My mum has been with me for about three months now. As common with older women, she started ‘blackmailing’ me towards her return the moment she came. She had hardly entered the house when she noticed my first daughter: “Ah! Etekamba, I will take her when I’m going back.” I pretended I didn’t hear the last two words. The trick was probably so I would ask: ‘when are you going back?’ But I refused to fall. 

Next day, she came direct: “Etekamba, I won’t stay long –o. I would soon go.” That was too direct to ignore. So I answered: ‘No problem. I hope you came with your transport money?’ End of story for that day. But the pressure returned in another form until I almost succumbed. I think the only thing that made me insist she must stay a while was because no Ghana-must-go (GMG) was involved in the campaign. 

When she came, it took only a day to ‘navigate’ the potholes on Ore-Benin road to Lagos. But soon, the potholes became gullies. And gullies became graves. Well, since mummy wasn’t too eager to die yet, she stopped ‘harassing’ me the moment she read it in the newspapers. The next day, I started adding weight. However, it didn’t take long for mum to imagine her people would assume she’s dead. They might even declare her ‘missing.’ Or ‘wanted,’ if she didn’t return home soon. Well, that would’ve been interesting. Because I would’ve volunteered information that could lead to her whereabouts – if whoever declared her ‘wanted’ put a prize on her head. In any case, that would’ve saved me the transport money because the fellow would have to come and get her, abi?

Anyway, somehow, she convinced me into thinking of alternative means of sending her home. First, I thought of asking her to trek across River Niger, but I remembered she has arthritis. As last resort, I thought of flying her home. In my little nephew’s paper plane.  But just that week, the ADC plane crashed in Abuja. And, mama, like Erika Jong, developed Fear of Flying. Now, how do I return her home? 

While trying to find answers to that question, I’ve found out that there are many people in a similar dilemma. In fact, some of them, thinking I’ve an answer to every problem, have been sending me mails on the best alternative for safe transportation. And, with the knowledge ‘confused’ in me, as Mr. Know-all, I hereby supply some answers.

Amina, from Sokoto: Dear Usoro, how can we stop plane crashes in this country? We have experienced too many of them in recent times. 

Mr. Know-all: First, let me hope my wife doesn’t read that part you called me “dear.” However, if she does and you need a fast transport back to Sokoto, please go by plane – with Professor Babalola Borishade as pilot. Well, I actually don’t expect Prof to agree with that. He’s likely to pose for the camera and say, ‘C-h-e-e-s-e! I would never resign; God caused crash and not me.’ Then, he would tell you that the only way to avoid plane crash is to trek home. But never mind.  

Truth is, since Borishade became the Aviation Minister, sanity returned to the sector. You know why? After five plane crashes in about a year, everybody now thinks thrice before boarding the next plane. Besides, we no longer need long scientific processes of interpreting an orange coloured pack called ‘Black Box.’ Borishade has the answers to all the accidents. In fact, to him, only colour blind folks wait for the ‘Black box.’ So, the Prof proves his worth by blabbing out the cause of a crash, before setting up a panel of inquiry – as a formality. That’s a feat. The kind he achieved in the Education sector, once. He kept children safe at home in the comfort of their parents’ homes, rather than exposing them to contamination from teachers. That’s a feat he would transfer to the Tourism industry. I know the Senators and many other Nigerians would disagree but what do they know? Bad belle people!

Yes, we’ve had too many crashes. Me? Am tired of mourning. Baba, too, must be tired of declaring ‘three days of mourning.’ And the flag must be tired of flying at ‘half mast’. Obasanjo should declare his tenure ‘eight-years of mourning.’ And the flag should fly at ‘no mast.’

Chukwudi, from Onitsha: Usoro nnwanem, bia! My ‘broda for obodo oyinbo’ has sent one container of GMG. It travelled on the high sea without entering any pothole. My problem now is how to transport it from Lagos to Onitsha without falling into the valley of death. I need to get it to the lawmakers fast; they would need it to pack money. 

The other time, I was lucky. By the time we managed to get to Asaba, all the engine blocks were still in the container. My ‘clearing and backwarding’ agent said if we had wasted more time, they would have melted like ice block. Please, help!

Mr. Know-all: Chukwudi one of Umunna! Nna, the best way to transport your container safely is to carry it on your head, e nu go? Once you get to the bad spots, just lift the thing to your head and cross over to the other side. Chikena! Then the trailer can take over.  Remember, engine blocks are fragile! Odikwa risky.

Dikibo, from Rivers: Mr. Usoro, I have sore on my leg so I find it very difficult to walk. When I get to the bad spot on Ore-Benin road, how can I get across without hurting my leg?

Mr. Know-all: Dear Dikibo, you have the simplest case. As an Ijaw man, I know you love swimming. Since Lucky Igbinedion is not smart enough to think of putting canoes or pontoons in that Ore-Benin river, just swim across with your legs up. 

Akpan, from Uyo: Ete Usoro, I’m stock in Lagos and don’t know how to go back home. My people have declared me ‘wanted’ but there’s no road linking Lagos and the East. Despite the ADC crash, I would have loved to fly – if I had ticket money. Or wings. But even the roads in the sky to my place is filled with potholes, too. To make matters worse, there’s no bus-stop. Or ambulance. Or even FRSC in the sky. Please, advise!

Mr. Know-all: Eyen eka, please if you don’t have wings, borrow some. In those days, enemies of progress used to deride some people for “growing wings.” They never knew it would be useful some day. Well, you can never trust anybody’s wings like your own – but borrowed wings are better than none. Anyway, in the alternative, use donkey. Yes, that was the best form of transportation until Newton Jibunoh discovered that a car can actually cross the desert. Well, camels may have minor advantages. For instance, a short man like me might need a permanent ladder to clime the animal. But the cost of sitting on a donkey with a ladder on your head can never be compared to the pains of plane crash. Or spending three days at Ore; swimming some and crawling some.

In fact, I strongly suggest we go back to the ‘donkey years.’ That animal can even take you across the river – when it’s not crossed. Another advantage to the rider is that area boys would never demand ‘loading money.’ As a result, either they would find work to do, like breaking the legs of your donkey, or would die of hunger ‘one by each’ – making the undertakers very happy. 

Back to the donkey years, o jare! That way, the governments can go to hell with their funny tales and rhetorics. We won’t need their tarred roads with donkeys, would we?  Well, it might take six months to travel from Uyo to Lagos, but at least you would get there – in one piece. That is, if you pack enough food to last the ‘Israelite journey.’

You see, I like what this government has succeeded in doing. At least, it has encouraged many people to stay in one place. That’s why I support the destruction and neglect of roads. The railway died long ago. Now, the funeral is on for the air transport. Unfortunately, Borishade was too busy with grammar to hear the dirge. Pity!

• First published in Saturday Sun of  Nov 04, 2006