I loved writing letters to my special friends, including myself. A little while ago, I stumbled on one of my long epistles, more like a Gratitude Note.

The letter reminded me of an experience I had at Jibowu bus-stop, Lagos.

Some years back, I went for an evening programme, after which I boarded a bus and sat by the window at the back while the conductor beckoned for more passengers. A frail looking woman walked up and stood by my side of the window, asking for a token to feed her child, who also looked frail.

The conductor chipped in saying the woman used to trade at the bus stop until she was duped or robbed (I can't remember his exact words). I was convinced that she was honest and brought out my purse to give the woman some amount of money to start a small business with; I also paid my fare. The woman was shocked and excited, while the conductor was more emotional.

Thankfully, the trip started shortly after.

Unknown to me, I did not keep the purse back in my bag. I did not notice that my purse was missing until I got home and started sorting my items for the next day. There and then, I suspected one of two scenarios must have transpired - I either dropped the purse, or someone carefully took it from my bag...

☆☆☆☆☆

I remember vividly how I cried; I often ask "what next?" when I am troubled. In this particular case, it was tough because I had a couple of important items in the lost purse including debit cards. The mere thought of going to the different banks to get new debit cards was a nightmare. 

The purse also contained my driver's licence, passport photographs, a bracelet that I cherished, the key to my office drawer, some complimentary cards, and cash.

My family urged me to eat and encouraged me to prepare for the next day; I was too tired and worried; I ended up not sleeping a wink.

I kept saying repeatedly in Yoruba "God have mercy".  I desired a miracle.

On getting to the office next day, I had numerous missed calls on my office line. I dialled the number, curious as to what the urgency or emergency might be... but to my utter surprise, it was the bus conductor from my ride home the previous day, with a husky voice.

He had found my purse on the bus the previous night, opened it, and saw my passport photographs, some complimentary cards, and other items. He later recounted how he decided to call all the numbers on the different cards continuously, with hopes that someone would know me, including my low haircut in his description of me.

Shortly after, I went with a colleague, to the bus park, the conductor described. Mr Taju, as the conductor later introduced himself, put his hand in the "inner-inner" part of his trousers like it was a safe box and removed a black polythene bag, out of which he produced my purse and handed it over to me.

We offered Mr Taju cash, but he politely refused, recounting to my colleague in a rather dramatic way, what happened the night before and how the woman with the baby, kept praying for me. 

☆☆☆☆☆

He said some words that keep resonating in my mind till date: "Ẹni t’o ba n ṣàánú, ma n rí àánú gba; ká sá máa ṣe dáadáa (whoever shows mercy shall be shown mercy; let us do good at all times).

A few days later, I returned to the same park with my colleague to drop some gifts for Mr. Taju. We were particularly shocked by his act of kindness because, despite not having a place to stay, he did not take anything in the purse. His actions deeply touched us that we reached out to his family.

On a lighter note, Mr. Taju's typical agbèrò (husky) voice sounded pleasantly sweet and welcomed😊.