“Sssss!” the sibilant hiss of the police officer rent the air a scant second before his “PAHHHHHHHHKKKK” grated her ear drums.

The little red car, Ladybird, slowed to a halt as she obeyed his instruction to “…pahhhhk” the car. On closer inspection, the man and his tribe of agents appeared to be members of the genus Authority though not the police as she originally assumed. But in Lagos, she decided, the Authorities blurred; gun-slinging policemen acted as traffic officers, traffic regulators collected bribes and all law enforcers appeared unified in a common purpose; Harass Law Abiding Citizens…Thoroughly.

Clashing with the waning sunlight, the sick yellow of his LASTMA uniform irritated her eyes. She slowed to a stop in front of the officer and casually banked a sudden rash temptation to run him to the ground just to see the fear on a face ugly with undeserved power. The thought made her smile.

She rolled down her window only enough for him to hear her softly inquire, “Oga?”. She repeated the three words that were heard as “Sir?” by Nigerians when the officer failed to respond to her, trying to mellow her irritation and keep its determined veins from creeping into her three-word query.

She failed. Her smile or the soured sweet scent of sarcasm in her inquiry raised his hackles enough for him to gesticulate simultaneously with his shouts. “My friend show me your pahhhticulahhhzz! Are you mahhhdt?! Why you drive like dat year?!”

She didn’t bother to ask how she was driving here; the roads were empty on a Sunday evening and the government authorities manning the streets were hungry. A third world inhabitant best understood the inextricable link between these two states of matters. She pinned her vacuous smile on her face, wondering how one could look so close to a baboon in captivity yet bear no relation. Actually…

Who knows?

“Oga please don’t be annoyed, what do you want me to do?” she lightly asked, Barbie Girl smile pinned on her face like a painful badge of dishonour, matching the submissiveness he was sure to like.

She watched him puff and expand his already stretched mass and she could not help the wave of sympathy that rose in her heart for thse buttons on his shirt; the poor dears looked like they were clasping their corresponding holes for dear life. It hurt.

Her submissiveness seemed to release an irrelevant dominance within him and he began to shout. “Ah say ya pahtikoolah, E DUHN YEAR?!?!!!!”

*Sigh*

The ego of men seemed to grow in inverse proportion to their wealth. Amazing.

She sat still, now seriously weighing the consequences of running him over with her car. Seriously, what’s the worst that would happen?

That’s when it happened. He leaned closer to her window and spotted her National Youth Service Uniform, the rumpled khaki bottoms matching her white tshirt.

“Na corper you be?!”

“Yes.”

“You work wya?”

“I work here in V.I”

*Grunt, grunt*

“Ya teacha?”

“I’m lawyer” she imitated his faulty syntax, trying to settle the laugh somewhere between her oesophagus and small intestine.

*One grunt*

(But this man IS a baboon, no?!)

“My daughta wan be lawya!!”

Finally a smile.

“Oh?” the direction of this conversation had left her lost, she hoped brevity would be mistaken for wit here.

“Yes! Thank God oh, she done get mentor now! My sweet sister, give me your number eh, she go call you and you go help her become lawyer. My daughter na real good girl, she dey try hard for school so she go be lawyer!”

“Eyyya! We thank God….” For Nigerian platitudes.

“So, make I get your number…”

21ST century chat up lines?? Or just the Nigerian variant of Project Prism?

“07096542819” She merrily handed him her secondary school matron’s number, her mother had made her memorise it for emergencies. She’d let the formidable Mrs. Akubeze handle this.

Thanks mum.

He smiled as he saved, quickly moving out of her way as though he sensed her earlier murderous thoughts.

Not so easy, Mr. Baboon!

“Oga, so why you stop me now?! I think say you be proper Road Safety official but you no ask whether I get Driver’s License, or I thief car, or fire extinguisher dey for my car. Even my particulars wey you dey shout since, you no look! No be your job?! Danfo buses with three and a half tyre pass here you no stop them, na my brand new End of Discussion Junior Broda car you come stop, scatter my dengeh pose, disgrace me for road?!” she screeched…with her right foot on the accelerator just in case.

The baboon simply regarded her with a buffoonic smiled as he merrily explained away his negligence, “My sister, I no stop you for anytin oh! E no say today na Sunday nah!” He confessed with a wink. “E be like say na God plan am so we go meet like this!” he cheesed stupidly as he happily excused his abuse of power.

The unapologetic glee in his stupidity took the wind out of her irritation. She responded in the only way Nigeria encouraged; with laughter borne out of frustration, as she revved the Ladybird.