A Wednesday in May

My terrible sense of direction will be the death of me. I set out to Ojota Lagos, on a Wednesday morning to go ask about a movie production training. The description texted to me lasaan was not helpful. Something like ‘Number 3, A street, off F street, off J street behind XYZ construction junction after the…’ you get the point. I was well aware of my poor navigational skills so I stopped and asked people for directions every five minutes to make sure I was on track. Even boarded a tricycle for about three seconds in a bid to reach my destination, you know...just to play it safe. Still on still, I still managed to get lost. But God was on my side. I found the place at long last. Went to inquire, enquire and even registered. It took all of fifteen minutes. As I headed back, I felt proud of myself for completing my mission so soon. The plan was straight forward. Enter the BRT, reach Stadium were I boarded it and go back to my house. The crowd waiting for the same BRT ehn! It was like the multitude of four thousand that Jesus fed that year. Worse still, the ticket people were hoarding the tickets. It was as if we were begging them to take our hard earned currency and give us a piece of paper. Two words, they didn’t. I waited with the masses o, observing the life of an average Lagosian in Ojota. That’s how one red BRT-like bus came. The ones that have conductors (not sure they can be called BRT too but who am I to judge). See lazy youths springing to action, literally. They jumped over the BRT railing at the bus-stop with ease. Unfortunately, the line I had chosen was filled with aged men. Just my luck. The red bus was filling up fast and all I could do was watch. People behind screamed at me to hurry up but the man in front of me was determined to slow everybody down. With snake-like technique, I managed to slither past him and get to the front. The railing that my fellow youths had jumped looked like Olympics high jump to me. Of all the days to do fine boy, I had chosen today to wear the skinniest of jeans. The devil is always lying sha. I jumped the high jump, skinnies and all. But as I landed, the red bus was taking off. People had dropped dignity and were chasing the bus. For a second I thought ‘Who dignity help?’ but then I saw three fine girls staring at me with iPhones ready. Ehn? ‘I shall not be a victim of Instablog or Krakstv’. I swallowed my pride and decided to look for good ol’ commercial bus the yellow ones. How hard could it be to get Yaba or Ojuelegba? Two very popular locations. I crossed back to where they were passing. Low and behold, another multitude awaited. If I recall correctly, Jesus fed another five thousand that same year. I didn’t believe I could deal, so I kept moving. Somehow, I vaguely remembered that Ketu was around somewhere. I had been to Ketu before and had an inkling of where I might get transport. I was still pondering hard when I felt a hand subtly slip into my back pocket where my money was. Now I hate being touched so I noticed immediately. I grabbed the hand and spun around ready to slap the devil out of somebody. The dude was a split second faster he withdrew his hand from mine and said ‘Sorry. Excuse me please’. So that was his play. Make it look as if he just wanted to pass. The slap was still hungering me to donate. But then I saw one hard faced man watching us intently. He saw what happened and was ready for some nice jungle justice. I could’ve sworn he knew where the nearest tyre was and had a matchbox in his pocket. You know, just for emergencies like this. I looked back at the unlucky thief. His eyes pleaded desperately threatening to produce tears. I sighed and shoved him. He walked away fast not looking back even for a second. The hard faced man shook his head at me. Must have thought I was a sissy. Oh well. I continued going to where I don’t know. I solved mathematics in my head. Using five figure table and BODMAS I calculated. If the subject, me, is at this junction and the crossover bridge is 180 degrees north, then the square root of Y is just two kilometres South-West and X equalled to Oworonshoki on Wednesday. The maths seemed right so I walked with confidence. For the next forty five minutes, I walked and I didn’t see a single bus. Nothing. It gave me time to think. I wondered if anyone had ever walked the length and breadth of Lagos. If not, was there like an accolade for it? Worst case scenario, I will be the first to get the award. The road opened up to one highway that seemed weird. I saw one direction board that said the road led to Ibadan. How manage? No, the devil lies too much. I continued walking. I saw somewhere that a bunch of people were clustered. They looked like merry band of people going to Yaba or Ojuelegba, so I joined them. I was happy that my travails of travels were finally over. Two buses approached and a feeling of ingenuity came over me. Google maps should hire me because I know this Lagos like the back of my hand. The first bus slowed down and the conductor smiled at me. I smiled back and mouthed ‘Where?’ He replied “OshodiOke”. I said “Ehn?” The second bus stopped and before I could ask Yaba, he shouted “Isale. OshodiIsale”. I almost fainted. What is all this? I had not eaten. I felt like kneeling down and screaming to the heavens “Why me?” Instead I just stared as the traitors, who I thought were my comrades, filed into the various Oshodi transportation. I stood looking and waiting. If I go left, I will just enter Ibadan, if I go right, probably Cotonou or something. Then a bus came slowly but surely. It was as if this conductor had a halo on his head and wings on his back. He mouthed ‘Yaba’. I dropped all form of dignity, pride and home training and ran. There was a lot of pushing and shoving which was funny because I was the only one entering the bus. I entered and sat down next to the window. Let fresh breeze blow my struggles away. Now I realize the story is getting too long so I’ll summarize here. Within the duration I was in the bus that is from the end of the earth to Yaba, I experienced three fights. Two women at the back. The conductor had to separate the fight. (Now I’ve seen everything). Five minutes later, it was the conductor and a woman who wasn’t even in the bus. For some reason he pushed her and she pushed back and they pushed themselves. Yeah, I never figured the reason out. Five more minutes it was the driver and the conductor, because he didn’t set the collapsible seat well. Then we continued along. A BRT almost collided with an Oando petroleum truck right in our front. ‘Akobaadaba, Olorun ma je kari’. I finally got back to my house in what seemed like four hours later and checked the time. It was 11:30am. All in all, not a bad Wednesday morning, wouldn’t you say?