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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Beauty and the thief

29/11/2022

My notion about Tuesdays have really changed over the past two months. It's no longer as boring as most of my colleagues have come to know and accept. I hope my testimonies don't jinx it soon. However, it's remarkable how I was able to turn the corner on this particular day.

The first day of November happened to be a Tuesday and it was very busy for me. One ride stood out that day and perhaps for the entire week.

I got an order while at Rumuokoro to pick up someone inside Nkpolu-Rumuigbo. I got there and the girl made me wait for more than ten minutes. When I called for the 17th time to notify her of my arrival, she told me "something just came up" so she won't be going out anymore? So make I cancel am? Just imagine the girl na!

I ended the call and sent her a message to express my displeasure over the unfair treatment. As I clicked on her number on my call logs to 'send message', an old message from May of 2021 popped up and it was me thanking her for being so kind and generous to me that particular day. I tried so hard to remember the incident, but couldn't. I smiled all the same and went my way. It would have been nice seeing her again and showing her the message. Perhaps, she would have had a better memory.

As I was leaving her street, I got another order, but a bit faraway. I decided to accept it anyway. That's how I headed to SARS Road to pick up Mandy.

She got in with her boyfriend, who later dropped off along the way in one of the estates over there.

One thing led to another and we both (or should I say just Mandy) started having a conversation. More like, she was just chatting on. I wasn't paying any serious heed to all her rambling. It was mostly about how she doesn't get the desired respect from men in general and the few ones in particular she's been with. She wasn't making any sense with her rants anyways.

As my car changed gear while on the Rumuokoro flyover, Mandy did same and switched topics too. She got into her kind of job and how she's made her money over the years. And that's what actually caught my interest.

Mandy is a staff of one of the popular popular posh bars in GRA. She serves guests and makes Sisha too. My heavily endowed client, on further probing from me, started giving me insight into her underhand dealings with guests of her establishment.

She told me how she inflates their bills in such a way that she rakes in between seventy to a hundred thousand naira weekly, and this is according to her estimates.

The few clients that almost found her out were usually swayed by her beautiful appearance and maybe, the fact that they would already be tipsy at the time. She told me that she spends loads of money on herself by getting the best of clothes, footwear, watches (she wears an apple watch), perfumes too… all of which give her a psychological edge and imposing presence when facing those clients.

Many of the customers at the bar are taken aback by her stunning appearance and even go on to add more tips so as to get her contact details. She knows how to use her feminine charms to get what she wants, I guess.

There was actually a down side of her chosen vocation and it was the fact that she made shisha as a side hustle.

Despite the gains, she was going through some health challenges which she claimed was killing her slowly, due to her constant exposure to the fumes and ingredients while preparing the much sought-after craving in most clubs and bars these days.

She recalled two incidents where she became dizzy, lost consciousness and eventually fell down the staircase at work. She twisted her ankle badly and she's still recovering from that incident.

The second one even forced the hand of her current boyfriend to give her a timeframe to quit her job, while he takes care of her bills fulltime. A proposition she threw at me for advice as she made her exit from my car.

I did not give an answer by the time we arrived at her destination. I guess you cannot win them all.

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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Double wahala for ritualist and druggie

22/11/2022

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By Victor Kwame Sampong

I went to bed on Friday night with plans of heading to Buguma first thing on Saturday morning. I had already finalized plans with a client to take him there the next morning.

When my phone rang to wake me up, I thought it was him, but it wasn't Egbon Tunde who called. Dubem was on the other end of the phone, asking me to get to his house immediately. I enquired to know why and he said his kid sister was getting married that day and I had to take him to Imo State right away. I said okay.

I waited for Egbon Tunde's call for signal to head to Buguma, but none came. I preferred the Buguma trip because it was a shorter ride, even for a round trip. I'll be back in no time to attend to other clients, but unfortunately, I had to settle for Dubem's movement, after dragging my feet for an hour or thereabouts.

I got to his house, picked him up and off we went. The journey was smooth all through, up until we got to around Okehi Junction in Etche. We were flagged down by a tactical unit of one of the security agencies.

After a thorough search of our bodies, they proceeded to search the car. And that's when our ordeal started. They found a wig in the backseat and almost immediately, tagged us as ritualists. They said we're either on our way to use the wig for rituals or we are on our way back from the act. Omo! Na there I tear better laugh. I laugh wetin no good. {I just started laughing uncontrollably}

I approached one of them, and explained to him who I was and showed him my press card. I also told him what I did in Port Harcourt. I told him the wig belonged to my client's sister, who hurriedly forgot it in my car when I took her to get some stuff earlier in the day. The man would have none of it.

Before we knew it, we were directed to drive back to their station in Port Harcourt for further investigations. Two of them got into my car, while the rest joined their vehicle as they drive closely behind us.

We were allowed to make calls while making our way back to Port Harcourt. We got to the station and waited for the true owners to come identify their property using accurate verbal description and visual confirmation from their phone.

Despite all said and done, my client still had to drop something for the boys before they let us go.

But hey, that's not how my day ended.

We got to his house in Port Harcourt again and this time, another drama was unfolding inside.

One of Dubem's sister was on top of their eldest brother, dishing him some clean slaps in a bid to revive the young man. Kenneth was lying on the floor having some kind of seizure, while Adaobi was busy pouring water on him and slapping him intermittently.

She succeeded in ensuring that her brother didn’t join his ancestors that early in life.

Dubem asked those present to explain the sight that met us on arrival and one of his boys narrated the circumstances that led to Kenneth's convulsions.

They were out on an errand and on their way back, Kenneth picked up what looked like a small rolled up blunt on the ground, a left over. Man took it home and lit it. Upon dragging it 3 consecutive times, it almost fried his brains. His eyes rolled backwards and he fell down with the seizures taking over immediately.

It was Adaobi who came to his timely rescue otherwise, he might have been a goner.

My client picked the stuff up, examined it and gave a damning verdict on this particular substance. He said this very one that almost knocked his brother to the great beyond couldn’t be taken by just one person. It's usually a groupie thing and nobody drags it more than once at a stretch. It must go round 4-5 persons and after the second drag, the thing is put off and kept safely until those involved must have recovered from the effects. He further explained that this particular brand can't be finished in a day by 5 people.

Surprisingly, my client doesn't smoke. How he came about this in-depth knowledge and subsequent analysis of this substance surprised me though.

Well, Kenneth got back to his feet and within the next few hours I spent there, I saw him rolling something else at the backyard. No be me go tell am sey fowl no dey piss.

Our elders say that the tree that doesn't know how to dance, will soon be taught so by the wind.

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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Fear and death at Satan’s door step

15/11/2022

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By Victor Kwame Sampong

Weekends are usually fun, but hectic for us in this E- Hailing business. They are extremely productive for both conventional cab drivers and E-hailing drivers. All of us dey cash out. {We all make loads of money}

A regular client woke me up Saturday morning saying we urgently had to get to his village in Ngor Okpala LGA, Imo State because 'dem wan pay for him sister head' that morning. {Prospective suitors were coming in to start the marriage process}

I got up, washed the car and headed for his place. I picked the bride to be and two of her elder sisters. They also grabbed a few items they'll need and fired straight down to their village. I returned to Port Harcourt at about 3pm and went back to my unfinished business (sleep) immediately. Both my body and vehicle needed adequate rest after such a long and tedious journey to and from Imo State.

I got back on the road at about 9pm and the orders kept coming in back to back.

Around 11pm, I got a ride from Udi Street in Diobu. I responded and headed to the pick up spot. I saw five young men approaching the car in front of me. My windows were already up and the doors firmly locked. Two of them then approached me that I should take one of them who is a printer to Alakahia, near Choba. I agreed, but the issue was that the guy had only N2000 for the ride, even though it was displaying N3,000. They pleaded and pleaded and pleaded some more. Oh well, I agreed, but on the premise that it should be done offline. And that's how I took the printer to his destination.

On my way back, while approaching Wazobia FM, the phone beeped again. I parked and immediately, the call came through. A sign that the client was in a hurry. It was about a quarter to midnight.

The caller identified himself as a doctor, stating that we would need to pick up a patient at a health centre, then proceed to his own hospital.

I immediately agreed.

“Oya, where we dey pick the person up from?” I asked. {Okay, where is the pick up point?

The Doctor said Aluu Boundary area. Omo! My ear stand, my heart skipped a bit. I checked the time again, and it was almost midnight.

“Where's the drop-off point?” I asked again, and he said Ogbogoro! Heheheeh!

Both locations were frightening, based on the time on the clock. He tried frantically to convince me, saying the patient was a pregnant woman in labour and needed urgent attention.

I told him I'll go, but he should come out with a form of identification and I'll be at the junction of Wazobia FM along the East/ West road waiting for him. He agreed to this.

A few minutes later, I saw a young guy approach from the passengers side. He knocked on the window while trying in vain to open the door. I just took down the glass a bit and asked him to identify himself. He opened his wallet and brought out a complimentary card instead. The name on the card didn't match the one I saw on the app. And there was no photograph too. I had to be careful. First, it was very late at night. Second, the pick up location and drop off point were suspect. And finally, there had been repeated cases of Bolt drivers getting robbed and sometimes killed too. I really had to be careful.

I shared my concerns with him, explaining that the complimentary card did not belong to him and as such, I was already suspicious. He wasn't even carrying a stethoscope or any medical equipment to make me believe he was the doctor he claimed to be.

My guy asked that I call the number on the card, because truly the card was not his, but to his boss, who's the owner of the hospital. He was assigned to pick up the patient and bring her to the hospital at Ogbogoro due to the urgency of the situation.

After some back and forth, I called the number and a more mature voice answered and explained that indeed the person with me was his assistant. I inquired why the guy did not have an ID on him.

“Because if we pick up the woman and she's unconscious during transit, we could run into security operatives, so how do we explain ourselves at such an ungodly hour?”

He too started his own round of trying to convince me. At that point, I've had heard enough. I let him in and we set our destination for Aluu. While driving, I was very observant too because he was fiddling with both of his phones. So many thoughts ran through my head, my heart racing a bit at intervals.

I reached for my phone with one hand and typed the name of the hospital on Google map. However, what I saw made me ask my passenger if their hospital have other branches and where are they located. He said it's only the Port Harcourt branches he's aware of. I still wasn't convinced, so I called his boss and posed the same questions to him. He said the same thing. I told him Google search on his establishment is showing me the exact same names in Onitsha and Umuahia, so how come he isn't aware of these.

He said he is, but I'd have to add his name to the hospital's name before I might probably find it online. Na wah! We were almost close to the Aluu Boundary junction at the time, so the one with me pointed that I take my left, as if I'm going to the Uniport axis. Everywhere was just dark and quiet.

But, in less than 5 poles from the Boundary Junction, just beside the police post there, he said I should enter the health centre on my right. My blood pressure reduced a lot when the policemen outside flashed their torchlight in our direction. Honestly, I never thought I'd be so happy and pleased to see the men in black. I looked around and noticed the signpost of the health centre too. I was relieved now.

We drove in and the woman was brought out by her husband and a two nurses. She was already bleeding. We placed a mat on the backseat for her to lie down. The husband drove behind us as we proceeded to Ogbogoro, passing a few OSPAC {Local Vigilante} checkpoints and explaining to them our mission.

We got to the hospital in Ogbogoro and the nurses on duty helped her inside. The doctor paid me and I went my way. Did one more ride and called it a night.

The next morning, it was the good doctor who interrupted my sleep with a sad news...the patient lost the baby. He said the baby was already dead by the time they got to the hospital.

It was indeed such a telling way to kick off the day's activities.

I could not focus on my driving for the day. Was it my fault? I know I delayed, asking loads of questions because of my fear. Maybe, if I had set off for Aluu immediately, the baby would have been saved, I thought to myself.

I parked my car to call the doctor.

“Hello Doc, it’s me again,” he greeted me and I wasted no time to ask.

“Doc, I bin dey think of wetin happen yesterday. I mean with the baby and all the time I delayed, asking those questions. Could it be that we could have saved the baby if we had gotten there, say, thirty minutes earlier?”

I asked, waiting to hear that it was my fault, but I did no hear that.

“Bro, that baby was long dead. It had nothing to do with the delay on your side. The baby was long dead."

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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Payback is a bitch, but what do women want?

8/11/2022

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By Victor Kwame Sampong

In terms of least productive days on this job, majority of my colleagues would pick Thursdays right behind Tuesdays. However, for the past couple of weeks, it seemed Thursday was changing to Tuesday as the least productive day on the job.

And so, it seemed Thursday might just top the charts if it puts in more efforts to be less productive to us. The mornings are usually dry due to the mandatory sanitation exercise for business owners in the city. So shops are usually locked till 10am. And when they're open afterwards, you still can't find clients anywhere. Everywhere go just dry.

This past Thursday was already looking gloomy. I was even getting bored and sleepy due to the inactivity. So most times when I don't get rides for a long period of time, I just drive straight to the Town and Borikiri axis.

On or before I get there, my phone MUST beep. It's a ‘tried and trusted’ model for me. I decided to engage my old tricks and by the time I got to Waterlines, I got a ride. Unfortunately, I had stupidly climbed the flyover. So, I had to go turn at Garrison in order to get to my client in one of the parks at Waterlines. Thankfully, he didn't even notice the long detour and I got there in good time too, since the roads were still free.

Mr. George boarded and we turned to face the Government Reservation Area, GRA en route to Eagle Island. He looked confused and troubled. And he was mumbling things to himself.

Then all of a sudden, he turned to me and asked, “young man, what do women really want?”

I won't lie...I been wan laff die! {I wanted to laugh out loud, probably laugh him to scorn} It seems my new client wasn't informed too! That his question will go unanswered till we both pass away. Because we all know that nobody, not anywhere, knows what women want. Even the women do not know, and I challenge them to tell us what they want.

Anyways, I told him me sef still dey follow find the same thing wey women want, but it seems after today, I'll stop seeking. {I told him that I am also seeking to know what women want, but that after today, I will stop my quest}

My spontaneous response lit his face a little. We were close to Casablanca at this point and he said we should stop for a drink and possibly breakfast. Omo! This is every driver's delight. Na so I rush enter one popular fast food at the junction of Abacha Road there...no time Oo. {I rushed into a popular eatery at the junction of Sani Abacha road}

We got food and drinks, sat down to eat and that's how Mr. George narrated to me, the genesis of his question.

He's married with children, but like most men, he's got a very hot side chic. Yeah, she's hot. I know this because he showed me her pictures. He funds and maintains her adequately.

Now, she's supposed to be his escort to business trips outside the state, but she has missed the past two outings, with this current trip being the third.

So, while away in Enugu, he sent someone to check up on her. The news and evidence the person brought back were not palatable at all. She has a boyfriend that comes to sleep in the one bedroom apartment he rented for her at Alakahia, around the University of Port Harcourt area.

Now, my man wants to exact his pound of flesh. After examining a variety of ways to do it, we settled for what we both thought at the time to be the most painful option.

First of all, I took him home. He insisted that I stayed with him till 4pm. Why? His girlfriend would be at choir practice by then because she won't miss it for anything in the world, thereby making our plan easier. You want to know what our plan was?

I called my man who owns a nice truck at Mile 3 Park. We all set out in a convoy of vehicles, heading to Alakahia. We got to the girl's building, (Un)fortunately and true to his projections, the babe wasn't even around at the time. So, Mr. George used his own key to gain access into the apartment. I was wowed. Tastefully furnished at the expense of my client like he explained earlier.

To cut short, this long story, we wiped the place clean, leaving it empty for the next tenant (if possible).

Then we drove to his mother's house in Town. My man told his bewildered mom that he brought those items to furnish one of the guest rooms in her house. Very funny. Well, it was safe to say that the items fit perfectly in the room there.

Chido, my truck man got paid and Mr. George saw to it that I got paid a full two days' wages for my efforts and support during one of the most trying times in his life.

I saw him again today three days later as he called me to take him to the airport as he left for a business meeting in Abuja. Like the past three occasions, Mr. George is going on a trip without his regular handbag.

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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Weapon of Mass Destruction

1/11/2022

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By Victor Kwame Sampong

A popular adage from back in the day was , ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ even though I do not know about now and whether it's still being used on a regular basis like it was during my days.

Well, my clients last Sunday clearly had the above phrase in mind before deciding to leave their army barracks for the Government Reservation Area, GRA to have a good time.

Their pick-up location was and still is, the most popular building at GRA which is always overflowing with our revered 'ladies of easy virtues'. Not even the ban, once, of their activities could send the place and its clients into oblivion.

By the time I got to the pick-up point, both men were already outside, ready to go and so they just jumped in and the journey started. I already knew where they were headed, so I didn't bother asking for confirmation this time.

One of them, Nduka, obviously from the East was making a call initially, while Saliu, his colleague was of Northern extraction. Immediately after the call, Nduka blurted out in frustration, "O boy, that girl na idiot o. Na very stupid girl. See as she just make us spend money and nothing come out.” {That girl is stupid. She just made us spend our money needlessly}

At this time, my ears popped. These were the kinds of stories I loved to hear. I stayed focused on my driving, but I was paying full attention.

“Na very stupid girl. Na this small thing she dey run upandan?” Saliu said in angry frustration. {She’s very stupid. Running away because of this small thing}

“Chai! Na wetin make I like North fa. This kind thing no dey cause trouble.” {That’s why I like Northern Nigeria. Things like these are nothing}

Nduka chuckled loudly, obviously at his friend, Saliu, then he said words I was not expecting.

“But you sef, which kind thing you dey carry waka sef? I don warn you before.” Nduka asked, almost tongue in cheek {But why do you carry such heavy artillery with you?}

The exchanges continued back and forth until Saliu decided to give detailed narration of what earlier transpired.

At this point, all the antennas in me stood up, in anticipation for something exciting.

From Saliu's explanation, Amaka was their friend and after a series of chats and phone calls, she agreed to have sex with both of them that day. That was how these two fine gentlemen left their military base to GRA to service the rifle between their legs.

But after Amaka had 'enjoyed herself ' with plates of pepper soup and some bottles of drinks to put her in action mode, she and Saliu made their way upstairs to the room, while Nduka stayed back a bit to sort out a few things, including the bills and to finish up his drinks,

So, while in the room, she went into the bathroom to freshen up. Saliu had already gone full 'Adam mode', waiting on the bed. But, what she saw on her way out of the bathroom almost knocked her out.

Saliu's weapon of mass destruction (WMD) was the biggest she's seen in her career. She shouted, according to Saliu, and immediately started to dress up again.

Well, if she agrees to take this in, there might be no more career to go back to.

All pleas by Saliu to her fell on deaf ears. Not even the promise of doubling their agreed sum could sway her. Nduka had joined them by then, but he too was helpless to prevent her from leaving.

They didn't want to cause a scene, due to their status in society, so they just let her be. That's how, after cocking their rifles, in anticipation of shooting a few shots and rounds, they left the place disappointed with everything still intact. I could imagine how heavy and blue their balls would be at that point, due to the inability to empty its contents.

But, out of curiosity, I asked Nduka if truly his friend was truly packing heavy artillery between his leg. He replied in the affirmative saying that's how Saliu got his nickname: Missile.

If not for home training, I almost requested for visual confirmation and on the spot assessment and further verification. Of course, I couldn’t have done that, but it was funny that a woman whose job was to take in artillery, saw one and ran off. It must have really been a weapon of mass destruction.

But I did ask him how he came about such goods hanging loosely between his thighs. He said they usually took things and things (concoctions) up North for various purposes.

I queried further, I asked if those northerners we call 'Aboki' hawking substances for all kinds of issues including sexually related ones, are for real, and he said yes, they were. He added that I could get roots for jumbo size if I so desire. I know better than to underestimate them henceforth.

Well, as we approached GRA, the conversation switched gear and we found ourselves talking about the state of the nation. Another round of frustration set in.

Saliu and Frank were clearly not happy with how life has been made so difficult for Nigerians by those in power. I then teased them by reminding them of the reported salary increment and improved service conditions announced and approved by their Commander In Chief last Christmas, a claim both men vehemently debunked, claiming it was all 'audio promises', as nothing ever materialized.

They weren't the first people to make this assertion though. Numerous times on the roads and highway, I've always teased the policemen with this and they all say the same thing that nothing was given to them. So, I wasn't surprised to hear it again.

They said the last time military personnel enjoyed such upward review of their emoluments was during the administration of the late Yar Adua and Goodluck Jonathan. It was at this point that I chipped in the fact that their present Commander in Chief was one of them meant that they should be enjoying better welfare packages. They just shrugged it off saying that isn't the case.

One of my big ogas {bosses} usually reminds me of this saying: It's not the sex that bothers him. But the efforts exerted looking for it.

Despite their botched 'happy hour' moment at GRA, Saliu and Nduka were determined not to give up. Perhaps they might have drawn some sort of inspiration from their various battlegrounds or so, where in the face of defeat, they were able to turn the tide against their foes.

And so, while on the Ada George Road, they both remembered a pretty damsel that works close to a fuel station. So, they made contact on phone and a green light was given. I was directed to the place and that was where our trip ended, instead of their barracks. They paid, saved my number, and promised to call me for future movements. They're still JJCs in town and would like someone to show them a few hot joints when they are in possession of some 'Conference Materials'.

I readily agreed, but mainly due to the fact that I'll now have some military men in my corner to call upon whenever push comes to shove. Hmmmn!

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Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Beauty and the thief

Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Double wahala for ritualist and druggie

Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Fear and death at Satan’s door step

Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Payback is a bitch, but what do women want?

Memoirs of a Bolt Guy: Weapon of Mass Destruction

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