Member-only story
When Everything Makes Sense
Today, 27th February 2021, is one of those days when my life makes such profound sense that I am at peace — absolute peace. The kind of peace that assures me that if I died right now, every second I lived was worth it
And all this happened because of a phone call.
I had rushed out as early as 6am to visit a project site — partly because I don’t have much of a social life, and partly because the traffic situation in Lagos only favours the early riser or the night crawler — the periods in-between are total chaos. I was on my way back when my phone rang. It was an unknown number, one that I’d typically ignore, but I picked this one. From the voice on the other end, two things were clear: the man was Hausa, or from the northern parts of Nigeria, and he seemed to know me from the way he called me by my first name.
“Do you know who is speaking?” He asked.
I didn’t. I tendered the usual … sorry I don’t have your number saved and blah blah blah.
“No worries at all,” he replied. “My name is Elijah. I was a bike-man (commercial motorcyclist) in Lagos, a long time ago. I met you when I gave you a ride on my motorcycle.
Before he finished this introduction, I remembered him. His name was Elijah Bitrus. For someone whose memory span went back no longer than 4 years into the past, I…
