They had been travelling for about two hours and she was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. She was lucky, the loud discordant music playing on the radio was helping to mask the sounds of her flatulence, and the smell coincided with that of the boiled egg the pregnant woman seated in front of her was eating.
One of the children seated behind her was asking their mother what smelled so bad. Unable to endure it any longer, someone asked from the back, “Madam, you sure say that egg never spoil?”
The pregnant hormonally imbalanced woman didn’t take kindly to the question.
“Na your life go spoil!” she retorted.
The ensuing exchange of insults increased the noise in the bus and she took advantage of it and further relieved herself. She wondered what she could have eaten. It had to be the vegetable salad she had bought from her favourite eatery last night. She had had a lot of salad and chicken.
“Comport yourself!” she said to herself, “I can handle this, just two more hours and I can dash into the nearest ladies room.
Suddenly the driver stopped. She looked up from her tablet to see the cause. They had been pulled over by the road safety corps.
“Great! Precious time being wasted” she thought.
The driver spent fifteen minutes negotiating how much he could part with as a bribe before they resumed their journey. She returned her attention to her tablet, finding solace in sharing about her frustration.
“Worst journey ever! #roadtravelthings” she tweeted.
She surfed the net, pinged, tweeted, retweeted, reposted, shared, chatted, just anything to take her mind off the uncomfortable feeling in her bowels. It worked, for after a while she forgot her discomfort.
She was jolted out of her cyber comfort by the bus. “What now?” she thought and saw a long stretch of potholes. The bus rocked violently, and every jolt increased her discomfort, causing her excruciating pain so that she almost cried out. One of the children behind her in an attempt to hold on to something, suddenly pulled on her long braids.
“Get your filthy hands off me!” she snapped. The mother promptly apologised.
Finally, they were back on the smooth part of the road but the damage had been done. Her rectum was on fire. “I need to do this now,” she thought. Quickly she searched her handbag for some toilet roll, there was just enough. Now to tell the driver. She was too embarrassed. How could a sophisticated lady like herself tell the driver to pull over so that she could relieve herself in the bushes? She was wearing jeans so that meant she would even have to bare her backside to the view of whatever was in the bush. She was horrified, but the intolerable discomfort she felt made her come to a quick decision. “Better to relieve myself in the bushes than here in the bus, on myself” she thought.
With that in mind, she called out, “Driver, please pull over”. No response. She called out louder with the accent of someone who travelled to the UK regularly “Driver, please pull over!!!”
The man seated next to her decided to intervene, “You better speak up in a language he understands, and do it quickly,” he said disdainfully before returning to the paper he was reading. He had endured her flatulence long enough. By now she was sweating profusely.
She lifted her backside to relieve herself again, but this time it was different. There was definitely a wetness in her panties. “Oh no!” she thought, mortified.
“Driver, abeg stop I wan shit!!!” she said loudly.
This time he heard her. As soon as she got off the bus, she dashed into the bush and relieved herself. Fifteen minutes later she got back on the bus and she was certain that they had all had a good laugh. The woman with the kids behind her even had the hint of a smile on her face. She brought out her tablet and tweeted: “Mortification. #worstdayofmylife”
The bus moved on.