Lagos Chronicles II

“See you again some other time” if only I knew how much weight those words carried.
First off, I want to make a formal apology for all who log on and read the posts on this site; or have been interested in the chronicles.
I have been super “head immensed in water” deluded with work. Yes, I said deluded because I get to work, assume I have nothing to do and realise that the day’s gone, I’ve been up and down and still achieved nothing. It’s intensely frustrating. So, I had to coin out a fall back plan so my work doesn’t suffer and I mean both officially and unofficially.
Oh wait! Chronicles part II started with the first paragraph. You didn’t get the memo? Oh shucks!
Well, moving on bridge over shark water. The conductors have been sweethearts but guess the ones who break my heart (puts ear out for a reply) oh definitely. You guessed right, the glorified ‘molues’ (excuse my french) but if you live in the heart of las gidi; you’d know that BRTs were just the devil’s structured plan to make the molues look like a creme de la creme way to ride.

You cannot even imagine what I’ve been through – sweaty armpits, groundnuts being chewed noisily into my ear drums and poured over me, babies that have mucus running down put in my air space (common, I’m human people – I get germs too), like that is not enough, you get poked by anything pokeable (yes, wisdom is profitable to direct here). Then to top it off, you get squashed especially on days the atms messed up and you are running low on cash and the ‘molue’ is the only option available to you apart from the danfo – (oh, you thought I took cabs didn’t you, that’s cute).
I can’t wait for when Baba God finally answers my prayer for that sleek KIA Sportage lastest model (I’m in love with that car by the way).
Sigh. As BRF has refused to provide alternatives for those of us that don’t mind okada rides from island to mainland; I guess I’ll just have to sit in my prayer corner and ask that “esu pofo” over all the affairs that affect the ‘Centre of Excellence’.
Till I come your way again, and this time my word stands – I will not delay before posting anymore. Have a great day.

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

Lagos Chronicles

Lagos as we know it.

You see, I live in the heart of Lagos – Ketu Mile 12 to be precised just short of going to Ikorodu and getting to Ojota or Maryland. I was born and bred there, so I am what you can refer to as a proper “omo eko”. Not only is my place a central area but also the razz uncivilized part of Ketu as it is properly referred to by people anytime I tell them what part of Ketu I live in (you see Magodo Phase II is the posh area of Ketu).

Almost everyone has been to my side at least once or twice during his/her sojourn in Lagos; mostly because the famous mile 12 market is located around my area and that is the place people come to shop for their foodstuffs in bulk i.e. tomatoes, peppers, bags of rice, beans to mention a few, and what’s the catch, it is at cheap rates.

My name is Tinuola and this is my new brand of inspired specials – the life and taste of Lagos from the Ketu girl’s perspective. I make it a point of duty to be up as early as 4 a.m and coming from an area that never sleeps, my pipu people have also woken up with me.

I get out and begin the day’s hustle, if the day favors me, I get an okada motorcycle of N50 to my designated bus stop (Okadas are still banned o! ehen!) and probably get a BRT en route island but if I am a tad bit unlucky I get the infamous yellow buses a.k.a Danfo to my bus stop and board another ‘danfo’ to my destination before I get picked by the school bus.

“Ojota-Yaboyinbo_Palmgrove” is the noise that meets me anytime I’m about to board a vehicle, as a hard core Ajebutter (buttey for short) lagosian, I get to haggle the bus fare from N100  to N70 or N80 on days I am lucky and/or have enough to pick my choice of danfo; on my not-so-jolly days it’s either I am late or I have entered the bus only to find the conductor has ‘gbana-d’ smoked that morning and will no sooner beat me up if I even make a protest about my balance (popularly called “change”).

“Ahan! Conductor e da fun mi ni change mi” (Conductor, won’t you give me my balance?)  I always try to protest in my camouflaging confidence. “Change buruku wo ni yen, ehn? Omo yi, mo ti so fun e pe N100 ni, o ni change gba o” (what nonsense change, I have told you that it is N100. You don’t have any balance to collect) he replies in a gruff drunken voice. As I have the fear of God, I am always quiet after the retort while quietly begging God under my breath to punish the unruly conductor for me.

It is always a scene in the morning to see hawkers with a fresh batch of agege bread – the branded bread for Lagos workers, commuters or dwellers; or the ewa-goin, the fried akara balls or fried yams; did I forget puff-puff? All these herald the start of a new morning in Lagos. It can’t be missed. It is still a budding romance between Lagosians and these items; and I doubt if they would ever leave the honeymoon phase of their love.

Did I forget to mention the early morning rush hour traffic or queues for the BRT buses that are as long as walking from Lagos to another state even as early as 6 a.m. I love the fact we are ready to do anything to make ends meet; it is a decision that has kept both hawkers and beggars alike alive as they get up early to strive for their daily bread. It is not a question of class but a common goal – MONEY!

Survival is crucial and of utmost importance to everyone and that’s why I love to live in this city despite all its activities.

Expect inferences and more melodramas from this series; there is a plan in place to get more Lagosians aboard to share their own tales – so we may have both regular writers and those that have never written anything to begin with.

Till I come your way another day, keeping it real – the Hardcore Ajebutter!

What do I say

So many words to say so little time
I should speak to you I presume of love lost and found
But i find that my strength wanes and I lose all courage
I watch your mouth move as it speaks the words i cannot
Each day I awaken with the hope that you will see right through me
Each day the words fail me
Here is my heart, written down
With words that can be erased and used to break me to pieces
Do I seek a promise?
I ask myself but I do not even know the answer to that
I want a little of your courage, of the heart that seeks but dares not ask
I want all of you but should I mouth the words, I fear my mind will be in disarray
What shall I say to you?

What completes me

Why don’t you judge me like everyone else,
Why do you let me throw my pen carelessly around?
You seem to forget I’m human.
Why don’t you cast aspersions; leaving me with series of unanswered questions?
Why do you set me free and find sweet relief for my mortal being,
Don’t you see what failure I can be
Can’t you see how despondent my heart is
How do you let me reach out and conquer fear
How do you speak what I dare not say out loud
Do you even understand humanity?
Do you even know how disloyal I can be
Yet you do not sentence me
You do not patronise me
I like your warmth, your embrace is so familiar
Your welcome is so refreshing
You are the completeness my soul seeks
Like conjoined twins, my soul refuses to be apart from you
You are the melody my heart hums to
You are the silence in the midst of noise
You are the words that completes me

Let Me In

Reblogged from Thought Catalog:

Knock knock.

Hey, it's me. You know, the me you've been with for a while now. The me who shares your body and your bed. The me who has breakfast with you and goes for walks with you and reads with you, cozily on the couch while it rains outside.

I was wondering if I could maybe be let in?

Read more… 553 more words