4 The encounter at the bus

Chapter 4

The encounter at the bus

Bayo's eyes narrowed as he listened to Èsù's words, silently questioning, 'Are you trying to trap me?' Bayo's life was the backstory of suffering, from the tragic loss of his mother to his father's neglect and disdain. Poverty clung to him like a shadow, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Bayo's perpetual state of poverty reflected his lack of proper work and terrible relationships with others. The cycle of being unemployed and living in poverty seemed to feed off each other. Trust was a concept that Bayo struggled to grasp, his outlook on life tainted by deep-rooted distrust and pessimism. Each day felt like a waiting game for the inevitable end.

Bayo clenched his teeth and said bluntly, "What are you trying to say, Baba Èsù?"

Èsù chuckled at how his schemes were unfolding. Bayo was catching on quickly. Lowering his voice, he said, "Now that you have connections to all the Orishas, you can tap into their power to solve your problems."

As the master of trickery, Èsù kept the truth from Bayo - that there were consequences, conditions, and unexpected twists that would come with borrowing this power. He lured Bayo into a false sense of security, waiting for the right moment to shatter his illusions. His motives were not compassionate but selfish. Èsù had skillfully selected Bayo, who had tasted the bitterness of suffering. Bayo would soon find himself in a precarious situation, unaware of Èsù's true intentions.

With skepticism and distrust in his eyes, Bayo pondered, 'Èsù couldn't possibly be doing this out of love for me, could he?' Questioning Èsù's motives in his time of need, Bayo wondered why he had never shown up when he faced the storms of life.

That night was tumultuous, filled with chaos and uncertainty, as if it would never end. However, eventually, the troublemaker, Èsù, bid farewell and departed.

As the sun rose the following morning, someone came to the neighborhood and woke Bayo up. It was none other than John Phillip, also known as Doctor John. He exuded an old-school coolness, with his oval face displaying wisdom earned through the years. His peppered black hair added a touch of maturity, while his almond-shaped eyes completed his distinguished appearance. He dressed in a sturdy jacket, black jeans, and sneakers, ready to take on the world.

He led the Harvard Computing Laboratory, but his roots were in Rockland, Maine. He was a pragmatist, a rare breed among the conformists and conservationists. He felt pragmatism was the key to unlocking the potential of revolution and industrialization. He blamed Rockland's stagnation on the abundance of conservationists.

Noticing Bayo's presence, Doctor John furrowed his brow and contemplated, 'So, this is the young man who proved the arithmetic theory.' He sighed, hoping that Bayo would live up to his expectations.

He had arrived in town a month ago, but his troubles soon caught up with him. It was Autumn, November, and the sun rose at 7 am, unveiling light on the scene. Doctor John had a clear view of Bayo, but he felt no interest in his looks. He thought there was nothing remarkable about him. Even if there was, Doctor John was unconcerned about such trivialities.

Maintaining an indifferent gaze, Doctor John inquired, "I heard you solved a mathematical problem for a colleague. Is that true?" His tone remained cryptic and reserved, leaving Bayo struggling to decipher its meaning.

Bayo took a few moments to process what Dr. John had just said. He steadied his nerves and offered him a courteous nod. "You're right," Bayo replied, maintaining his usual curt demeanor. He had anticipated this day would come, but he hadn't expected it to arrive so soon. Perhaps he had underestimated his intuition. However, his pessimism had always overshadowed his optimism. He had grown accustomed to expecting the worst.

Dr. John sighed as if he feared Bayo would deny it, lacking the courage to confront his fears. He was a pragmatist but not a pushover. Dr. John knew when to act boldly and decisively and when to bide his time. But he had no patience for the faint-hearted.

Bayo cut him off with a quizzical look and a wisecrack. "What am I guilty of now? I've forgotten how many times I've been in trouble!" He chuckled and said, "Come on, don't I get some reward for being a regular nuisance? How about a complimentary coffee or something?" He was proud of his newfound sarcasm in America.

Although Bayo's speech carried a jarring mix of high inflection and Yoruba accent, the sarcasm grated on Dr. John the most. He furrowed his brow and asked, "So, you really want to leave? Why was I not aware of this?" Dr. John unveiled a sarcastic smile, determined to show Bayo that he was also well-versed in sarcasm. He approached everything with a realistic mindset.

Bayo recoiled at the biting remark of the old-fashioned fellow. But then again, nothing surprised him in this world anymore. He resolved to turn the tables by throwing a question back at Dr. John, "So, any change of heart from the Americans regarding my deadline? How kind of them. Any more surprises up their sleeves?" Evaluating Dr. John's reaction was crucial at this point.

"Enough. 79 Garden Street, 9:00am. Be there." He gave Bayo the address and clarified that he had no patience for tricks. What did Bayo really know anyway?

Clutching the address tightly, Bayo narrowed his eyes, wondering about the intentions behind this sudden meeting. He was well aware that this wasn't the end of the deadline. Today marked the beginning of the deadline, but he wasn't sure if it had started yesterday since he hadn't consulted Prof. Robert.

After a quick shower, Bayo couldn't shake off the feeling that something big was about to unfold. Maybe this was his ticket to freedom. He needed to investigate further.

By 10 am, Bayo found himself at the bustling intersection of Mount Auburn Street and Parker Street. Despite being familiar with the area, he was already an hour late due to getting lost en route. Observing the vibrant energy of the place, Bayo couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation in the air.

A petite White man named Robert urged his companion, "Hurry up, Mike! We can't waste any time once we arrive." He laced his voice with excitement and urgency. Dressed professionally and clutching a briefcase, he rushed to catch a taxi and head towards their next destination.

Mike, the person he was addressing, seemed lost in his thoughts. He didn't share the same level of enthusiasm as his companion. He loomed over him, dragging his feet as if weighed down by some unseen force.

Bayo observed the two men and couldn't help but wonder if they were researchers or professors. However, he quickly dismissed the idea, feeling they didn't fit the profile. There was something different about them.

Bayo, swift and sure, boarded bus 69, feeling the weight of many eyes upon him. They may not have known his background, but they could sense the challenges he had faced. His Yoruba robe and cap appeared worn and tired, resembling crumpled newspapers. The bus seemed divided, with white passengers occupying the front seats and black passengers at the back.

Suddenly, the Caucasian man turned to the bus driver and asked, "Is this the person we've been waiting for?" His face twisted in disgust, his tone jarring and disrespectful.

The man felt disrespected by the black person's delay. He couldn't miss the bus. He had pride, even on the bus.

Meanwhile, a Caucasian woman expressed her disbelief, saying, "I can't believe we're allowed to travel with these black individuals." She clenched her fist in frustration, carefully choosing her words.

The woman hated black people, blaming them for ruining the US and the economy. She was conservative and wanted a white-only community.

Meanwhile, a man of African descent on the bus simmered with frustration. His jaw tightened, and he exclaimed, "Men, you're the root of all our problems!" He spoke rapidly, his words disjointed and hurried.

The man blamed Bayo's lateness for the white slurs. Many blacks were angry but avoided their problems, so they attacked others. Bayo thought he had no seat reservation; the bus could have ditched him.

The rest of the passengers turned their attention to the commotion, some pretending to be asleep to avoid getting involved.

Bayo glanced at the black man with a sarcastic sense of pity. He sighed and thought, 'Another day of boosting your ego by bullying someone weaker.'

Bayo ignored the angry outbursts. He was late and wanted the bus to hurry. Dr. John told him to be there at 9 am, but it was 11 am, and he didn't know where to find 79 Garden Street or the Harvard Lab. He hated his terrible memory and clenched his fist. 'I need to improve,' he thought.

Finding a seat at the back of the bus, he settled in for the journey ahead.