He Stepped On the Gas

He Stepped on the Gas 

So I am back writing.

This is Lagos. I work here. The city is has been described in by many people with many adjectives. Idyllic is not one of them.

The nature of my job makes me take lots of routes to lots of places. My current route home takes me down the LAGBUS route from TBS in Lagos Island to Ojodu Berger in the suburbs.

Now, there is a problem on that route. On alighting on the Berger Bus-Stop, the buses drop their passengers on the Ibadan facing side of the expressway. As a result, the majority of the passengers have to cross through traffic to get to the side of the express that takes them to the suburban neighborhoods of Lagos that the majority of the middle-class of Lagosians lives. There is not pedestrian bridge and that makes crossing the express quite dangerous for the pedestrian and causes a build-up of vehicular traffic for the drivers and commuters on the Ojudu Berger axis.

So there I was, thinking of how the people that planned the LAGBUS should have thought about the safety of the commuter and had a pedestrian bridge installed at the site of the Bus-Stop and how transportation and project planners should be more sensitive to the human angle of the project when it all happened.

It jolted me out of my daydream. 

There is this unwritten agreement that drivers stop for the passengers so that they may cross the road. So when the SUV stopped I guessed this lady and some others felt it was all clear to cross the road. They stood in front of the SUV, the vehicle lurched (that was odd-I thought) it lurched once more; everyone shifted back a bit, apart from this lady. Then the vehicle moved almost hitting the lady who was aware enough to get out of the way.

Then I saw it. It was a pilot vehicle for a convoy of one “Big Man”. I felt sick to my stomach. I had the good mind to throw my smart phone at the windows of his car. What if he had hit the lady? What would his goons have said? It was even more ironic when a horsewhip carrying bulkhead said “God punish you” from the SUV. I mean he felt that the road belonged to his principal and him alone.

So my mind shifts from business case studies on traffic management operations mode to angry and upset with the insensitivity of Nigerians mode. I mean that guy will go to Church on Sunday or to the Mosque on Friday. He is going to pray that God blesses him. I wonder where he thought he was rushing to. I wonder if the driver thought that pleasing his master was worth risking another person’s life. That woman could be someone’s mother, wife, girlfriend or sister. That woman had a life, an existence a purpose and the idiot stepped on the gas.

He stepped on the gas.

She Laughed... She Felt Bad

“That just sounds like something Bill Cosby would do…”

Her eyes opened, the corners of her lips lifted, and then the eyes twinkled. She let out a very brief but hearty laugh. For a moment, I had penetrated the wall that had been set up before me. All was well and the world stood still for a moment.

But it was for just a moment

She asked “why did you have to say that?” You could see in her eyes that she felt like she had partaken in a very guilty pleasure. She judged herself and she found herself weak.

This was the first time we had sat down to talk and she really tried to be engaging. Maybe it was polite small talk at the table, maybe it she was genuinely fascinated by my person. One thing is for sure-I left the table with a fascinated and slightly puzzled young lady at the other end.

People, it is a brave new world. The borders of political correctness have been shifted severally. Every now and again there is a story of one scandal based on what some fool or figure said or posted. This scandal is usually followed by a quick merciless judgement fueled by social media.  

It is not in my place to say whether this is good or bad, whether this will make people more sensitive or sensible, maybe attitudes of intolerance will change as a result. Only time will tell. I do fear however that people, being people, will adapt and self-censor themselves. It is not my place to say whether that is good or bad thing.

Okay; thought over.

Hello World

Hello World

No 5, Ezeobi Street VI

And so Obinna explained that Akhidje had hidden all the letters Ahanna sent over the years.

Obinna promised to set up Akhidje with his Dad only if he promised to assist in wooing process.

Vero could not believe it. Something felt wrong all those years Obinna professed love for her but Akhidje would not let her think in that direction.

Now she knew why it felt so, now the dots connected. 

--------

And so Vero decided to stay in the marriage to Obinna. 

Last week, when I asked her if she still loved Ahanna, she directed me to a post on Instagram by @poetetmisery:

"In your life, there you may come across that one person who starts an unquenchable fire in your heart; and its that person you never might end up with"

The Forewarning... Part I

Kunle had suggested that they went out in disguises. It was the only way.

Things had been rough in the area recently. In nearby villages, kidnapping and gunpoint robbery had been reported to be quite alarming in the past few weeks. The change in government had left the already disgruntled indigenes even more so. There was no pacifying these people. 

"It is our birthright. We were born with these privileges. If the Government refuses to give us what is ours, then we shall take it!" Commander Iwin, a fierce rebel known for commanding his troops to perpetrate so many acts of sabotage, had said in a TV interview earlier that year.

Idris walked in front as they headed back to camp. The supplies they had so desperately needed were neatly packed in 4 maxi sized plastic bags. The sanity of the occupants of the camp depended on the otherwise regular products in these bags. The mission was critical.

They both could pass for native youths. Almost pass rather. Rough-looking basketball vests and pairs of what used to be full length jeans matched loosely worn baseball caps. But to a trained eye, they were goldfish!

Kunle was of average height and build. Heavy facial hair that was carefully "unkempt" and intelligent looking eyes described his face. A style commonly referred to as '#teambeardgang' by young people, it was easily distinguishable from the curly, poorly distributed and greying beard on a truly unkempt male junkie. Idris was tall, fair and had a look in his eyes that said "I'm usually behind the wheels of a Range Rover", which was actually true. He also wore thick glasses without rims. He looked delicate.

As they passed by some of the community youths, who seemed to be gathered doing nothing of purpose as usual, a couple of stares hit them. The two aliens tried to blend in, feigning to be deep in conversation, ensuring to speak only vernacular and to combine lots of slang in speech and gesticulation.

They made it back to camp just before 4pm. Their colleagues at camp were overjoyed.

"What's the area looking like?" Tony asked.

"Hard to really tell man. Most of the youths were hurdled near the square but didn't seem to be up to anything." Kunle replied, wiping off sweat from beneath the cap he had now removed.

"There should be enough to take us for another week. By then other emergencies should have been sorted out and we should have support from base." Ikenga added. He had the most experience in this business, although by official rank he was second to the Facility Manager.

A few that heard Ikenga's opinion permitted themselves a flicker of hope. Others either didn't believe or didn't hear him; they focused on the goodies in the bag.

We just need to get through a few more days, Kunle thought. A few more days. 

But three hours wasn't passed when all hell broke loose...

 

 

Anita Okojie

The view from her hotel window made her want more, more out of life. "The rich in this city don't have two heads," she mused.

Hence she decided to go out and see the city.

She walked along; trying to breathe calmly and absorb all the energy coming from the city of Lagos streets.

She had but a short while to stay, but she wanted to explore and understand what made Lagos Lagos.

While on the stroll, she observed a sign post on one normal-looking property: "Paul Osaji & Co, To Let..."

She immediately placed a call to find out the rent price.

"6.5 million naira per year, Madam,"  said the voice at the other end.

Her first instinct was to ask "For what?!" But then she knew that those who whine never win.

She walked further and called another agent for a recently built set of flats.

"Its 75,000USD only per year. It's a serviced apartment with a bq ma..."

She swallowed her spit, entered a keke and headed back to her hotel because her feet suddenly felt heavy.

She realized she had been joking with the limited time she had on earth. 

There was some thinking to be done.