Living in a weird black world: the struggles of Lagos.
Weird title huh?, well I’m Nigerian. Any good knowledge of geography would place my location in the west of Africa, most populous black country. Popularly called Africa’s giant and business hub, well for credits Africa’s richest man traces his root back here, up north of this vast green land. Great, you’d say. For most part, climate wise, cool, can get really sunny but beyond that its fine; incidence of typhoons, not a chance; earthquakes, close to zilch. Well, seems a pretty fair deal till you are in Lagos, Nigeria’s center of excellence. And please when I do say Lagos, I mean the mainland not the beautiful ikoyi,industrious Victoria island or lavish residential osborne. I’m talking big stage Oshodi, it’s fair share of hawkers, swindlers and hoodlums ( fondly called agberos).
This little city- state has by far the largest country’s revenue source, if Nigeria was ever going to say a big thank you to any state for keeping it afloat well I wouldn’t have it any other way, Lagos. Even our local movies consistently portray Lagos to be where all that ever glitters would lie. So typically, it’s not very uncommon to see truckloads of immigrants,haggard, hungry looking and poverty stricken being shipped in droves usually from the states up north, it gets better here because our closest neighbors don’t miss out on the fun,the Togolese, the nigeriens, Chadians, every one that shares boundary with the states up north find a way down south where it’s all happening, Lagos.
Well you are on point if you think, oh, how populated the city would be. This brings me back to my topic, leaving in Lagos.Until my second year in the university of Lagos( most sought after school down south, a major contributor to the immigration problem), it never really stuck how populated the city was becoming. Usually, before the ongoing recession it was common joke to say Lagos was a haven for traffic( go-slow as we call it) during the weekend, when the jolly good Yorubas( our dear western brothers and original inhabitants of Lagos) spread canopies across streets blocking roads in a feast to celebrate an occasion( sometimes even the success of a previous occasion). The recession began and even now every one seems angry, bitter, in a hurry yet stuck in traffic. There seems to be mad congestion of people and cars, bad enough that pedestrian walkways have become a highway for our renowned cyclists, the okada men. So if you are ever in Lagos and by chance you are stuck in traffic and decide to walk, I’m afraid you’ll have to continually check out for crazy motorcyclists without working brakes or horns to warn pedestrians of their incoming jumble of iron horses.
Another matter is the price and state of transport, claustrophobia is a white man’s disease I suppose, Here in Lag( as it’s foundly called) well you learn to sit in small spaces at exorbitant prices in rickety vehicles that bump around so much on the bad roads, you sooner get home feeling run over with joint pains so bad that you could swear a 16 wheeler truck took you out. I remember coming home one night tired and hungry to hear that my bus fare home was triple the usual amount, outrageous yeah?, but still people would break arms and legs to hop on, driving elbows straight into your weak tired body in an attempt to be cramped in with the others. The struggle isn’t over when you finally got on, then you’d have to incessantly plead, ask even banter with terrible passengers to make a little space so you can sit, God with you if they’re all obese and middle aged, then you’d either have to highlight and wait long minutes for another bus( a higher price than the former) or curse hard enough to get any of them to create space. It’s not over yet,at least not with your troubles, on a good day the conductor ( usually a young male in dirty clothes collecting fares) is jolly enough, tipsy from having downed a few drinks( hots as we know them) to engage in senseless jolly rambles that has you in fits of laughter despite the cramped spaces and rubbing bodies. On other days, when he’s sourly and brash, you might be unlucky to be his victim, absorbing his anger( well Lagos is full of bad mouthed people, hurling a great amount of insults striking deep and near home). It’s incomplete if I don’t say never ever ever expect the conductor to be kind enough to remind you to take your change, in fact for any smart Lagos hustling conductor, a forgotten change is a super blessing, so if it means to yell at the top of your lungs to remind him, do it like a proper mad lagosian.
Finally, our journey is almost at it’s end, we nearing home. Yellow lighted bulbs indicate that there’s power ( electricity), for every weak, tired and angry lagosian this is a dream come true, to return to one’s abode under a fan or AC to have a good night rest. Well it’s all good, until the sparks in the sky appear, you see the flickering lights and hear the unified moans. Well that’s the final straw people, total blackout for at least the next three days, the transformer fuse is blown again ( it’s a normal thing though, fixed good for a month blown to smithereens in under that). Well for the middle-class weary there’s still hope of a putting on a generating set, loud and deafening. However, in a case of fuel scarcity ( usually a common phenomenon during the holiday season, more like fuel hoarding). It’s a bad night rest for you then, just you and the little flying monsters that sing lullabies before they go on to suck that precious blood of yours already depleted from the unending stress. Even these mosquitoes are not left out in the fun of the moment, adding with all buzzing joy their own little torment.
It’s Lagos my dear, we don’t cry here, we simply set our alarms and hope to hit the roads as early as 4am the next day, it’s not the work distance, it’s to beat the mad congestion caused by early risers like yourself. It’s a constant struggle and while you are out there hitting the streets early in the morning and late at night there’s a great need to cautious of armed robbers, swindlers and hoodlums or all your hardwork goes to another man’s lazy hands. This is Lagos, Shine your eyes.
