KUSKUREN BAYA Complete Document Written By Maman Sudais

Description

As her fingers adorned my beautiful and attention-grabbing rings, I began to notice the subtle movements of her hand on the steering wheel. She occasionally shook with the rhythm of the music playing in the car, accompanied by her pleasant, thin voice.

The Backstreet Boys’ lyrics, ‘I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did, as long as you love me,’ echoed in the car as she softly sang along, her lips moving slowly. Meanwhile, her heart pounded forcefully, a sensation she couldn’t comprehend since the morning when she found herself in an unexpected emotional turmoil.

A sudden silence enveloped the car, broken only by the gradually resurfacing music as we headed towards Tanwer Hospital in Ikeja. The ambiance shifted, and my attention shifted to her.

She was a strikingly beautiful first-grade student, slender with a captivating face featuring a delicately drawn nose and expressive round eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. Her chocolate-colored skin exuded wealth, a testament to her affluent Kamala family background. From her dress to her accessories, everything was extravagantly expensive.

Amidst the quiet car, the music suddenly changed, and she answered a call from someone named Kallah, quickly engaging in a conversation without interrupting her driving.

“Tan Baby,” the voice on the other end called, prompting her to grab her Bluetooth earpiece and continue driving without verbally responding. The caller inquired about her location in a low voice, and she responded with a pout, visibly irritated.

Unaware of the steering wheel in her hand, she lost control of the car, colliding with a young man crossing the street. Despite the accident, she remained preoccupied with the call, ignoring the injured man waving for her to move aside.

“Thank God!” I uttered, relieved that she was relatively unharmed. Opening a compartment, I found a first aid kit and panicked as I saw blood dripping from her forehead. In her semi-conscious state, she blinked, trying to communicate but unable to speak.

Panicking, I called out to her, desperately asking if she was alright. Ignoring the phone, I unbuckled her seat belt, and with the help of onlookers, we managed to get her out of the car. In the chaos, I noticed her medical teacher ID card, realizing the urgency of the situation.

Rushing to the hospital mentioned on her ID card, the doctors promptly attended to her. As the crowd dispersed, I took a moment to rest, contemplating the careless way people often handle their lives. Eventually, I made my way to my house in Magodo Estate, surprised by the events that unfolded.

Author Handles

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