She was a beautiful girl, kind and in her early twenties. She was standing under a tree on a sunny afternoon.
She wore a blue jean and a white t-shirt. Part of her long hair was held at the crown while the other was left hanging on her upper back. (Not that this description mattered in this story but she’s indelible in my mind)
She was over the phone when this woman in her early fifties came along. I couldn’t help but notice the vivid contrast between the two generations of women.
The woman wore a serious look – with no expression except a little impatient frwon every now and then.
She was well dressed and looked like a high class middle aged worker.
Everything on her body might have tumbled from the collections of the best future designers because to be honest with you, they looked so beautiful and were of high quality. I was admiring her well groomed outlook when she spoke.
“Hi!” She greeted the girl as her eyes moved from her hair to her toe probably measuring her appearance and worth.
‘Good afternoon ma’am.” She said and gave her the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen – straight from the heart.
“I’m lost,” she snapped without returning her greetings as our culture demanded. Her lips was tight – firm.
“Okay– I’m here to help you,” she said jokingly but the woman frowned and I wondered if frowning was her laughter. “Where do you want to go?” The girl moved closer to her.
“I’m looking for the National Library. Do you know where it is?”
“Oh, yes.” She said in a friendly way beaming with smiles but the woman’s face discouraged her from smiling and I noticed she didn’t smile again. “It’s close by – not far from here.”
“You have your car?” The girl asked.
“No?” She snapped.
“Ma’am, at that traffic light, take your right. At another traffic, take your right. Then keep your attention on the left side of the road, you will see the National Library. It’s not hidden.”
“Is it trek-able from here?”
“Yes ma’am but it will be hard to do so on your shoes. You can use a bus. It’s just N30 from the bus stop.”
The woman nodded and walked away. The girl went back to her phone.
End Of The Real Story
But My feeling Is Hurt Here – On behalf Of the Girl.
This is how I think the story should have ended if ever everyone lacked a conscience. If everyone had a cold heart.
By the way the story title should read;
A Thank You Saves You Many Troubles!
As she looked at her phone briefly, the thought hit her; the woman didn’t thank her for taking her time to explain the direction to her.
She quickly put her phone in her hip pocket and hastened up to the woman. She was about to board a bus and her right feet was already on the bus when the girl called.
“Ma’am, it’s not in that direction. It’s in the other direction.” The woman stepped down.
“Why didn’t you call me back before now? Why have you allowed me to get to this extent before calling me back?” She said and the girl remained calm.
‘I’m sorry ma’am. I’m so sorry.’
“Go back, pass that tree where I was standing and cross to the other side. Enter the bus there, ” she said feeling excited.
“Follow the traffic right, another traffic right, then keep looking on your left, you’ll see where you’re looking for. I’m sorry ma’am.”
The woman nodded and the girl disappeared.
The woman walked past the tree and crossed to the bus station. Her right foot was on the bus when it occurred to her to ask the bus driver where the National Liberary was.
“Madam, go down there and enter the bus. Tell the driver to stop you at the National Library.”
The woman became frustrated.
“But someone told me it’s in this direction! She yelled at the driver. I’m just coming from that side. What is wrong with all of you in this town? I’ve been misdirected for over an hour now.”
“Madam, I’m not your map, so don’t yell at me! Please step down so I don’t hurt you.”
She grudgingly stepped down and stood there. One man came along and asked her where she was going to but she was sick and tired and refused to talk.
“It seemed as if people here claim they know the direction when they don’t. This is unfair. If you don’t know direction to somewhere and someone is asking you for it, say you don’t know and save the person some inconvenience,” she talked to no one in particular before waving a keke tricycle to a stop.
“Do you know where the National Library is?”
“Yes, ma, but it’s far from here. It’ll cost you not less than N500 to get there.”
“Are you sure you know the place? Why is it that expensive?”
“Yes madam” she entered and the driver took the long route to her destination.
“This is the national library ma’am” she paid him and stepped down.