HiveComb

The road back from the market was as busy as ever. I didn't blame them, it was rush hour. Drivers were swerving carelessly, and yellow danfo buses hit their brakes without warning, all in a fight for passengers. Not to talk of the impatient bikemen that sneaked in and out of tiny spaces as though they had the cat's nine lives.

But Mama Chinedu was behind the wheel. Her hands were steady as usual, her eyes sharp and darting from one side mirror to the rearview mirror. Like the professional driver she had come to be.

The car stank of enough groceries to last the week. The trunk of her Toyota SUV was loaded with yams, tomatoes, a sack of onions that made her sneeze half the way home, and many more. I had jokingly asked her if she was preparing for an apocalypse and kept it secret. She laughed and nudged me a bit

I sat on the passenger seat like her favourite daughter sipping on a cold bottle of water and totally grateful for the car’s air-conditioning, which cooled me from the scorching sun that had threatened to peel my skin off in the market.

Heads raised and thrown back a bit. I was enjoying the coldness of the water when Mama Chinedu shouted.

“Jesu!” before hitting the brakes hard. Out of nowhere, a black SUV cut into our lane without looking. Mama Chinedu swerved her steering to the left sharply. The car tires screeched. The chaos sent the fluid spilling into my nose as I threw up the water and coughed harshly.

"Sorry." Mama Chinedu apologized. "That driver drives like a learner. I nearly hit him."

Out of anger, I rolled down the window and yelled at the other car whose driver, a young lady my age, was apologising profusely.

“Are you blind?!” I yelled, twisting in my seat to glare at the SUV owner waving my hands in the air as though I was the one driving. “What nonsense! Learn to use your side mirrors. Look at how you're even bent on your steering completely wrong! Completely wrong!”

Mama Chinedu burst into laughter before I could finish. And totally not the polite kind of laughter, but the belly-shaking kind that makes one tear up.

“Zee baby o,” she said between laughs, “you talk as if you can drive. Can you?”

I froze, my cheeks curving into a shameful smile. “Well… not really but I know how it works. I’ve seen you na and seen my dad too.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “See your mouth. You've seen me." She scoffed. "So because you've seen me you think driving is easy?”

“Okay, automatic transmission? Yes. Manual? No. You clutch, change gears. I can't deal with that. But automatic like yours? It's easy.”

She gave me a long, knowing look, the type she often gave Chinedu whenever he bragged about being the best footballer in his school. “Okay. We'll start your training this weekend. Then you'll show me that easily.” I guess she wasn't in the mood to argue much but prove me wrong.

I swallowed hard, my confidence slipping, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I've heard several people say it. Automatic is easy and I was going to prove it to her.

"Alright, ma'am."

That weekend, Mama Chinedu kept her promise. The sun was already high up in the sharp blue sky when we set off. She drove to a nearby neighborhood stadium and got out of the driver's seat. Her silver Toyota SUV was shining under the hot sun.

She threw the key to me as I jumped into the driver's seat. “Today, you will finally test your big mouth.”

I laughed nervously and slid into the driver’s seat. The steering wheel looked bigger from this side, heavier too. I couldn't see the end of the bonnet from my seat.

“Adjust the seat, set your mirrors until you're comfortable. You must always see what is behind and beside you and in front of you” she instructed.

I obeyed, my hands trembling slightly.

She looked at my shaky hands and laughed. “Already shaking?" Relax, just step on the brake and start the car.”

I smiled.

I did as she instructed and turned the key. The engine roared louder than I expected, making me jump.

“Careful, now move the gear to Drive and release the brake gently.”

I did just that and the car moved forward faster than I had expected. My heart skipped. I held the steering wheel tight as it seemed to have a mind of its own, pulling me to the left. Or maybe it was my fear that gripped the steering wheel with me.

“Brake! Brake!,” Mama Chinedu shouted. “Not too much pressure.”

But my nerves betrayed me. I pressed the brake too hard, and the car jerked to a stop.

I gasped. “This car wants to disgrace me.”

She laughed, not unkindly. “You're to control the car. The car obeys the one who is behind its wheel and remains calm. Except on most occasions. That's where it's called an accident."

We kept going in and on. Hot sweats rolling down my back though the air-conditioner in the car was cooling too well. Every little movement, turning the wheel, pressing the pedals, required calculations and sometimes felt like balancing an egg on a spoon. What looked easy turned out not to be as it looked.

I groaned, imagining the chaos of Lagos roads. Bike men weaving around, danfo buses stopping suddenly, pedestrians crossing without looking. My head spun. I wanted to blurt my thoughts out, but I remembered how Mama Chinedu told me driving wasn't just shifting gears it was more than that.

By the time we were done and Mama Chinedu was driving us home, my pride had deflated completely. I turned to her, exhausted.

“Ma'am, it’s not easy at all.” I smile sheepishly.

She smiled calmly. “Things always look simple until you try it yourself.”

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