The minibus taking me back to Aba was loading at Artillery Junction, Port Harcourt. It was meant to carry seven passengers, and three of us were already seated when a woman approached the door. She was strikingly elegant in her attire and towered over most people around her. But just as she was about to enter, she pulled back. She was clearly afraid of boarding a “one chance” vehicle, or one of those buses where accomplices pose as passengers and gradually get down as unsuspecting passengers come in. She looked carefully at our faces and clothes, perhaps trying to reassure herself that we were genuine passengers. Then she asked us directly if we were really passengers. I said nothing. From experience, I have learnt that trying too hard to convince someone in that situation can make them even more suspicious. Eventually, she made up her mind and joined us. The driver then turned to another prospective passenger standing close enough to the bus for everyone to assume he wanted to board. The man had both hands tucked into his pockets and seemed to be hesitating. The driver sternly told him to take his hands out of his pockets and stop standing around like an agbero. If he wanted to enter the bus, he should enter; otherwise, he should move away. The man fired back just as fiercely, saying the driver had no right to tell him how to stand or what to do. Yet, even as he protested, he moved closer and eventually got into the bus. When we finally set off, the driver almost immediately pulled into a filling station. Petrol was selling for ₦1,400 per litre. One passenger asked sarcastically whether the President had not promised them a fuel “promo”. He repeated the word for emphasis: “Promo.” The joke was that government policy was now being spoken of like an offer from an exploitative commercial company, complete with terms and conditions. “Our politicians are very wicked,” another passenger said. “They don’t even tell the President the truth about what is happening on the ground.” From there, the anger travelled to Anambra State. Governor Charles Soludo became the next subject. Some passengers accused him of pandering to the President without, in their view, making any meaningful contribution to the wider interests of the Igbo. One man then turned his anger towards Soludo’s son, making disparaging claims about his behaviour on social media, suggesting it was a retribution for his father's sins and saying, “That's why he is running mad on social media. Portable is even better than him.” No one laughed. The rain had just stopped, and the air around us was just cold. Outside, the sky was grey and heavy. Somehow, the clouds seemed to reflect the mood inside the bus- dull, tense and gloomy.