one of the difficult as...