What Could be A Typical Day In Lagos

 

   Photo From Google: Somewhere in Lagos

The air was dry and filled with dust. Thanks to the harmattan that refused to stay in its desert or wherever the hell it came from. I was tired of its back and forth treatment to us the inhabitants of Nigeria. It was bad enough that the economy wasn’t promising, did we have to suffer weather issues too? I sneezed as something foreign found access to my airways through my nostrils. Of course, the air was also filled with cigarette and weed fumes. This stench was common in bus parks. Peering out the window of the yellow danfo bus I occupied (which might have been a mistake) because I sneezed again, I searched for someone selling sachet water. Or cold minerals. Just something to alleviate the dryness in my parched throat. I spotted a woman carrying a bowl of cold drinks and called her to me.

“Pure water!”

“Madam no pure water, na bottle water dey,” the hawker explained, taking down the bowl on her head to my level.

I picked a bottle of water from the bowl and couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, the bowl looked really heavy. I normally wondered how people carried heavy things on their heads and hawked them for hours, come rain, come sunshine, come harmattan.

“Oya I go take bottle water,” I said, handing her a #100 note.

“Madam your money na #150,” the woman said, wrinkling her face.

“Eh, gini?”

“Na #150,” she reiterated impatiently.

“I hear wetin you talk.” I was irritated.  “Aunty na Ogba we dey o, no be Benin-Ore road wey you dey call #150 for me. Bottle water na #100. I know say Naija spoil, but e never reach like this.”

“If you no wan gimme my money, gimme my water!” She snatched the bottle of water from my hand and stalked away, muttering some things about me being broke.

Ha! I’ve suffered. If not for this bus that has refused to finish loading, will I be here for one frustrated woman to insult me.

“Your head will break from that kaya on your head,” I almost screamed at her. She wasn’t the only frustrated woman. I was also having a bad day. The interview I was so confident about earlier was futile, I was hungry, thirsty, tired, allergic to whatever was in the air and not in the mood for any silly woman. Sulking to myself, I yelled at the conductor to call passengers for his bus.

“Conductor! Shey you no go like call passengers. We go sleep here?”

“Madam I dey call passengers,” the conductor said, sipping something from a yellow nylon. I didn’t want to think of how high he already was with all the Erujeje he had drunk and the weed he had smoked. I was sitting at the edge of the first row, close to the door. I turned around to get a view of how many passengers were left to fill the bus. The second line was full and some of them looked at me askance. I scoffed, “you people should look at me well well,” my subconscious said. I was only bothered that the other three rows were empty. I groaned, how much longer did I have wait? I checked the time on my wristwatch. It was past 4. I had been here for almost 30minutes. I listened as other bus conductors called out bus stops they were headed.

“Mile 2 Mile 2…”

“Iyanaipaja…”

“Egbeda…”

"Oshood..."

“Why are you keeping your hand behind my head?” the woman beside me said to the woman on her left.

I inched my neck a bit to the left and noticed that the other woman had her hand behind the seat. I really didn’t know or care what it was doing there, but it clearly bothered the woman beside me.

“I’m adjusting my wig,” the other woman replied flatly.

At this point I’m going to call the woman beside me Madam A and the woman on her left Madam B. I can’t deal.

“You’ve been hitting my head,” Madam A complained again, disgust dripping from every word she uttered. “You’ve done it once, twice, now you’re doing it again. Can you keep your hand in front or to yourself.”

“No, I can’t keep my hand to myself,” Madam B shot back. “I won’t sit the way you want me to sit.”

“But I just told you you’ve been hitting my head,” Madam A raised her voice. “How could you not know you’ve been hitting my head?”

“I didn’t know I was hitting your head. Sorry.” I couldn’t tell if Madam B was actually sorry for hitting Madam A's head.

“Keep your hand straight,” Madam A sneered at Madam B when she realized Madam B wouldn’t put her hand in front where Madam A could see it. “When you sit in a public vehicle you keep your hands in front so as not to make another passenger uncomfortable.”

“Madam, you’ve told me I was hitting your head,” Madam B would not be told what to do, “I have said sorry, but you can’t tell me how to sit. I am not you. What if the way you like to sit makes me uncomfortable?”

“Just hit my head again.”

“Why will I hit your head again, am I a trouble maker?”

“Just hit it again oh.”

“I can see that you’re the trouble maker. You want me to hit your head again so that we will fight. No be you go tell me wetin I go do sha.”

Madam A muttered something that I didn’t hear.

 “Abeg madam shut up!” Madam B sneered.

Oh wow, this just got serious. I contemplated between keeping quiet and watching the show or intervening. The former won at the moment. I remembered a book I had read not too long ago, “Nearly all the men in Lagos are mad.” If I would write a book, I’d name it, “Nearly everyone in Lagos is mad,” cos what manner of nonsense was this?

“You too shut up.” Madam A would not let Madam B get the last word. “Ahan, who are you telling to shut up? You must be very mad.”

“You’re the mad one oh. Your mates are in psychiatric hospital, you’re here forming boss. If you don’t want anybody to touch you you for buy your own car drive go where you wan go na.”

“You’re just rude and silly, but I’m waiting for you to hit my head again.”

Madam B snickered, “ehen, what will you do if I touch your head again? Rubbish.” She hissed.

They both continued exchanging words and I was fed up with watching. I decided to intervene, but they wouldn’t listen to me.

Just as I was about to yell at the conductor to do his job again so that at least the bus could fill up fast and I could be rid of the women, a guy walked over to the bus, dragging a box behind him. He wore a pair a burgundy t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. His feet were clad in a pair of black sketchers. He had his phone in his hand and he kept looking at it and looking about like he was lost. He didn’t look like he belonged in Ogba bus park. He had stopped at the side where I sat and asked me politely.

“Is this bus going to Obalende?” His voice was deep and nice. I forgot about the women arguing.

“Yes,” I answered politely too.

“Thank you,” he said. He mumbled something about where he’d keep his box, more to himself than to anyone. I showed him the compartment carved out in the roof of the bus just above where I was sitting. I alighted so he could place his box there. I saw the look on Madam A's face. She probably contemplated telling us we were making her uncomfortable or just shutting up. I am glad she chose the latter.

The guy and I were both about to get on the bus again (I had it in mind to move to the back so I didn’t have to deal with the crazy women throughout the journey), when the conductor walked up to us and decided to show just how inebriated he was.

“Your money na #700.” He slurred.

“#700? Why?” the guy asked. He didn’t reveal much with the expression he had on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was irritated or just amused.

“You dey carry load,” was all the conductor said.

I was the one irritated. “Conductor, here to Obalende na #500, why you wan collect extra 2h?” I rolled my eyes at him.

“Madam you no go dey your dey now,” his words slurred again. “Oversabi.” He hissed at me.

“Abegi!” I fired back. “Na tiffs una be. After una go dey call people wey dey government. Extortion here and there.” I was just really fed up at the insanity of it all. The women who had been ready to tear each other’s throats and the other passengers in the bus said nothing and minded their business. I didn’t know how I felt about the whole situation.

The guy beside me chuckled. “Don’t mind him,” he said to me. “And thank you for standing up for me. Maybe he thinks I don’t know my way around Lagos.”

That could be true. The conductor possibly thought he was a newbie and wanted to swindle him.

“Maybe,” I smiled. “Just enter, if he does anyhow, I’ll change it for him again.”

He chuckled. “That’s nice of you. I’d rather order an Uber than pay him extra though.” He took out his phone from his pocket and tapped away. Sensing it was no longer my business, I got back to my sitting position, while he stood. I had forgotten that I wanted to sit at the back. Somehow, sitting where I was, close to this guy felt better than anywhere else. The two women had long shut their mouths. Thank God.

Our conductor started calling passengers again. I wondered why he became more zealous with his task.

“Comot for road make passengers enter my moto abeg,” the conductor yelled at the guy. He just smiled and stepped away from the door.

 He updated me about his ride. I thought it was really good for him. He didn’t have to wait for the bus to get filled up with passengers. He wouldn’t have to suffer the dry air if the Uber had a functional AC. I envied him. The Uber would have been my option, if I had the money. His phone rang a few minutes later and he picked it.

“Yeah, are you here?” he said to whoever was on the phone.

“Ok, I’m at the Ogba bus park… ok, you’re at the entrance… what’s the color of your car? Ok, I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call. I knew his Uber had arrived.

“My Uber is here,” he grinned at me.

“Good for you,” I grinned back. I had to get off the bus again for him to take his box. Before I could get on the bus again, he asked me.

“Would you like to join me?”

“What?” I was astonished.

He chuckled, “would you like to join me in the Uber? It’ll be more comfortable than this.” He pointed at the danfo.

“Wow, I… yes, I’d like to join you. If that’s ok with you?”

“I asked didn’t I,” he winked at me, then he was off. I picked my duffel bag which was under the seat and gladly left the rickety bus and the drunk conductor and followed a complete stranger to an Uber. Yeah, I silently prayed that I wasn’t following a serial killer to where he’d murder me or a kidnapper who would demand a ransom. He’d be seriously disappointed, I was a broke ass. What if he used me for rituals when he found out I didn’t have money? Jesus! I shook those thoughts out of my head.

We got to the entrance of the park and we spotted an ash Toyota Camry parked at the park. Sauntering over to the driver’s side, he asked, “Toyin?”

“Yes,” the driver of the car answered. The guy asked the driver to open the boot for us and he placed his box and my bag inside. I spotted another hawker selling water and bought a bottle of water at #100 while waiting for my good Samaritan to get into the car before I did.

 Ha! In your face, #150 bottle water woman. I sipped my water and my throat must have sighed in ecstasy. I never knew water could be so sweet.

I was still praying fervently in my heart that my good Samaritan would stay good when he tapped me that we could get into the car. My mother would kill me if she heard I did this. We sat together at the back.

“I’m starting the trip,” Toyin said.

The guy grunted his approval. Wonderful!

I know the name of the Uber driver, but I don’t know the name of the person that offered me the ride.

“What’s your name?” I blurted out.

“Uche,” he answered, “what’s yours?”

“Nadine,” I replied.

“Well, thank you, Nadine, for being nice to me earlier.”

I scratched the back of my ear, clearly embarrassed. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” he raised up one eyebrow, something I found interesting. “You were nice enough to show me where I could keep my box in the bus even when I knew I didn’t ask you. You got off the bus without grumbling so I could keep it. You stood up to a drunk conductor for me. Not a lot of people in Lagos are that nice. So, thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” I smiled at him. Well, it was a good thing I was still nice. The inhabitants of Lagos can snuff out the little bit of niceness in you in one minute. What if I had let my irritation take the better of me and I was rude to Uche? That’s how I would have lost this very comfortable ride to Obalende. Oluwa, thank you oh!

“So, where are you headed?” he asked me.

“Lekki actually,” I said, “going to spend the weekend with my cousin.”

He drew back and gave me one of those his looks I was beginning to like. “What are the odds? I’m going to Lekki too.”

“Wow,” I tittered, “lucky me I guess.”

He guffawed, “you’re funny. So where exactly in Lekki?”

“Ikate.”

He looked stunned and tried so hard to hide his mirth. Then it dawned on me. “Wait! You’re going there too?”

He just nodded, his palm over his mouth.

Giving him a lopsided grin, I said, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were following me. Oh wait, I’m the one following you in your car.”

Uche was clearly amused because he laughed boisterously. Our Uber driver must have been wondering what was going on.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re following me,” he smiled at me.

I smiled back, because I really didn’t know what to say to that. I watched him surreptitiously, trying to find out anything off about him. Somehow, I knew he wasn’t a serial killer or a kidnapper. I felt oddly safe with this stranger.

“Before I approached you in the bus, I had seen you earlier,” Uche interrupted my thoughts. “You walked by so fast and you had a scowl on your face. When I walked over to the bus and I saw you again, I wasn’t sure what I thought, but one thing was sure, you still had the scowl on your face.”

I chewed my lips. “So, your first impression of me was of a scowling girl.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Well, yeah,” he thought for a while. “And I don’t know why I decided to ask the scowling girl if I was at the right place to board a bus, but I did. And you were nice to me.”

“Was just having a rough day,” I stared out the window. The AC was on, so I looked through the glass. I sipped some more water. Capping the bottle, I let my eyes drift back to Uche again and he had his eyes on me. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. Was just wondering what almost ruined your day.”

I smiled wryly, “not sure I want to talk about it with you.”

“That’s reasonable.” He seemed to understand.

“But, I can tell you what happened few minutes before you came by.” I narrated the scene the two women almost caused.

“Wow, so this happened before I showed up?” he was actually amused.

“Yes oh.”

“I can’t believe I missed it. I could have filmed it all. Well, part of it.”

I glared at him, was he serious? I really didn’t know. “Anyway,” I continued, “Madam B could have just apologized and let sleeping dogs lie, but no, she wanted to show herself too. She’s a Lagos woman after all.”

“She must have had a pretty bad day too and wanted someone to vent her anger on,” Uche offered.

“True that, Madam A looked like she had a bad day too. We all have bad days, doesn’t give anyone the right to insult another person.”

“Well, Nadine, not everyone can be as sweet and nice as you are.”

If I could blush, I’m sure my face was scarlet. “So, what’s taking you to Ikate?” I changed the subject. Anything to take my mind off the compliment. I knew I’d think of it later when I was alone.

“Oh, I actually live there. I was with some friends at Ogba. Well, I’m a photographer and a cinematographer. I had a series of shoots with my friends in the area. I’m trying to make a documentary.”

“Wow.” I was impressed. “So, you have like cameras and stuff in your box.”

He grinned at me. “Sort of.”

“Well, if you ever need maybe an actress or a model, you can count me in. I’m a natural at those tasks.”

“I'd definitely want to take pictures of you.”

That made me swallow and look away. My throat suddenly felt dry again and it had nothing to do with the harmattan. I took a swig of my water and asked him what he shot in Ogba. He told me he took pre-wedding shoots, some birthday shoots and anything that caught his eye. He visited different places on the mainland with his friends and documented them all. He didn’t really visit the mainland, but when he did, he liked to have as much fun as be could. He wanted to try boarding a bus to Obalende for the second time ever. It had been while. His friend had told him to just take an Uber because he was an ajebutter. He waved his friend off. He didn’t need a chaperone to be with him in a danfo. That was why he was at the bus park at Ogba and that was why our conductor thought he was a JJC he could swindle. He shared a typical danfo experience with me.

“So, I’m with my friend in this danfo and the driver was about to take a left turn to the other side of the road. There was a trailer in front of us which was slow. Our bus driver stopped abruptly when the trailer stopped. After contemplating for about 1minute, his patience wore out, so he decided to overtake the trailer since the other lane was free. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a side mirror, or the decency to ask the man riding shot gun to look out for him, he rammed into a private car.”

“What?” My eyes widened.

He chuckled, “that wasn’t even the worst part of it. He alighted from the bus and started yelling at the man he had hit. The man just got down from his car, assessed the damage and drove off. Our driver was still yelling and claiming to be in the right. There was a woman in the bus who supported him saying, 'all these car drivers sef. They’ll just be driving anyhow because they have cars.’ I was shocked to my bones. Our driver was clearly wrong.”

I laughed. “He’s lucky the person he hit wasn’t a typical mad Lagosian. And our woman advocate was clearly pained she didn’t own a car.”

“I’m telling you.” Uche agreed. “My friend and I thanked God we weren’t even hurt in the process. The driver finally moved and one man at the back of the bus argued with him that he was wrong. Our driver jejely parked his bus again and started arguing with the man.”

This time, I didn’t know when I guffawed. What the actual hell?

Uche continued, enjoying my mirth. “The woman that supported him initially faced the other man that he should leave our driver so we could get to our destination. Nadine, we were going to Iyanaipaja from Agege. This was happening around the NYSC camp now. After much ado about nothing, the driver tried starting the bus again. Guess what happened?”

“The bus refused to start?”

“Gbam!”

“Ahhhh,” I laughed, then apologized. “I’m sorry, it must not have been funny that day.”

“It wasn’t oh. Well, my friend and I couldn’t care less what happened. We decided to walk all the way to the bridge, since we weren’t that far off. I could hear the supportive woman insulting the driver in Yoruba as we walked away. Why couldn’t she support him then?”

“Did you film this?” I was curious.

“No,” he scratched his chin. “I was more concerned about getting to my destination then. It was later that day I thought of it. By then, it was already funny.”

 I loved our conversations so far. The music our Uber driver turned on wasn’t as nice as it. I was so sure our driver was entertained too. I didn’t know when we got to the island and even got close to Ikate.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “We are here already.”

“Indeed.” Uche scanned our surroundings.

“I’ll be getting off soon,” I was a little sad that the ride was almost over. “Thanks again for letting me tag along.”

“Thanks for actually tagging along. I hoped you would.”

“To be honest, I thought you were a serial killer.” I blurted out again.

“What?” he laughed, but looked really puzzled.

“Ok, rather, I prayed you weren’t a serial killer before following you to the Uber.” I could see understanding dawn on his face. He smiled. Damn, he really was good looking when he smiled.

“Well, I’m not a serial killer. I’m an honest photographer who would really like to have your number and hopefully see you again.” I could feel him watching me even though my eyes were anywhere but his face. Of course I wanted him to have my number. I wanted to see Uche again.

“Sure, you can have it.” I finally said.

Uche took out his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and handed it to me to type in my number. I did and handed him his phone.

“What would you like me to save your number as?”

I smirked, “Nadine is just fine.”

“Alright. Nadine it is.”

I felt a vibration in my pocket and remembered I had a phone. Just look at my life. I got off a bus in Lagos and didn’t check if I still had my phone. Because of fine boy and free ride. Thank God my phone was safe. I would have been toast.

“That would be me calling,” Uche said as I took out my phone from my pocket. I cut the call and saved his number too. We finally pulled up to where I had to get off. I was glad to be here. My cousin would be so thrilled when I tell her all about my adventure today. She’d be sad about my interview, but she’d encourage me. I was really looking forward to the weekend. A change of environment usually made me feel better.

“Thank you again.” I said, taking my duffel bag out of the boot. Uche had come out to help me get the boot. “You were really a blessing today.”

He gave me one of those genuine smiles again. “You’re welcome, Nadine. We’ll talk soon.”

He got back into the car and they drove off. I was still glued to the spot where I was and thought how very few nice people there are in Lagos. I shouldered my duffel bag and sauntered towards my cousin’s house. I had suddenly become hungry again. I hoped Ijeoma had cooked. I wasn’t telling her anything unless she gave me food.