WHO PAYS FOR YOUR MISTAKE?
I
had left home at about twenty minutes past five am on this eventful Tuesday to get
to the pick up point. It was an early morning journey to secure a good spot
for the day’s interview (I got you there; you probably thought it was a job
interview, no, it’s not). I took on a couple of motorcycle journeys to get
there. As I concluded the payment protocols with the last commercial
motorcyclist (popularly called okadaman in south western Nigeria)
and went straight at my phone to call Mr Tayo Ojo in order to inform him of my
presence at the agreed location, I noticed a Toyota Camry zooming off past me
like lightning out of the cloudy sky on a rainy day. I immediately rang his line,
“Hello sir, I am at the junction now”.
