STORY FROM OYUGBO JONAH OSAGIE

17 years ago, I went to Madonna University to write a test. On the day, we received the test papers, and without reading the instructions, I rushed straight to answering the questions. I was the first person to finish, and I submitted my answer paper to a Reverend Sister. She looked at me, then back at my paper, and asked, “Why did you write on the front page?” I pointed to the space between the questions, but she showed me the instructions. “Do not write at the back.” Right there in front of me, she failed my paper. I begged for another chance to rewrite, but the Reverend Sister refused.  

I stormed out of the school with hot-headed anger not just at the school, but at God. “How could God let this happen when He knows I’m financing myself from my small pocket?” I marched straight to the motor park, paid for a bus ticket to Abuja, and boarded.  

By 9pm, the bus started moving. I refused to pray. Instead, I cursed God under my breath and fell asleep.  

I must’ve slept for hours when loud noises woke me. I forced my eyes open and realized the bus had stopped in a pitch black area, surrounded by darkness and the eerie songs of owls. My heart raced I was the only one left inside! The bus, a Marcopolo from Onitsha, Anambra, was loaded with traders’ goods. Fear gripped me until I remembered: “Jesus is my friend, hope, and savior!”

I climbed over the luggage, jumped out, and saw the traders sitting helplessly by the roadside. “Oga driver, wetin happen?” The bus had broken down and would take a week to fix. The driver explained he’d submitted all our transport money at the park in Onitsha, and here we were stranded in a bush in Edo State.  

The funny part? I’d paid the full fare in Onitsha without negotiating, acting like a “big boy.” Now, I was broke. Back then, parks didn’t send replacement buses for stranded passengers like they do today.  

“See me see one week for road, no single cash to even buy pure water!” Suddenly, I turned to God in prayer: “Ah, God, na only you I get. How can I fight my creator? If you help me out of this, I’ll do plenty evangelism!”

At daybreak, the traders negotiated with a nearby village in Edo State for a pickup truck. Everyone had to contribute money to get to Zuba. “Ah, God, help me! I had no cash, and no POS machines existed back then. Then wisdom struck I lied. “I don contact my brother for Zuba. When we reach, I go collect money from am to pay una.” The traders agreed.  

I sang “Jesus na my papa, Holy Ghost na my director” all the way. When we arrived in Zuba, there was no brother and no money I’d lied. Good news? I was closer to home. Bad news? How to shake off the traders?  

I grabbed my small Motorola phone and called my mom. “Na my mama be dis oh! I no get another one, na my mama be dis oh!”

“Ah, Mom, I’m stranded in Zuba! Sorry, I traveled to Anambra without telling you…” She replied, “Just take a bike to my house in Suleja. I’ll wait outside the gate.”

I told the traders, “Make I go collect money inside Zuba market,” then hopped on a bike and zoomed to my mama’s house in Suleja. 

 

17 years later, as I type this, I’m eating beans and sweet potato with my wife. If you care to join us, bring a bottle of wine!

Until the moment when will shall dance in white Greater Grace.

Oyugbo Osagie Jonah 

#weekend 

#inspiration 

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