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While the bus waddles down the road, Uju subtly winces at the foul stench emanating from the robust woman sitting beside her. It almost smells like putrid mayonnaise mixed with sweat. In a bid to evade the odour, she stylishly turns her nose away, but to no avail. It's almost as though the smell were deliberately running its course into her nostrils, and as though every driblet of saliva she swallowed were tainted by its putrid essence. She finds it so unsettling. But what can she do? The vehicle is extremely hot and stuffy.
This is no surprise though, because the air conditioner of the rickety bus is already ancient history. And its windows are so stiffened by age, that they can barely open more than a few centimetres. As if that weren't enough, Uju is sandwiched between two ọrọbọs who are occupying much more space than they paid for and seem quite unconcerned about her discomfort.
She is only a child, after all. Who is she to complain? And there is no adult here to defend her. So, she is all on her own.

'Four passengers forced into a seat meant for three people during such a long road trip? It's just terrible.' Uju opines within. And Mummy made sure that she travelled with one of the cheapest transport companies in Owerri. 'Transport Company' is an overstatement really. The print of their company logo has already faded off the battered door of the bus. It is a long Igbo name, a bit difficult to pronounce.

#BUMP!

The bus jounces violently as its tires cross a speed bump on the road, jolting both Uju, her two seat mates and the ghana-must-go bag on her laps.
In a way, it wasn't so bad, since the two people beside her absorbed the sideways shock with their robust bodies. But the shock of the vertical jolt was as deadly as ever, bouncing the loaded ghana-must-go on her fragile femurs. Her knee caps are still sore from the heavy weight. And all she can do is cringe, as painful cramps slowly permeate her leg muscles.
All this pain seems to have taken away the thrill of arriving Lagos for the first time. Lagos; the land of opportunity. Lagos; the land of infrastructure, business and entertainment; the land of suspense and wonders; the land where talents flourish and dreams come true. Lagos; the land flowing with milk and honey. Ohh! How Uju would have loved to properly relish this moment; a moment she can never get back again.

While still lost in deep thought, she is snapped out by the deep voice of the driver,
"Ojota dey??? "

"Yes oo! Driver, Ojota!... Stop me!", Uju yells in response.
Then in a few minutes, the driver parks the bus inside a petrol station and opens the door to let her and another older man out. With the might of a heavyweight champion, this middle-aged surprisingly muscular driver lifts the loaded ghana-must-go from her laps and dumps it forcefully on the ground, to enable her come down easily.

"Ha!... Na small girl like you dey carry this kind heavy load??? ", he asks Uju jocularly.
Too tired to speak, Uju simply smiles at him and adjusts the tattered leather purse on her shoulder; afterwhich a woman chuckles and then echoes from inside the bus,
"Person wey don already dey get breast, na'im you dey call small pikin?"

Upon hearing this, all the passengers burst into laughter.
Then the driver replies, while struggling to close the stiff door,
"Na by breast?... This girl never pass fifteen years."

In response, the woman asks again rhetorically, as he enters into the bus,
"Fifteen years old girl na small pikin? "

They all burst into laughter again.

Uju on the other hand, pays no attention to them, but immediately begins to surveil her environment.
Yes, Lagos may be a land of wonders, but it is also a den of criminals, thieves and con men. She is no fool. She has heard of the many ways one can be harmed or robbed at crowded parks like these in Lagos. And not to mention, she is a young female; easy prey in the eyes of these predators. Hence, she plans to be extra careful.

Ojota is a very busy place, filled with numerous moving or parked buses and taxis whose drivers are scavenging for passengers with unwavering zest. Not to mention, the food vendors and hawkers of cosmetics, bread, fruits, drinks, chocolates, sweets and some small electronic equipment such as; flashlights, lamps, batteries and whatnot.
Some are even hawking items of furniture; as one would typically see in a place like Lagos. Business here is by hook or by crook. And It is obvious that these people aren't here to play.
Well, who can blame them? Their welfare is their concern alone, so they need to work twice as hard, if they hope to fend for themselves.

"Nna, get your fine-fine shirts here!!!... Four-four hundred! Four-four hundred!... Na mumu dey go boutique!!! ", a man keeps yelling behind her as he raises up some wrinkled T-shirts. No doubt, they are okrika from the new bail that arrived this morning from overseas. They do not seem like first-grade ones though. Many of the first-grade okrika are quickly bought up by some boutique owners on delivery. They select all the good looking ones, rewash, repackage and brandish them with new tags, so as to display them for sale in their fancy boutiques. Unsuspecting customers can then purchase them at exorbitant prices, as they would brand new clothes.

Uju sighs. She keeps on looking around to see if she'll find Mr or Mrs Balogun, the couple she will be living with. She does not even know what they look like. Although, she can still remember the tiny voice of Mrs. Balogun and her weakened Igbo, from when they spoke on the phone back at Owerri. Mrs. Balogun had told her to wait in the park at Ojota; that they would pick her up from there. But now that she has arrived, she realizes that she actually has no way of contacting them. Therefore, she'll have to wait.
It is about 3:30pm. The sun is painfully scorching and it seems to already be darkening what is left of Uju's caramel skin. Poverty and suffering have truly disfigured this poor girl because right now, she looks leaner than a stick, being severely malnourished from eating meagre remnants at Uncle Obinna's house.
Nne might have been poor. But somehow, she always made sure that Uju was well fed and clothed; at least, to the best of her abilities. But barely a month after her death, Uju has already almost become a haggard-looking crone, at age sixteen.
Her eye sockets are sorely depressed and her slender neck looks nearly bone dry. The flared blue floral dress she is putting on helps to conceal some of her emaciation, but her extremely thin arms are on full display. And her legs too look dry and dusty, like the feet of a chicken.

Mummy had bought Uju this new dress for the trip. She did not want Amara and her husband to think that she had been maltreating Uju or something.
If she had allowed Uju wear any of her rags, they might have even presumed that she and her husband were too broke to fend for her. Before her departure, Obiageli was also magnanimous enough to gift her some new clothes from Ebere's old ghana-must-go, before finally taking the rest to the St. Vincent de Paul society at church.

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GLOSSARY
ọrọbọs - Fat people
Okrika - A name given to used clothes (second-hand), imported from foreign countries into Nigeria, to be sold as cheaper substitutes for brand new clothes. They are mostly purchased by poor people.
"Ojota dey?????" - "Is there anyone stopping at Ojota???"
"Ha!.....Na small girl like you, dey carry this kind heavy load???" - "Wow!!!....How come a little girl like you, is carrying such a heavy bag???"
"Person wey don already dey get breast, na'im you dey call small pikin? " - "How can you call someone who has already developed breasts, a little child?"
"Na by breast?.....This girl never pass fifteen years." - "Do the breasts matter?....This girl is obviously not older than fifteen."
"Fifteen years old girl, na small pikin??? "- "Is a fifteen year old girl, still a little child???"
" Nna......Get your fine-fine shirts here......Four-four hundred! Four-four hundred!..... Na mumu dey go boutique!!! " - "My friend/brother.......Get your nice shirts here at....Four hundred naira! Four hundred naira!..... Only idiots buy at boutiques!!!"