I have had to hop danfo buses in Lagos with more frequency in the last couple of weeks and it’s been expectedly full of drama. Let me gist you a handful. The other day, I was going from Ojuelegba Bus Stop to Yaba after a quick shopping experience at the Ojuelegba axis. Usually, a seven-minute … Continue reading The Danfo Diaries: December Danfo Drama in Lagos
They say the land is filled with milk and honey
They say there are many children there
They say it is so sweet on the other side of the gate
Yet, we, labourers and all, do work
And neglect the thought to visit the city
The city we so much care about
Because we thought there were no strings!
In a few weeks, I will say goodbye to the undergraduate years. Like it happened to me when leaving the primary school and even the secondary school, I have started to have a deep sense of nostalgia. Barely five years ago, we all wore our matriculation gowns and felt really cool about ourselves. We never … Continue reading UNILAG Memoirs: Notes from the Lagoon Front
While someone questioned the woman’s *‘para-ing’, another could not just understand why the woman could be so ‘paranoid’. But, who knows the kind of skimpy stuff or cleavage-announcing top the colleague-from-the office’s attire could have been wearing?
Many times, she wishes Papa had left when her people were forced out of this country. She hears of her native land’s progressive strides, how even Nigerians are now trooping to tap into the good of 21st century Ghana, and the fast pace of economic and educational development back home. She has learnt to see in the dark and think through the noxious fumes.
I walk in to the office that Thursday, some minutes before noon. After filling the visitors’ record book, I walk straight down, open the door leading into the reception area on the ground floor. “Hello, good morning! I’d like to see the ED.” “Please, fill this form,” the young lady politely instructs as she hands me the visitors’ form. I swiftly fill in necessary information and hand over the A5 paper to the eager receptionist who then puts a call through while I take my seat.
Every day I go to work on the bus with the other sleepers, workers whose days begin early, whose commutes are long. We sleep when we can. Some people complain about their working conditions. Some swear never to return to their offices again. But the next day we are up together before the sun. Look, there, even the bank executive sleeps in the back of his car while his driver faces down Lagos for him, like our driver who faces Lagos for us. For family. For nation. For love. For love, we are up for work before the sun.