“I was here before you; you just can’t come from nowhere and stand in my front. Who does that?” She said; clutching her leather hand bag under one arm like it had made several attempts to run away from her in the past.
“If that is how you talk to your husband at home, don’t try it with me. I will slap you here now and nothing will happen.” He replied angrily. I could almost see the steam coming out the top of his balding head, scantily littered with gray hairs like a field struggling to hold what’s left of its greenery in the peak of the harmattan season.
“Ehn! You will do what? You are a very useless man. Touch me now and see what will happen to you.” She replied, moving to reclaim her position in the queue and violently shoving the steaming man in the process.
“See this woman o! If I…” he pushed her, or more accurately, forcefully moved her to the side with one arm like she was a stiff sliding door. I honestly didn’t think he would reciprocate her shoving so generously. Yes he was obviously infuriated and there was a large throbbing vein on the side of his head serving as visible evidence of his anger; but men are usually reluctant to publicly express violence towards women by means of physical force, and are shamed for it if they do. So I expected this confrontation to be nothing more than a heated exchange of degrading words, phrases, and sentences gradually chipping at both their dignities till one person concedes defeat and walks away, turning back to hurl the occasional insult in the hope for salvation. Yet, to my surprise he went down that rabbit hole, he touched her. Everyone else on the queue seemed to be as surprised as I was judging from the number of Ah’s and Jesus’ I heard. This just got really interesting.
*5 minutes earlier…*
It was a hot Monday morning, it seemed the sun had risen from the east with grievances and a score to settle with the earth and we were caught in the crossfire. I kept chanting “…the sun shall not smite me by day…” on my way to work, but it seemed my confessions were being scorched beyond coherence by the heat before getting to God, and he couldn’t understand what I was saying. Just by the bus stop there was an ATM point installed a couple of months ago, it was the only one in the area, and the nearest bank was a journey away – one of the many downsides to living in a strictly residential area. – Everyone on the queue had a facial expression that suggested they were going through a lot, and only one of the three ATMs was functional. As I waited for a cab, I couldn’t help but notice the massive throbbing vein on the temple of the last man standing on the queue at the ATM; he was built like a bull bred for the ring, you would think he was merely a heartbeat away from knocking out the teeth of everyone on the queue with his head. Just then, his phone rang and he stormed off the queue in my direction bellowing vehemently into the phone, and for a brief moment I felt like a matador about to be trampled by a bull; thankfully, he walked past me.
“What rancid leaky vessel of DNA must have offended this bull of a man so early on a Monday morning?” I thought to myself. Thank God I have no business with him.
A few moments later he came marching down the pedestrian walkway with the menacing gait of a Russian T-14 Armata. This time I was confident he wasn’t charging towards me. A woman had occupied his position on the queue, and unlike a gentleman he proceeded to stand right in front of her.
“This is about to get interesting.” I thought, breaking out a mild smirk.
*Presently…*
She was almost toppled over from the shove, regaining her balance she swung her handbag aggressively at him hurling insults as she did.
“That’s an admirable technique…” I thought, “…attacking with both words and a haggard looking hand bag, delivering both physical and psychological damage simultaneously. This woman is clearly a veteran bag swinger, but there’s no way on earth she’s going to have the upper hand in an altercation with El Toro”.
“Ah! You pushed me! You used that your stupid hand to push me!” She said, almost screaming at the top of her lungs as she trashed about in a manner oddly reminiscent of a headless chicken. Her haggard hand bag finally connecting with his head, just a few millimeters from his eye – as hide made contact with hide, rugged leather broke thin skin tissue and the first blood was drawn. Almost immediately, a loud crack echoes as her neck jerks to the side; she’s knocked off her feet and falls flat on the pavement.
By this time a small crowd consisting mostly of the people at the ATM had gathered to stop him from going to work on her, and to help her up.
“You’re a shameless man, how can you lay your hands on a woman?” a younger woman yelled.
“You no see say blood dey commot from the man eye? Why e no go slap am? Shu! No be equality between the sexes?!” replied a male voice.
The arguments that ensued over whether or not he was right to hit her regardless of the circumstances that led up to it were getting longer than the actual fight, and it didn’t seem like anyone would be resorting to physical force. The burly man made his way to the ATM machine to conduct his business, not saying a word to anyone. The woman had placed a call to someone and was crying her soul out to the person on the other end – “They are beating me at the ATM by the bus stop…” she wailed.
“If whomever she is lamenting to is a military personnel, the coming violence is going to be rated R.” I thought to myself.
As for me, I was just there for the violence; as it is written “Even as seeds germinate into plants, so shall this violence germinate into kasala. There won’t be any solution, everywhere must scatter.”
A cab pulled over in front of me, the driver leaned over to the empty passenger seat in front – “Rumuola?” he asked.
“Yes!” I answered, adjusting my red necktie; satisfied.
