WAHALA CHRONICLES

I got to the bus stop at Adekunle at about 7:30am one Tuesday morning. The crowd of people told me that I was in for a bit of wrestling before I was going to get a bus. That is, if I was going to get a bus.

“Obalende, Obalende!”screamed a haggard looking bus conductor as he dangled from the side of a moving ancient looking bus. I darted towards the bus.
My primary objective was the front seat. Any seasoned bus-hopper knows that the front seat of a bus in Lagos is kind of its own version of “first-class”. If you’re seated anywhere else on that bus, you’re in “coach”. Enough said.
In that same instant, a mob of bankers, corpers, traders and yes, lawyers charged at the bus. People elbowed, punched, pushed and kicked their way to the small door of the slowly moving large rickety piece of metal on wheels. In a split-second, a short and pregnant looking  woman cut me off from the passenger side door and swiftly dribbled her way into the front seat.
I was stunned (I’d never seen a pregnant  woman move that fast).
“Ah!” a  tall man cried out, as a large (and I mean really large) woman shoved her bulk into him with all the zeal of a seasoned wrestler. The man, possibly a banker (if the blue suit was anything to go by) fell to the ground, HARD. He was kicked, roughly shoved aside (and I think spat on) as the mob continued to besiege the bus. It was a real battle of the suits that lasted say about 20-25 seconds. I didn’t stand a chance. Long story short; I missed that bus, along with 15-20 other people.

The next bus arrived (or came through) about 10 minutes later. “balende! Balende!” went the hungry looking conductor (this guy looked even more haggard than the last guy.) Where did these people come from anyway? True to his calling, this one was also dangling from the side of the bus. Perhaps this was part of the conductors’ job description; “Must Look Haggard and under Fed. Must Be Able To Dangle From Side Of A Moving Bus………!” Your guess is as good as mine.

The bus of course, didn’t stop or slow down. Not that it would have mattered. Once again, elbows, punches, kicks, grunts and the occasional saliva filled the air.

I didn’t even bother. That’s Lagos for you, I thought to myself. I quickly checked my watch, 7:45am. Crap! My interview was for 9:00am. Christ only knew the sort of traffic I was likely to meet on the Third Mainland Bridge.

As time passed, I considered my options. There were fewer and fewer buses going towards Obalende. Should I wait? I took a quick survey of the crowd of people staring hungrily at the buses as they went by. Even if another Obalende bus showed up, these wrestlers would beat me to it. I didn’t want to be late.
Try showing up for a job interview late and see where it gets you!

Reluctantly, I spied some Okadas to my left. The red-eyed crazy looking Okada riders stared at us the way hyenas observed lost Gazelle in the Serengeti. They seemed to be daring us to call them.

I tore my eyes away from the Okadas. Besides, they would be too expensive. On average, a trip(at the time) from Adekunle to Obalende would set you back by Five Hundred Naira. As opposed to the Fifty Naira I would have spent on a bus ride for the same trip. And let us not forget, Okada rides are not exactly famous for their safety. For me, there is only one word to describe an Okadaride….Dangerous! When you ride an Okada on the Third Mainland Bridge, your life expectancy is….…five minutes. I decided to wait for a bus.

Fifteen minutes later I was still standing at the bus stop, wearing my best suit. I had a large folder under my arm. The folder contained all my credentials from Primary School to NYSC. So technically, I had my “life” in my hands. No bus heading to Obalende had shown up. It was 8 am, and I was getting desperate.

I decided to take a chance “Desperate times, call for desperate measures,” I remember thinking to myself. I had no other choice but to call out to the Hyenas. “Okada!” I yelled out before I could stop myself. In an instant, they were all around me.

“Oga, where you dey go?  Na V.I.? You wan go Ikeja?  Na me you dey call?”

The questions were coming at me…fast, and so were the Okada riders. “Oga!” called out a semi-toothless one. I considered the haggard looking, unkempt toothless man for a few seconds. The severe eczema on his face made his complexion difficult to ascertain. His motor-bike looked like something that barely survived the biafrian war.
To be perfectly honest, the only reason he stood out was because he got to me first, or rather his stench got to me (a clear 3 seconds before he did). He was definitely a ghastly accident waiting to happen. I decided to try someone else. The truth was that they all looked the same; haggard, dirty, smelly and mostly.

Long story short, I eventually got on an Okada. It wasn’t easy. I had to settle for a Northern Nigerian looking guy riding a not-so-ancient-looking okada.
“Obalende!” I called out, encouraging him to come closer. “Two-Pipty!” he yelled with an ugly grin. (I know, I thought the accent was funny too).

I said I quick “The Lord is my shepherd…” and got on the Okada. (The next 10-15 minutes were for me too harrowingly traumatic to recant. Please bear with me. I’d rather just skip and pick up this tale from when  I got off the Okada on the other side of the Third Mainland Bridge thank you)
When I got off the Okada (thankfully) I had lost my voice.Because I had screamed through the entire trip. I’d lost all feeling in my legs, my heart was still beating (at machine gun rapidity) and the homicidal man was smiling at me. Can you believe that?! We could have died on that bridge! (and trust me we had some pretty close calls) and he was smiling?????! I mean when did we start entrusting our lives to these people?! Most of them don’t even have licenses! But they are on our roads! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!!
I got to my interview eventually. But I couldn’t get the horrific trip out of my mind. Some one once asked if Okadas should be outlawed in Nigeria. My answer? YES!!!!!!!!! JAH BLESS





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