Memoirs of a Bolt guy: Confessions from the Front Seat

By Ghanaman

When I picked up Angela from The Gibs Hotel in GRA in the early hours of Saturday morning, I honestly didn’t know I was about to hear one of the wildest stories of my Bolt career.

I waited in the car park for almost twenty minutes, something I don’t usually do.

When she finally came out and joined me in the front seat, she looked like someone who hurriedly threw on her clothes. She kept adjusting things here and there, trying to look put together.

I confirmed the price again, just as we had agreed on the phone. She said yes.

Na so the journey take start.

Almost immediately, she got on a call with another lady, whom I later realised it was her sister. Her sister was angry that she was leaving the hotel at that odd hour and kept insisting she should go back. Angela, on her part, was doing everything possible to avoid returning.

At some point, I even slowed down a bit, expecting she might change her mind and redirect me. But when I saw how determined she was to go home, na so I match am. I move full speed ahead.

The next call was to her brother. She begged him to contact any of his keke guys to pick her up from her junction. I had already warned her that her street was terrible and that I wouldn’t drive inside. She agreed. But me sef know say if we reach there and she makes me one unrefusable offer, I for still carry am go inside.

After all, wetin money no fit solve, more money dey solve am.

By this time, the antennas for my ears don pick signal from her earlier conversation with her sister. Na so I enter gear too. When you touch the right spot, dem go begin sing. And sing she did.

She started talking about her “boyfriend.”

They had been dating for about three months. Going out on dates here and there, but never really intimate. Dem wan take their time.

So, on this particular day wey I pick her, they decided to spend the night together at the hotel. Something she had been looking forward to.

But when it was time to “perform”…

Na there kasala burst.

Oya wetin xup?

She said she tried everything:

She rub am.

She whisper to am.

She sing worship.

She bow before am.

She fed am BJ like communion wine.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The thing just dey look her.

All efforts? Zero.

You could hear the frustration in her voice as she narrated it. I pressed small, and she revealed that she had not been “MANhandled” for eight months. And just when she thought her suffering would finally end, it got worse.

She couldn’t even sleep in the hotel with him after that. The embarrassment too much.

By the time we were nearing her drop-off, she had already made up her mind:

It was over.

She said, “Why I go stay with 40-year-old man wey no fit discipline me spiritually and physically?”

Life too short for such stress.

Two days later, I chatted her, just playing around.

“Hope your boyfriend don recover?”

She replied and told me she no longer had that problem.

I just smile.

Beht…

Are you thinking what I’m thinking at this point? 😌 lick lips