I had carried many passengers, but none like Madam Blessing.

She entered my car carrying a shopping bag, a basket of fruit, and the confidence of a woman on a mission.
“Driver, how much if I book you for the whole day?”
I blinked. “Uh, where are we going Madam?”
“Ogun State,” she said. “I’m going to fight my in-laws.”
I adjusted my seatbelt. Ah.
“They have been stressing my sister,” she continued, munching chin-chin. “They don’t want to refund her bride price after she left their useless son.”
“So, we’re going to collect money?”
She grinned. “Something like that.”

We agreed on a price and hit the express, and she sang along to all the songs on my playlist, offering me lots of snacks from her bag. She had plantain chips, biscuits and roasted peanuts. She was also very chatty, and she told me a lot of stories about her family, her sister and the husband her sister had fled from.

When we arrived, she stepped out of my cab like a Nollywood queen ready for battle. Two women rushed out of the old house we had just parked in front of. One looked like she had been waiting for this fight since January.
“Blessing, you came here to make trouble?”
Madam Blessing didn’t flinch. “Where is my sister’s money?”
The second woman, a younger sister, folded her arms. “She left our brother; she should forget the money!”
Madam Blessing removed her earrings. “Eh? Say it again.”
I swallowed. “Madam, should I be worried?”
She patted my shoulder. “Relax, my brother. I came prepared.”
I stepped back. This was above my taxi driver salary.

The three women faced each other, voices raised, insults flying. Neighbours rushed to the compound when they heard the commotion. Thirty minutes later, after a lot of noise, accusations, denials, a few slaps, and the intervention of three village elders, the in-laws reluctantly handed over a wad of cash.

Madam Blessing smiled victoriously. “Driver, let’s go.”
As I turned to leave, one of the women hissed.
“Useless woman! You think you’ve won?”
Madam Blessing smirked. “I always win.”

We got into the car and drove back to Lagos. She laughed all the way, excited by her victory. We made a stop at a supermarket in Gbagada, where she went in to buy some groceries, and she even bought me a large loaf of fresh bread. Then she tossed me ₦10,000 extra when I dropped her off at her house.
“I like you, driver,” she said, leaning against the passenger side window. “If you ever
need someone to help you fight, call me.”

I nodded. Because who knows, one day I might really need a woman like her to fight for me.