I am tired. So bloody tired. Tired of life and everything in between. The time is a few minutes after 7am, and I am chilling in one of those large, yellow, ugly, smelly buses popularly called ‘molue’. Actually, I do not think ‘chilling’ is the appropriate word. Cos whenever I see people really chilling, they are rarely ever sweaty and unhappy.
I left the comfort of my bed 2 hours ago, I have an 8am class and by the look of things, I’m probably gonna get to school sometime in March. The Lagos traffic, ever present, ever knowing and forever frustrating well laid out plans.
The bus inches forward and the large woman beside me releases another very strange unearthly sound. I’ve never been to the abroad, so I’ve never experienced all those things that plague them. All those earthquakes, tsunami’s, horde of locusts, their rivers turning into blood and all that, however right now, I’d pick all those things over this present situation.
For the umpteenth time, I make plans to get a horse and for the umpteenth time, I change my mind. Cos you really cannot trust these Lagos officials. One LASTMA human will still try and stop me for ‘over speeding’…on my horse. Another hungry policeman will tell me to ‘park’, come down from the horse and ask me for my drivers license and why I wasn’t wearing a seat belt. On my hor…shaa, you get the point. Whether it’s a private car, a chilled molue, a horse or wheelbarrow, you are not safe.
I eventually reach my first destination and to God be the glory, I still look as good as I did when I left my house over 3 hours ago. I might be late for my class and all, but what’s my business? I look fabulous:D
I’m walking confidently to the bus that will eventually take me to my final destination, even the market women are eyeing me and giving me flirtatious smiles. This type of attention is not ideal but, I’m not complaining. Amean, If one of them should just dash me a very cold bottle of that long throat something, I’ll definitely collect it.
As I approach the bus, one kekemaruwa man that is acting his own version of ‘Fast and furious’ speeds toward me. There are already people sitting in the bus. People going to Unilag like me. People who might see me later in school and recognise me. I have a choice to make. I can either continue being the cool, calm classic man, get hit by the keke and face the consequences OR, I can run like a mad person and jump into the warm embrace of the bus.
The seconds tick by as the Keke gets closer and closer. Everything is in slow motion, an almost movie like scenario. I’m feeling like one of those ‘Kingsman secret service’ people as the tricycle gets close enough and I finally see the rider’s eyes. They are bloodshot, and heavy. This egbon is obviously quite high this fine morning.
I forget all the movies and everything else and like a smart Nigerian, I make the right choice and begin my ‘journey to freedom’. Life does not have part two.
Today is a sunday. Today is the 14th. And apparently, today is Valentine’s day. Valentine is NOT a public holiday. The government will NOT be giving out money on the streets or Tax cuts today. Bus conductors will still collect their full fare today. That agbero at your junction will ask you for his usual ‘rates’ today, he might even increase his charges just because…love.
Last week was spent balloting. Balloting for hostel accommodation. For those of you lucky few who are in private institutions where your parents pay 1.5million bags of naira for a substandard education (na joke o), hostel balloting in Unilag is NOT what the name implies. You see, a ballot connotes a first-come-first-served system. A ‘happy-go-lucky’ system if you will. An organised and fair process where the system randomly and unbiasedly selects the ‘lucky’ individual. That is not the case.
For you to get a hostel bedspace, you must be operating under the direct power and anointing of heaven. You must have first received heavenly instructions telling you when to ballot, where, the position in which you’ll hold your laptop or phone, whether you stand or sit, smile or frown et cetera. Either that or, your leg must be as ‘long’ the Senate Building. You must know high people in high places.
Unfortunately, I fit into none of these categories. Izz not as if my leg is not long o, it’s just that, leg pass leg. And after all this hustle and suffering, one girl that her father is still alive and providing for her will nw expect me to empty my bank account on top her head cos today is Valentine’s day? Rubbish! Tufiakwa! May God not capsize your destiny:|
I am obviously not in the celebratory mood. I don’t even have one particular babe sef, and I cannot goan be buying gifts upandan for my various ‘friends with benefits’, so today I’m very unbothered and chilled. No worries:D
As I arrive in church, where I plan to be all day, I see the sad faces of the men and boys around me. People with wives, babes and responsibilities this Valentine’s day. People with soon to be empty pockets. What a time to be alive. What a time to be ‘bae-less’.
If you are single and you know it, clap your hands.