Pull up a chair, fellow student, if you can find one not reserved for a politician who seem to have taken up permanent residence! Take a deep breath – though God knows why you’d need to after waking up to the symphony of roosters fighting for their title as the dawn’s first singer. Close your eyes for a moment, and cast aside that ever-rumbling worries. We’re about to embark on an unfiltered jaunt down memory lane, so prepare yourself!
Picture this: it’s a casual 5am in New Bussa, and you find yourself at the main gate of the school like some character in a poorly written play. Twilight graces the horizon, looking more tired than the students having to endure the Principal’s morning rants. Dressed in your pink compound uniform – because, why not? – you have the Principal’s permission to roam the town. Ah, the sweet rush of teenage rebellion: you’re not afraid of being caught, just quietly resigned to whatever fate the universe decides.
With the grace of someone slightly less graceful than a gazelle, you turn left and inch toward the roundabout, where the illustrious Shell and Total petrol stations await. Welcome to the countryside! Not a soul in sight save for that lone car that, let’s be honest, looks like it’s headed to the nearest mechanic station for 4 months overdue service.
You continue, a solitary figure on a nearly empty road. The dew-laden bushes are just waking up, and the cacophony of chirps, squeaks, and random squirrels sounds fills the air—who knew Jurassic Park was located in New Bussa?
Ah, a stroll through my beloved New Bussa—a chance to bask in the splendor of an area so charmingly enticing it could be a movie set for “Blending Old and New!” To your right, Kainji Game Reserve Lodge leans stiffly opposite Alhaji Remilekun’s new digs—recently occupied having left his beloved brown brick home close to LAE primary school a couple of miles down the road.
As you drift toward the main market, Kainji Lake Shop winks at you from your right, courtesy of the Principal’s family. You think about indulging in “Trebor Mint Candies,” but alas, the shop is closed because clearly, no one in New Bussa has heard of early business hours. Sigh, life is so unfair! You shuffle along, skirting the apartments of BSS teachers, the infamous Bob Breeze and his wife among them. You’ve learned quickly to walk briskly, avoiding any hint of a request to tidy their apartment – a task more dangerous than dodging a charging buffalo. Why does a student clean the teachers’ home including the toilet? You now asked.
You reach yet another crossroads—far more confusing than your last math exam. One path leads to a mysterious left, and the other to a completely forgettable right. Glancing ahead, you see a brown building that looks like it has a permanent cough, facing a dusty lot where bicycles await their next unsuspecting rider—yes, this is where your cycling ‘expertise’ was born. What a proud moment!
Ah yes, that sprawling market square. What an shanti marvel! Makeshift stalls piled high with corrugated iron sheets could double as a survival reality show. Hundreds, yes hundreds, call this place home without so much as a toilet in sight. You find yourself pondering how they survive—then the horn of some beastly vehicle jolts you back to reality, as if to remind you that life continues even amidst chaos.
You’re nearing the end of your set route, and it’s decision time—do you turn left to the town police station where potentially bad decisions are documented, or do you race right towards the chaotic motor park to Wawa? Naturally, you choose left, because who doesn’t enjoy a little dose of ominous authority?
Wandering past rows of unremarkable, brown brick homes, you encounter the local primary schools, where remnants of colonial segregation ( junior vs senior staff) hang heavily in the air. The stark realities of life filter through as you stroll through the school grounds, faced with a line of brown buildings, as old as time and just as charming as the flies that seem to thrive here.
With your journey wearing on, you casually stroll toward the police station, while the Ministry of Agriculture lies in wait behind you, like that friend who always asks too many questions. Beyond the station, the familiar brown bricks continue their saga, leading you to the shining white home of HRH Haliru Dantoro’s family – a spot of joy among the beige background of everyday life.
As you wade through these exaggerated reflections, you wrap up with a glance at that brown brick building – mind you, it looks exactly like it did however many years ago. Ah yes, the wisdom poured into that structure certainly overshadows the temporal nature of life here in New Bussa.
In the end, as you contemplate the absurdity and charm of this place, you’re certain New Bussa has changed a lot over the last 44 years, yet one thing remains utterly clear: this not-so-glamorous slice of life will always hold a mirror to our wonderfully chaotic existence.