I have quite a lot in my head but really no time to pour them all down. Okay since tomorrow is a typical (hopefully won’t be a hectic) Monday, i’ll leave you with one of my favorite (poorly written yet well understood) Lagos journal of a company driver on a Monday.

Monday Diary of an Expired Company Driver (from Rubminds.com)

Typical Lagos setting, Oshodi to be precise

My best friend, Seiko is a bastard bad boy. He disturbs my sleep with his passion to feel the morning breeze. It’s 4:30 am and the world’s most invaluable machine wakes me up, the monster cereal devouring cockerels must be saving their crows up for December, you know, so it doesn’t count whether or not they crow now, in fact, they should save that in their thighs. I climb up to switch the idiot off and I always have to do that on weekdays because if I keep my friend within the reach of an arm’s stretch I will not only lose my job, my Landlord no go gree me rest.

I dash into the pit latrine/bathroom combo, throw the bucket of semi clean water up and dash out while the helpless water splashes behind me, and in the process, displacing some spyrogyra and blocking the green hole further, who cares. I slip into my overall, and push Ronke to the other side of the bed, she falls on the rug in the process. With her red eyes wide shut amidst pythonic hisses, i pick my naturally pressure ironed blue shirt and navy blue trouser and dump both of them in the big brown super garri sack. The rubber shoes need no Kiwi, it’s my bathroom shoe anyway. I take a shot form my magic bottle, wish myself goodluck and put God first (I already did na?). I leave 30 naira under the lantern, that’s a pack of 4 (must I tell you everything?).

I hit the streets, whistling silently yet praying to God, Allah, Buddha, Sango, Obatala, Ogun and any saviour that came to mind. Streets is millitary nowadays. I’m clutching hard on Nigeria’s longest serving 3310, the keypad is somewhere in the kitchen, thanks to the broom stick stylus. Nothing looks better than the original casing, no screen, just large cellotapes and the battery won’t fall off today, I got more rubber bands. Jokes apart I still have flashing credit, some big phones out there have no SIM some even have blocked SIMs, I have a good cause to be grateful to my creator.

I hear the sound of a bike and tap my boots, ready to take off. Which kin bike go waka around 5:00 a.m.? Sound kicks off and it’s my favorite Pasuma track, I immediately know it’s Sura, my inconsistent saviour. “Omo ele yen nko? (how’s that chic)” he asks as we speed off the streets, navigating through giant wells called pot holes. “You suppose marry that girl o, omo yen respect wa ju onidirabata yen lo” as he drops me at the bus stop. I wave at him as he speeds on the opposite way, the one-way traffic. Lagosians! I’m sure my kwara people learnt this animalistic lifestyle from here.

It’s 10 past 5 a.m and the garage is like there’s been no break since the opening ceremony. The stalls were empty but commuters everywhere again. Ha Kilode! “Fuel no dey”, i knew trouble was bound to happen this morning and I shouldn’t have left that 30 naira. “Oshodi, 150, ko si iya were, ma wole o”… (various warnings and threats but we all rush into the bus). This route has been set at 100 after the last strike and has been so ever since but to my surprise, everyone pays 150 naira. These office people sef, I stretch my 100 card to him. “Awa Share man (chairman) ni”, he grinned as he took the money from me. “Shiaman we no suppose collect money but na fuel cause am”. I gave a proud nod, no one cared to listen, some slept off some showed their “stolen” phones off, some put their earphones in their ears while I was left alone to look at myself, pondering do I actually looked like an “Agbero” or are these drivers JJC’s in the area?

I “drop” at Airport bus stop, cross to the other side (the pedestrian bridge would be more of a suicide than facing fast cars either way doing 140!). Shaibu, the funky mallam hands the keys to the Toyota Coaster to me as fast as he could while I speed off, picking average salary earners on the way. Arrogant lagosians, few bother to say good morning, I don’t blame them, rich people are never happy (sorry, hardly ever…) that way I knew the ones who greeted me where the lucky ones whom by stroke of chance passed the interviews yet would not let their newly found fountain of cash change their social life. Nkem was one of them. Nkemic I hailed her briefly. The stingy ones who refused to use their cars because the company had a lorry where the ones who accused me of showing up late, dem forget say condition na im make crayfish bend. It was quarter to 6 a.m now and I already knew the suicide routes.

If Maryland is free then I should hit Jibowu and dash on to the third mainland bridge to link up with Osbourne road. Cutting through Anthony to Oworo wouldn’t be wise now, and Apongbon, the road’s still under repairs, I slam the lorry through Ikorodu road and make a sharp U -turn after Jibowu, I would not climb Yaba bridge except on Thursdays when traders wouldn’t be in till 10a.m. due to sanitation.

As predicted, I join the bottleneck just before Adeniji, endure till I hit the Osbourne bridge, the breakthrough did not last for long, but I was prepared for that. I slice through the exit by the right and cut out to the left just before the turning that led to NNPC. I go on straight into the road and turn right again, “wa sere”, this should be the last lap, Falomo bridge and we are home, sweet home. The right side moves the fastest so I make a rough cut just before the bridge past the Assumption Church to the “round about” to join the “wise” ones who went through Awolowo way at this time of the morning. 6:25am already. Everyday was not going to be Christmas anyway. As I watch my colleagues on this side of the bridge move slowly towards the Island, I felt like running into this 1915 Camry which had broken down halfway into the bridge and right beside it, the annoyingly ever-overheating Benz Model, the baby benz 190E was overheating.

Trust my people, the same people who were saluting while I went through those shortcuts in order to ensure they resumed work early were the same set of people screaming “we want his head!”. Eventually, the Camry picks up but of course 5 minutes on Falomo bridge is equivalent to 15 minutes at the Law School. So the evil morning went brothers and sisters, the most beautiful yet old traffic warden stops my truck when I was hoping to be the last to pass. I hiss loudly she could have heard even through the A/C tight chicken factory I was driving, and when she finally allows me to go, I look at my rear view and the same Camry couldn’t move, I pity the guys behind him, I saw it coming so I forcefully overtook him at the bend before the halt.

The rest of the journey wasn’t really smooth but provided nothing to talk about save for the usual scenario of bankers looking up to Iya Basira to “do as usual” and fill the hungry plates up, then they return to the office, blasting English like they ate at TFC or Tantalizers. I know say una don chop, make me sef run go mama put go feed the worms for my belle. Forgive my Spanish pigeon English.

Have a nice day at work and remember, if you are negligent at work today, someone’s at the interview waiting to take it.

Osenobua! Na red eye we dey o.

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