House hunting in Lagos: A Nigerian’s story of struggle.
I did not know which was the worst shock of all, the grin on the old man’s face, the proximity of the room’s window to a foul-smelling gutter or the price that just left his lips, in front of me was the smallest room I had ever seen, and one part of the ceiling looked like it would cave in if it rained heavily one more night. I had asked for an apartment and even if we were over my budget by 60%, I kept getting these shabby prison cells as an offer. The old man caught me looking at the ceiling and grinned sheepishly. “Once you pay money now, for your front we go call carpenter make him come fix am”, he said in a hoarse voice that sounded almost like a whisper.
I think you would need more than a carpenter, maybe an actual house for a start; I thought of Onyinye, a plus-size girl that doubled as a close friend. There was no way she could fit through that door. There was the sound of water dripping somewhere, and suddenly I had a flashback of me standing in my aunt's small apartment at Agege, ankle-deep in water after a long day at the market; It had been a horrible night of securing a leaking water pipe while staving off sleep, never again!
His red eyes scanned my face waiting for a response, I’m quite sure he could not wait to get back to his bottle and game of drafts which I had pulled him away from earlier. I knew he could see the disgust on my face. I had never been one to hide my displeasure even if I tried. This was the fourth house we had been to in the last 24 hours, and every time you thought it would get better because he named a higher price than the previous ones, it only got worse. “Baba all these houses wey you dey show me shey na still for that same price? “His smile was gone and I knew what would come next was the grumbling; this was a constant with Lagos agents, especially after they had failed at trying to sell you an aboki kiosk for the price of a mansion.
“Madam, na the only houses you fit get for that price like this’ ‘ he said scratching his chin and neck. Which kain house you want? I get nice place wey no far from here but na your money go talk”. My money was not talking? It was bad enough that I was settling for a place far away from my workplace, a decision that would cost me my sleep and valuable time in traffic, and now, more money? It took another long walk of almost 20 minutes before we got to the “house which was not far”.
As we stepped into the compound, a ball shot past my head missing me by an inch. Kids? Could this day get any worse? It was a beautiful compound with plenty of space. It was noisy too, with barking dogs and yelling kids, a double disaster that I certainly did want to be part of. The Old man was soon kicking the ball around with the kids. I knew I did not want to stay here but if I said the kids were the reason, he would blow off. People here always just assume you would love kids like it was a virtue expected of everyone. Standing in the room, I knew it wasn’t worth the price, but it was the only house where any sane person could live. My face must have given me away again because next came his hoarse voice, “Madam, be like say na Island you go go because house wey you go like no dey this mainland”.
He walked out, staggering a bit and adjusting his falling trousers. Then a middle-aged woman walked in, with her hair bonnet and a wrapper tied loosely at her chest. She took one long disapproving look at me. I could see her staring at my chest probably covering my exposed cleavage with layers of clothing and the blood of Jesus, in her mind. This must be the landlady he had told me about, he had called her crazy and suggested I be careful, almost like he feared her himself. Her response to my greeting was a grumble. And when she spoke her voice was as unpleasant as her looks. “Are you and your husband getting the place together?” I nodded no. She grimaced even more. I had heard stories of landlords discriminating against female tenants but nothing prepared me for what she said next, “Are you sure you will be able to pay the rent on time by yourself?” I didn’t need to hear more before I brushed past her and walked out — why do all the houses in Lagos have such narrow doors? I imagined her shocked face as I walked away, so I swayed my hips to enrage her.
I made sure to give the old man a dirty eye on my way out. He came running after me asking lots of questions and begging that I slow down a bit. It must have been a funny sight for anyone to watch this small man scramble after me as I took long strides. Luckily for me, there was a bike man (motorcyclist) just outside the house. I was speaking to him when I heard a growl. The landlady had let out one of the dogs. A huge dog charging toward me, spittle from its mouth flying everywhere. I swiftly mounted the bike as I screamed loudly at the bike man to move.
We had gone a good distance from the house when I turned back and saw the most hilarious sight ever. The old man climbing a ladder leaning against the house wall as he screamed—it was a shrill feminine yell, and the dog tugging at his trouser as he held onto the ladder with both of his hands. Lagos was a mad place like Onyinye had warned 6 months ago when I first moved here, but this?! This was nothing like I had imagined.
I believe many of us have been in Maya’s situation and have similar stories, we would like to hear your stories too. Share them in the comment section below.
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