The Lagosian Way

So, I decided to escape the boredom of Abuja and find solace in Lagos. From everything I’ve seen on Nollywood films, Lagos was the place to be. So I made my way to Lagos. What they don’t tell you is that Lagos has a madness on its own and to survive, you must be possessed with such madness. One thing I’ve learned during my time in Nigeria is if you don’t know it, fake it until you do. This principle has worked quite well for me in the last two years but one place it cannot work for me is Lagos. In Lagos, you have to know how to fluidly switch from proper English, to pidgin English, to proper Yoruba. Now, the proper English I have down, even pidgin I can fake the funk but the problem comes when I have little to no understanding of Yoruba. Though I spent a year with some wonderful Yoruba ladies in law school, I never picked the language. And it’s not my fault, I’m old I can’t just be learning languages like that. I’m still trying to get my own native tongue down perfectly, abeg. 

Anyway, I digress. So this entire preamble brings us to today. On this November 9^th, I decided to venture out into Lagos on my own using public transportation. Normally, if I’m going somewhere in Lagos I use an uber because, mans cannot come and die abeg. Make I see call to bar mbok. But taking uber can get uber expensive so I decided to be a Lagosian today. Now there are several things wrong with that concept. 1. I’m not a Lagosian, I can never be a Lagosian. People who have been in Lagos for years are still not Lagosians, it’s me that will become one overnight. 2. I do not speak Yoruba. So someone can insult me or sell me and I wouldn’t know the difference. 3. I have one working eye. On Sunday I got pink eye in both eyes and one was affected terribly therefore I’m only comfortable opening one eye out on the road. The combination of these things spell disaster but in my head, what could go wrong? Everything. Everything could go wrong. Smh. 

So I took a bike to the bus stop and got on the bus, told the conductor where I wanted to drop off and he made sure I was good. Now on my way back, my cousin put me in another bus. In this bus I was sandwiched between the driver and another passenger. I informed the conductor of my stop, he acted like he heard me. As we continued on the journey, I realized I was the only female on the bus and everyone was speaking Yoruba. I was nervous but I couldn’t show it.  I kept calm and asked the driver if we had reached my stop, he said no. I relaxed and prayed to see something familiar. The conductor collects my money and I think we’ve reached my destination. But no, we are still moving. Now my heart is beating. I remind the driver again of my stop, he says it’s still ahead. We keep moving. I realize that this journey has become extremely long, I don’t recognize the roads anymore, and I can’t see any landmarks. I’m screwed. What would a Lagosian do? She wouldn’t panic. She would ride this thing until she got to familiar territory and find her way back. That’s what I did. I sat my ass down and waited.

 The bus driver finally stops and with a sheepish grin says “last bus stop.” Oohhh he knew what he was doing. This fool set me up, this was not MY stop. I came down looking lost but trying to hide it. But people in Lagos can smell fear, I swear it. A bike man called me over and asked where I was headed. I told him and he called an outrageous price. That is when I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I had to finesse my way out of here. I attempted to call his bluff and he shooed me away. Like literally shoo. I found another bike man whom was much nicer and he directed me to another bus. 

Oh Lord, another bus! At this point I knew I was not getting home. I was going to wander the streets of Lagos for the rest of my life. I accepted my fate. But sense crept back in; this way of thinking was unlagosian. That’s not how a Lagosian would react. So I braved it; I formed my best Nigerian accent and asked if the bus was going my way. It was, I entered and asked the nice lady beside me to let me know when I got to my stop. She agreed, then got off the bus. Heifer! But the other nice lady beside me kept assuring me that I hadn’t reached my stop and when I finally did, she told me and I got off. 

I found my way back to the house, hungry, tired and annoyed but also proud of myself. I survived. I made it, they didn’t steal me. Even if they did, I’m sure I would have been returned. Lol. But the point of this story is that, I made it on my own (and with the help of the nice lady on the bus). So if I could survive this I can take on the world. Okay, maybe not the world but you get the idea.