The journey from Ilesha to Ibadan that day had started like any other—uneventful, the steady hum of the bus engine blending into the murmur of passengers lost in their thoughts. I had settled into my seat by the window, watching the lush greenery blur into streaks of emerald as we sped along the road. The heat of the late morning sun was softened by a gentle breeze that whispered through the half-open windows, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant fires from the villages we passed.
As we reached Tunkere, the driver slowed and pulled over, the sudden deceleration jolting some passengers awake from their light naps. A group of new passengers approached—two women, three men, and a boy who appeared to be around seventeen. They stepped in, squeezing into whatever space was left. Everyone found a seat except for the boy and an older man who, at first glance, I assumed was another passenger resigned to standing for the remainder of the journey. However, what happened next made me sit up straighter in curiosity.
The boy did something unusual—something that challenged the natural order of things in a way that left me perplexed. He lowered himself onto the seat, adjusted his position, and gently guided the older man onto his lap. There, in the tight space of the bus, an inverse reality unfolded: a son lapping his father.
It was a sight that unsettled my expectations, one that reversed the long-standing roles we all understand. It is the father who carries the son when he is young and fragile. It is the father who offers his lap as a resting place, a seat of safety and comfort. And yet, here, it was the son who bore the father’s weight, his thin arms wrapped around the older man’s waist, securing him in a firm but tender embrace.
I studied the older man. He looked frail—his shoulders slightly hunched, his skin worn with the passage of time, his hands resting lightly on the boy’s knees as if reluctant to impose too much of his weight. His eyes, though tired, held a quiet dignity, a resignation that spoke of a long journey—perhaps one that had begun far before this moment in the bus.
The boy, on the other hand, held no sign of discomfort. His expression was calm, focused, even protective. He did not fidget, did not shift impatiently beneath the weight he carried. Instead, he bore it with an ease that suggested familiarity.
I wanted to ask—why? What circumstances had led to this reversal? Was it poverty, the inability to afford an extra seat? Or was it something deeper, something tied to a history I would never know—an unspoken duty, a quiet promise made in childhood that, one day, roles would switch, and he would carry the man who had once carried him?
For the rest of the journey, my thoughts lingered on them. The bus rattled forward, and passengers engaged in quiet conversations, but my mind was wrapped around the imagery—of life folding back upon itself, of time bringing us all to a place where we must bear those who once bore us.
When we finally reached Ibadan, the bus came to a stop, and the passengers disembarked one by one. The boy carefully helped his father, adjusting his grip as they stepped onto solid ground. As they walked away, I watched the boy place a steadying hand on the older man’s back, guiding him through the crowd with the quiet patience of someone who knew it was now his turn to lead.
The story of the boy carrying his frail father on his lap during the journey from Ilesha to Ibadan serves as a powerful metaphor for the bidirectional nature of relationships—the understanding that just as parents care for their children, there comes a time when children must also care for their parents. This theme is deeply relevant to the controversy surrounding Asake and his father. While Asake had accused his father of abandoning him, his critics pointed out that he had also allegedly abandoned both his child and the child’s mother, suggesting a cycle of neglect that extended across generations. This situation underscores the importance of recognising that relationships—whether between parent and child or partners raising a child—are never meant to be one-sided. Just as the boy in the story bore his father’s weight without hesitation, showing an unspoken sense of duty and care, we must all be mindful of our responsibilities, not just toward our parents who once carried us, but also toward our children, who will one day look to us for the same love and guidance. Life’s journey has a way of reversing roles, and when the time comes, we must be willing to step up and support those who once supported us, ensuring that love and responsibility flow in both directions rather than allowing neglect to define our legacy.
Tamuno-opubo Addah T. (PhD)
Psychotherapist
Department of Psychology
Faculty of Social Sciences, Olabisi Onabanjo University, Ago-IWOYE, Ogun State, Nigeria.
addahson5@gmail.com
