Has Nollywood been lying to us about Lagos?
Maya’s valuable Lessons
I was sitting on a public bus today with the smell of faeces assaulting my nostrils. The young man beside me kept engaging the driver in a heated argument about his choice of route. He seemed very angry and the louder he yelled the more pungent the smell, he reminded me of hulk only that he wasn’t green all over, just making me feel green in the face — I was nauseous.
I remembered an article I had read that morning, something about different mouth odours and what they said about your body by Healthline — if I remember clearly, a mouth that smelt that way meant he was full of shit that he had to let out. He was very persistent about vocalizing his displeasure and I could only fervently pray that I could change my seat soon.
The chance came as the older woman behind me alighted and decided to do the tough walk past the standstill traffic situation. It was late night and even if we had been in a spot for over an hour, I wasn’t going to take the risk of getting nabbed tonight by walking.
There were so many people on the road and it was way past 10 pm. My new seat partner, the elderly man in traditional attire, smelt refreshingly nice and I was amused by the level of diversity you could experience inside a small tight bus like ours. Lagos was filled with all sorts of persons and that number was on the rise. Although there is a dispute on what the population of Lagos is, the World population review places that number at approximately 15 million people. I recalled growing up in Ibadan and just thinking of how lucky my cousins were to live in Lagos. In the Nollywood movies, I had watched as a little girl, they all seemed to live in duplexes and had big cars with gardeners and cooks.
When Maya first moved to Lagos, the first shock she received was from her cousins, holidaying at their house was not as she imagined. The mosquitoes were vicious, when it rained it smelt so bad outside, and the house was built not as she had imagined, there were no aesthetics or space with eye-catching colours. She had moved here years later and it remained the same, maybe even worsening as the years went by.
Her phone’s backlight came on, distracting her thoughts, there was a new publication from Hiyalo in her mail, her favourite property tech company. Getting notifications like this from them was what held her sanity together, they were really her only hope left with the housing madness. Signing up on their waitlist was her best decision so far and as she tapped the power button to reserve her battery life, she knew victory was hers once they launched.
The Nollywood movies she had watched were so convincing, the ghetto boy who moved from the city to Lagos and came back within a year with a big car and good looks. And the ladies with their rich husbands who they met in Lagos and thus saved from penury — just thinking of it now she could see how misogynistic it was for the women to only find a financial breakthrough by marrying up.
Sadly, even that bit wasn’t true and there were hardly any rich husbands here. Just struggling young men with audacity willing to swindle you out of your own penny and a handful of middle-class married men with more audacity. She sighed heavily as the bus entered another pothole, while it wound its way between inner street roads to beat the highway traffic.
Why did they keep coming anyways all of these people? Every now and then there was a truckload of refugees arriving in the city, and literally, they were. She had seen some of them herself, raggedy-looking people shipped in from the north, all clumped into the open back of a truck.
But why wasn’t she leaving too? Ibadan was a saner clime but here she was, munching gala and sipping her water. The answer really was simple, she thought, maybe Lagos really didn’t give you the cars in a year but it was the only place that could get you closer to one. Maybe there weren’t huge mansions waiting to be occupied, but living in a tiny cubicle here in the city was a beacon of hope for many.
A City of Excellence? Not really, it was a city of dying dreams hoping to come alive.
“Oga, you just wan use mouth odour kill person for here, make you face that side, no dey shout for my face”, a young lady who had occupied the seat Maya vacated grumbled. Maya almost burst out laughing, as the provoking mouth went into a barrage of curses leaning further into the young woman’s face. It was like a scene out of a Nollywood movie. “Even person wey done die no dey smell like this, nawa”, the young lady retorted pulling away and holding onto her nose. There was collective laughter on the bus. The hulk of a man turned back with his red eyes, again opening his provoking mouth to give everyone a piece of his mind. I was seated just right behind him, directly in the line of fire, and when the bus lunged forward, making him hit his head, everyone laughed again, provoking him further. I knew it was now or never.
I was too glad to alight and walk the remaining distance home. Everything might suck but when it stinks, that’s where I draw the line. Thankfully, the estate gate wasn’t locked yet and few retail shops were.
A Nollywood movie was playing on the huge screen as I stood in front of one of the shops buying myself groceries. It was one of those comedy movies but the sight of the legendary Mama-G meant there was wickedness to come. How ironic? Wasn’t life as a Lagosian a true tragi-comedy?
