Forty Days In A Trauma Ward

By Moses Obroku

I have always had an unexplained dislike for the colour red. Perhaps, it is because somewhere in my subconscious I have associated it with danger or blood. However, in the morning of Thursday, February 23, 2006, I put on an oxblood shirt and a red-brown-black blend tie over black trousers to go to work which I just resumed two days before.

Having only completed my National Youth Service in September of the previous year, I thought I was rather fortunate to have landed that job, considering I did not have to stay at home for long. So it was with great expectations that I commenced training on the job. I remembered praying that morning as I always do before setting out, for God’s protection.

After a rather hitch free commuting via public transport from Ajah to Airport road where the headquarters of the company is located, I had an exciting day at work and before the close of business that day, I was given an invitation to attend the company’s annual retreat which was holding at Nike Lake resort in Enugu that year. Things were looking great! I was excited about the retreat of the following week as I had never been to the eastern part of Nigeria before that time.

Here was I, fresh from school with a law degree, NYSC behind me, and a promising job ahead of me. Life was good! Those were my thoughts as I made my way back home. At Oshodi, I boarded a non-stop bus to Ajah.  Since I was the first to get into the vehicle, I took the front seat as it usually has more room. Soon after, a male passenger came to join me in front and I made room for him to take the inner seat while I retained my window seat. I would never know now, how that decision played out.

As the now filled bus made its way towards the third mainland bridge, the ride was smooth, things looked normal. When the driver started to ascend the bridge, at the intersection where the road forks towards Ibadan expressway to the left and Lagos Island to the right, he should move towards the right and continue on the bridge. I just started to think that the vehicle was too close to the kerb and… (I didn’t quite finish the thought) when everything happened in surreal slow motion in my mind.  The driver violently hit the kerb with the left wheel, which made the bus travelling at about 100 km/per hour careened out of balance, fell on my side and continued sliding on the concrete highway till it spent its velocity and came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the road. Fortunately, there was no other vehicle coming behind to run us over.

The noise of the crash was deafening. The windshield had shattered to a thousand places sending pieces of glass fiber everywhere. Metal had squeezed, seats were pushed into each other and there was silence for a fraction of a second before the cries, wailings, and screams emanated from all around as if people were zoned back into the present to confront the horrors.