My lagos love affair Part 1- Unedited
Walking on the streets of Lagos, I could smell the aroma of fried Akara only to be spoilt by the sweaty smell of conductors screaming ‘Keja ‘Keja ‘Keja. It is so irritating how they never take time to pronounce their destinations properly. It’s only 6.00am but the crowd and chaos on the street was enough to start world war 3. Some running after the yellow buses while others sat in their air conditioned car hoping the ‘go slow’ would end soon.
I walked aimlessly to the bus stop hoping to get an Okada. My mum has always warned me never to take okada anywhere; she gives me these lectures daily of how most accidents in Lagos are caused by ruthless Okada men. Yes, she is probably right but what was a young girl suppose to do? Die in the never ending ‘Lagos Traffic Jam’? I ignored the taunting voice of my mum’s voice coupled with the warning whisper of my conscience; I hopped on an Okada praying I won’t learn the hard way.
Sigh….What a relief. Thank God for sparing me through the Okada ride, I could have sworn that if I was pregnant no genesis would have stopped me from having a threatened miscarriage. Not that it was the Okada man’s fault anyway; the portholes on the streets of Lagos were large enough to swallow a Jeep. Ok, maybe I exaggerated a little but who wouldn't?
Well, I have never been a fan of Lagos. I though it contained too many people and to little resources to accommodate them, but my Dad could only get me my Internship spot in Lagos so I had to bear the doom I thought Lagos holds. Where I was taking my IT was just a couple of blocks from where the Okada man dropped me (Just so you know Okada is not allowed in the area where I work, I still don’t get the reason why), I was too early to work anyway so I walked slowly admiring my new strapless wedge through the glass door of sterling bank.
‘I looked good’, I thought to myself.
Lost in thought I didn’t notice the arrival of the black tinted Audi Q7 slowly parking next to me, but the horn jolted me back to the moment.
Silly Driver.
I hurriedly stepped aside and continued to walk along the road; I had a strange feeling that someone was following me. I walked faster wishing I had the speed of light. I’ve heard strange stories about Lagos, some myths while others are very true. I could feel my heart pounding as loud as it could go. Just when I thought I had made a head start, I felt a tap on my shoulder. With no second thoughts, I flung my bag so hard aiming to hit the face of my attacker.
“Madame why did you hit me like that na, I just wan tell you say my oga dey call you” A man with a brownish teeth said to me. He was pointing to the Audi Q7. Not even my love for cars or that car in particular can make me yield to the call of a stranger.
“Either you don high this early morning or you think say I be fool ba, You better leave me alone before I shout Ole for your head o” Hissing at the man who was obviously a driver.
He walked back to the car and I breathed a sigh of relief. You can never be too careful, especially when a strange looking man walks up to you in the middle of a deserted road. Suddenly my instincts told me to run, but the subtle sound of my name in a familiar voice glued my leg to a spot.
‘Funmi’ that same voice that haunted my dreams, the same voice that brought me tears for two years. I wasn’t sure if to be surprised or angry. I could feel the mixture of the two.
"I’m late for work" I said to him as if the last two years of our lives weren’t missing.
“What a way to greet a long time friend”, he said sarcastically. Like I care. I stopped caring two years ago when he walked out; at least that’s what I tell myself every night.
Goodbye Derrick. I walked away just like he did two years ago.
He didn’t try to stop me; he walked back to his car with so much pride that it made me nauseated. Maybe just maybe I will never have to think about him again, now that I know he doesn’t care at all. My working hours stretched for so long I felt I might actually sleep off, but my thoughts drifted off to the day I met him.
To Be Continued…..
Comments
Post a Comment