Episode 1: It’s About Time

It’s about time y’all heard the kind of things I go through in this city called Lagos. I mean I couldn’t keep all this drama to myself anymore especially as there seems to be a new even more interesting episode with each passing day.

Twice I have entered a bus driven by an imbecile, the same imbecile – and I mean this literally (and I actually do respect and applaud his courage), I mean it when I say Imbecile, curved limbs, bent neck, saliva wasn’t dropping though. He had to almost rest on the steering wheel to drive, the poor guy couldn’t even stretch out his arms to give or take money. On my second trip with him  for which he surprisingly had no “conductor” , I had to act as his “conductor”, helping him collect money and give change, but this is not the spurring force for this category today.

What made me write this today is a more embarrassing rather annoying event, and I’ll get right to it without wasting your time. It was Friday night, 30th of June, 2017 and I had boarded a bus from CMS to take me home in Lekki phase 1. You recognize the picture up there, yup, it’s the lekki tollgate on lekki-Epe express way (or what it used to look like), that’s where it all happened.

The usual traffic associated with this gate at night was building up, beside my bus was a range rover sport, and a Mercedes 4matic, both clean rides, both driven by really “hot” young girls, about my age, this tall (probably their dad’s or boyfriend’s car, what I like to think), I quickly adjusted and switched to my game face, partially hiding my face so in the case we meet at an event much later somewhere on the Island, they won’t write me off as that guy that jumps buses even before I get a chance to present my case (I talk about pitching my business proposal, I don’t know what y’all are thinking. I wish I could use smileys), and then the darndest thing happened, totally unbelievable.

My bus spoils, went off and wouldn’t come on again. I forgot to mention that there were just 2 guys in the bus, and I was one of them. The traffic on my lane had moved a bit, and cars behind us were now honking, the driver started beckoning on us to help push. I don’t think I had ever been so reluctant to help myself. Now my bus was causing a nuisance and everyone was looking, people maneuvering around us to get to their destination, and every single one of them looking me in the eye as if I had caused the breakdown of the bus, and some of them were also hot girls. I wanted to just go in some underground tunnel that would take me straight home.

Long story short, I was on lekki-epe express way, just before the toll gate, in the middle of the road fully dressed, pushing a broken down danfo bus. This bus could have broken down anywhere on the highway where cars would zoom past us with no one noticing but NO, it chose the toll gate with so many lights beside hot girls where every one has to slow down and look at my face, (wordpress should seriously add smileys and emoticons).  My Lagos story!



To be or not to be – ètre ou ne pas étre?

Is the question we oft ask ourselves when we are alone. We are caught in the middle, in betwixt lifetimes, pathways or careers.

They say they want you to be the best of you, to have the best obtainable when really, sometimes without even knowing, all they want is for you to be out of their hair, or their reputation, their bragging rights.

To say my son is an engineer, my daughter is the doctor, my other boy is an accomplished lawyer, my husband is the Chairman, my girlfriend is the head cheerleader, and when you are not, they compare you to those they think have made it.

They set pedestals so high without minding what you lose getting there, whether your self-esteem, humanity or integrity (for I have seen people do unlikely and dishonorable things just to get a benchmark to please those that gave them the “opportunity”). And of course we wanting to please (whether the girlfriend, parents, guardians, or friends) are constantly in a war, to be who we really want to be and risk failing those we hold dear if they don’t accept it, or be who they want us to be and lead a sad, boring life by our own standards.

To be or not to be is the question we constantly fight to answer. For some of us, whatever our decisions, whatever choice we make, we have seen that to be is not to be,

Oui, etre n’est pas d’etre, for whatever we be, we are not for whomever we choose not to be.