Stranger in The Train
Benjamin, a final-year art student at Obafemi Awolowo University, stood beneath the bustling streets of Oshodi, eager to embark on a journey to Ibadan. He had never been to Ibadan before, but its rich cultural heritage had always fascinated him.
As he waited for his breakfast, Benjamin packed his bag with essentials: clothes, cameras, a camera stand, an album of his photographs, and his laptop. He believed that the true beauty of pictures lay in their physical form, not just the digital. After finishing up with the young man he’d spent the night with, Benjamin paid him and called the receptionist to allow him out discreetly.
After enjoying his favorite breakfast , four slices of yam and efo riro, with a glass of warm water, he laced up his sneakers, wore his recommended eyeglasses (more for appearance than need), and deepened his voice to mask his sexuality. Despite all the disguises, he never let go of his nail polish. He loved attention, though he often pretended not to.
He checked out of his lodging and handed his key to the receptionist.
“Good morning, here’s my key,” he said with a smile.
“Morning, and thanks for your patronage. We hope to see you again,” she replied.
“I don’t think I’ll be coming to Lagos again. Lagos is not for me,” Benjamin said.
“Everyone says that, but here we are. I still believe you’ll be back. Have a safe trip and enjoy your flight.”
“Thanks, but it’s not a flight. I’m heading to Ibadan by train,” he corrected.
“Oh, that sounds fun,” she said.
At the station, Benjamin boarded the train and entered his designated cabin, only to find a young man already seated there. The man was tall, dark-skinned, and had a captivating smile. Benjamin was drawn to his beauty.
“Good morning, I think you’re in the wrong cabin,” Benjamin said.
“No, I’m not. This is a shared cabin, but you can sit on the opposite couch,” the man replied, showing Benjamin his ticket.
“Sorry, my mistake. I’m really sorry,” Benjamin said.
“You don’t need to be,” the man smiled. “I’m Musa.”
Benjamin noticed his accent. “You’re Hausa?”
“Is it because of my accent?” Musa chuckled.
“No! No… I just assumed,” Benjamin stammered.
“Please close the door,” Musa said, rummaging through his bag.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Benjamin replied, shutting the door and placing his bag on the opposite couch.
Musa looked up. “You’re really curious, huh? I’m not Hausa. I’m Fulani, both parents. And yes, I can speak good English.”
“I didn’t say otherwise,” Benjamin said.
“You didn’t need to. It was written all over your face,” Musa teased, and they both laughed. “I’m also Christian, by the way. That’s not a Hausa accent, it’s Fulani.”
“I see. Sorry,” Benjamin said, polishing his camera lens.
“You love apologizing. If I got a thousand naira for every time, I’d be rich,” Musa joked.
“I love the way you laugh. It sounds rich,” Benjamin said.
“Thank you. I love your humor,” Musa replied.
“Really!” Benjamin said, surprised.
“Yes. So, what’s your name?”
“Benjamin Ajalekoko.”
“Ah! Christian name.”
“I was. I’m an atheist now.”
“You don’t believe in God?”
“I don’t.”
As Musa changed his clothes, Benjamin noticed the shoes in his bag didn’t fit.
“Wrong shoes, grabbed my younger brother’s by mistake,” Musa explained.
Their conversation flowed. Musa spoke about life and detaching from material things.
“Do you have a pen and paper?” Musa asked.
“Yes,” Benjamin replied.
Musa scribbled something and handed the pen back. “I’ll use the restroom, back in a minute.”
Soon after, a stranger entered, claiming the bag Musa had left was his.
“Excuse me, that’s not your bag,” Benjamin said.
“It is. I must have left it here by mistake,” the man insisted.
“It belongs to a passenger named Musa,” Benjamin countered.
“That’s my bag,” the man said, flashing an ID.
He left. Musa returned moments later.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asked.
“Some guy came and took your bag, claiming it was his.”
“That’s my annoying friend. Where did he go?”
“I’m not sure. I shut the door after he left.”
Relieved, Benjamin studied Musa’s face. He couldn’t find what he was looking for, just a pointed nose and curly hair.
Musa caught his gaze and faked a cough. They both returned to their seats.
“Hello, camera man,” Musa said.
“Talking to me?” Benjamin asked.
“No, the guy with the rainbow nail polish and the rosary,” Musa smirked.
Benjamin touched his rosary. “Sorry for that.”
“You love apologizing, don’t you?”
“Why’s your name Musa?”
“Long story.”
“Can I take your picture?”
“I know you want to. You can, but one condition, don’t show my face.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I ask something?” Musa said.
“Sure.”
“Why the camera, rainbow nails, and laptop?”
“I love art. My passion is capturing stolen images.”
Musa’s eyes drifted to Benjamin’s nails. He waited, amused.
“I love being unique,” Benjamin explained.
“Like Joseph in the Bible. Don’t worry, I won’t sell you.” They laughed.
“We’ll be in Ibadan soon. I’ll meet my friends and come back to continue our chat,” Musa said.
“Okay. I love your shirt.”
“Thanks. Please hold this paper. I don’t want my friends thinking I collected a girl’s number in the toilet.”
“O…kay,” Benjamin said.
The train stopped. Musa never returned. The stranger from earlier approached.
“Are you the guy I saw earlier?” he asked.
“I am,” Benjamin replied.
“Sorry, but a shirt’s missing from my bag. It was a gift from my grandma.”
“Your friend Musa wore it,” Benjamin said.
“My friends are over there,” the man pointed at two ladies.
“I mean your friend Musa.”
“No—I’m Musa. I don’t know any Musa.”
Stunned, Benjamin opened the paper Musa had given him. It read:
“Hello stranger, I wish I could be more than friends, but sometimes it’s better we remain strangers. I will keep your used condom. I hope to see your work in the future.
Yours sincerely, Stranger in the Train.”
Benjamin smiled, folded the paper, lit a cigarette, and continued his journey. He wished he had exchanged numbers with the little thief, and hoped, maybe, to meet him again someday.
:Marixbell