It begins the moment I exit the front door.
As I hurry towards my car, subconsciously checking my watch and thinking of the best route to get to work in the traffic chaos that defines Monday morning Lagos, I see the maiguard (that may not be the way you would spell it, but, well, you get it) make a beeline towards me out of the corner of my eye.
“Oga, morn sir!” He says, in a tone a bit too desperate for my liking.
I mumble some sort of response, hoping that would dissuade him from any sort of protracted conversation.
“Oga, abeg, I wan travel go Gusau tomorrow. My “bloda” TankoI just phone me for handset dis morning say my mama mama I dey sick”.
I stop and throw him a baleful glare. Three things immediately run through my mind. One: this fellow hasn’t even worked for one month, and he wants to travel? Two: if this fellow who hasn’t worked for one month thinks he’s going to get a single kobo from me, he had better go back into his cubicle and re-strategize. Three: I think back to those days in boarding house when almost every senior student had a grandmother that died at least five times. It was the most common excuse to arm-twist an exeat out of the school authorities to come to Lagos and lounge for a few days.
I had no doubt whatsoever that he was lying.
“Your mama still get mama?” I asked.
“Ah, yes Oga! And as na me I senior Tanko, and I dey work for Lagos, dem say make I come pay money for di hospitawey I dey”.
“Musa, you never even work reach one month for here”, I remind him with patience I can’t afford.
“Eh. Oga I know na. but as my mama mamadey sick so, I say make you just helep me with two month salary, so I go fit pay for hospita, make I no go die, oga”.
I could now barely contain my anger. I mean, this guy obviously had no shame, not to talk of common sense. How on earth does anyone try to collect two months salary advance, after working for less than 3 weeks?
“Musa, please open the gate. When I come back in the evening, we will talk about it.”
He mumbles something in his language and proceeds to the gate.
Welcome to Lagos, a paradise for hustlers where there’s a con on every corner.
I’m going to cite a few more examples off the top of my head, instances that surely, most of you can easily relate to.
When you send the office assistant to buy you food in the office, how many of them ever give change without you prompting? None? I thought so. And when they do give you reluctantly, trust me, you’ll be the topic of discussion in that little room where they all gather. I’ve even worked in an office in the past where the office assistants came up with what they called a Stingo-Meter… you know… rating senior staff’s stinginess on a scale of 1 to 10! Nasty people, that lot.
And of course, you all know about that age-old office assistant scam, where 10 people or more send the guy to go buy food from the same place or go to the same bank for all of you, and he collects transport fare from every single person!
And what about parking on Lagos Island? Oh yeah, I can feel a lot of you rolling your eyes. I’m sure you all know about all those empty slots with either used tyres or large stones serving as “Reserved” signs, that are available to the highest bidder?
What about using the ATM… especially in the evenings? Ever noticed how those security types in the ill-fitting, funny-coloured uniforms and slippers position themselves in such a way that you can’t get to the machines without coming within their immediate space? And the extremely enthusiastic greetings and salutations, especially after you have withdrawn money? You’ll have to be a meanie of Davido proportions not to “drop something” at some point.
Lagos mechanics? Lagos mechanics? Lagos mechanics? I don’t even know where to start with this special breed of human beings. I’ve seen a mechanic remove the entire front of a vehicle before, just because he wanted to replace a trafficator. His reason? Read:
“Haaa, Oga, you know no say dis na Korea motor? Everything dey key, oga! If I no remove all dis part wey key for where the trafficator key to the one wey key for dis key, the trafficator no go key”.
Please don’t laugh at me. I simply walked away from where he was, because I was scared at what I might do to his shiny pate, crouched around my fist level.
The Lagos “Owambe” parties? I’m a Lagos Boy by birth, by origin and by lifelong residency, but I had sworn to myself sometime ago that you will have to be extremely close or very important to me, for me to ever appear in any of those… those… I don’t even know what to call them. Please how do people enjoy those things? First of all, you start dealing with area boys even before you park. I’ve seen war break out amongst several of them whilst they where jostling on who was going to park me at one occasion. When you finally put your car somewhere, getting out of the vehicle and making your way to the actual hall or venue is another matter entirely. More area boys. Several women trying to pin pennants on you. Several groups of “gan-gan” drummers singing mundane, clichéd praises, like they were there when my grandfather gave me my flamboyant family names.
And in the hall? Locating the celebrants? Where your friends are seated? Even finding space at all? It’s all just crazy. Oh, and by the way, why are all those halls always so hot, even when multitudes of industrial air conditioners are going full blast? And there you have the celebrants, friends and family,sweatily and frenetically dancing away to ear-splitting live music that mostly sounds awful, either from bad PA systems, lousy hall acoustics, or a combination of both.
And then you momentarily can’t find your phone and your heart skips several beats, only for you to remember that you had tucked it deep into your pocket, because you fully realise what can happen.
But then, I won’t trade this town for anything; for anywhere for that matter. I’m privileged to have been to several cities across the globe; beautiful exotic places that simply take your breath away. But there is simply no other on the face of this earth that has the vibe, the personality, the hustle, attitude and the exquisite madness of this town.
Subsequently, we will go on odyssey after odyssey into what exactly makes this town all that, and then some. I’ll be here: I hope YOU will be.