I Still Don’t Know What That Man And His Lady Were Doing In The Car That Night

It was just a typical Tuesday evening after work. As usual, I was driving with my two regular passengers, Akosua and Oga Popo. That’s our little routine on weeknights: we close, pile into the car, and head home, cracking jokes and arguing over whose playlist is better.

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That evening, instead of our usual music vibes, we tuned in to the news. Somewhere along the way, Akosua suggested we stop by Anima’s fruit stall on the East Legon stretch. It had been a while since we stopped there for some fruits. Oga Popo, as usual, gave his signature approving nod without removing his AirPods.

To dodge the usual Lagos Avenue traffic, I took the quieter Chez Afrik lane. Just a few meters in, I was mid-joke with Akosua— Oga Popo, of course, was still tuned out in his own world.

Then out of nowhere, this brand-new VW Touareg decided that driving in its own lane was too boring. The car just swerved directly into ours.

I honked immediately, like my life depended on it, because it actually did. The guy didn’t respond. I kept honking like a trotro driver fighting for last-minute passengers. Still nothing.

I had no choice. I swerved hard toward the gutter on the right, my heart sprinting like a marathoner. Then, just ahead, I spotted a Toyota Camry parked neatly, as if it had come to witness the accident live.

All I could do was whisper, “God, give me wisdom.”

I pulled back into the road and miraculously squeezed between the veering VW and the parked Camry. There was a light bump on the back left of my car, but nothing dramatic.

When it felt like the worst was over, I stopped the car right there in the middle of the road and stepped out. I was visibly shaking. For a minute or two, I just stood there confused, wondering if that had really just happened.

Then I noticed the VW had stopped too, about 50 metres ahead.

That’s when the questions started rushing into my mind.

“ Is the driver okay?”

“Is he drunk?”

“Has he passed out?”

“Or is he just foolish?”

I walked toward the car even though I didn’t have a plan. Relief swept over me when the driver opened the door and came out. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties, had a potbelly, and was sweating like someone who was caught in the middle of a workout session. His face was the opposite though, very calm.

Then I saw her.

A woman was sitting in the front passenger seat. Her hair was messy. You’d think she was involved in a chicken fight before we got there. When she stepped out, she looked embarrassed and guilty.

In that moment, all I could think was, “ What were they doing in that car that they didn’t realise they swerved into my lane?

Akosua called out from behind me, “ E.T, what’s happening?”

I couldn’t even answer. I didn’t have the words.

I walked back to my car. Akosua and Oga Popo joined me. We pulled off the road and parked, but my mind was still spinning.

Then another man, maybe in his sixties, came from the direction of the Toyota Camry.

“Young man, are you aware you’ve dented my pension car?” he shouted.

I tried to explain, but the man didn’t care. He was already taking photos of me and my car.

As if on cue, the VW guy walked over and to my surprise, took full responsibility. He didn’t even inspect the damage. He just said we should all drive to Max Mart so he could buy some chemical to fix the dent.

Just as we were about to leave, the lady from the VW strolled over. Her presence alone was suspicious. She stood half-hidden behind Mr. Potbelly, her hair still looking like someone had been running their fingers through it. I tried to ignore her because I felt she was responsible for the accident.

On the drive to Max Mart, I turned to Akosua and said, “What kind of man moves around with a side hen instead of a side chick?”

Oga Popo burst into his famous deep-throat laugh “Hahahaaaa!”

Akosua responded, “Ah, they are both shameless! Look at what he almost cost us with that his potbelly.”

We got to Max Mart, and the mood changed. The place was well-lit so the initial tension felt lighter .

Under the lights, I got a better look at the VW couple. The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. He was sweating even more now, struggling to wipe his face while bending awkwardly over his dent-removal chemical. His potbelly really wasn’t helping him, just bouncing up and down like a small drum.

I leaned in a bit to check for any alcohol or weed smell. There was nothing. He was completely sober.

I looked at the lady again. She had fixed her hair a bit. She actually looked younger than I initially thought. Maybe she was a side chick after all. But I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. I felt she wasn’t attractive enough to be worth all this trouble. I wanted to ask her straight up, “What were you doing to him in the car that got him distracted enough to almost cause an accident?”

But chale, I just swallowed my words and looked away from her.

Meanwhile, Akosua and Oga Popo were getting a TED Talk on pension plans from the Camry owner, who had now somehow forgiven everyone and turned into quite the talker.

I ended up supervising the work on his car since, in his eyes, I was the primary suspect.

When the VW guy casually mentioned where he worked, suddenly Mr. Pension Camry’s whole vibe changed. He went from “You will hear from my lawyer” to “Oh boss, I’ve always respected your institution!”

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Just like that, the whole thing turned into a networking event. No one was talking about accidents anymore. They were discussing projects, consulting gigs, and IT support. Oga Popo even got the most attention from the two men because of his IT background.

We stayed there for nearly two hours. The Toyota guy was sharing stories from his youth, dropping proverbs, talking about the economy, his wife, and even his childhood dreams. It was actually entertaining. But eventually, a call from his wife shut it all down.

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As we got back into my car, I kept wondering, “So those two didn’t tell us what exactly they were doing in that VW Touareg?”

Ah well, I have decided to let my imagination fill in the gaps. Because the way that man was sweating, and the lady’s messy hair … it wasn’t just bad driving o.

—E.T
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Source: SilentBeads | Continue to Full Story…