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Never mind that it was barely 5am, Wole had already hit the road, briefcase in one hand, tie hanging loosely around his neck.

He was but part of a crowd; the Lagos crowd, working from dusk to dawn to keep a roof (no matter how leaky) over his head.

He joined the throng at the bus stop jostling for the available buses and “keke napep’s”; no thanks to Fashola, Okadas were now extinct.

The bus-stop at this time looked strangely liked a Corporate Wrestling event; men and women in Suits and ties trading a few blows as they rushed on into the buses.

The conductors chanted their anthem “enter with your change o!”

Wole had long learned that this part of his day required an innate skill; his first few days at the bus stop had inevitably led to the loss of a few shirt buttons and a wallet.

Say what you may about Lagos pick-pockets, but they sure are early risers.

Thus, Wole, the bus-stop veteran pulled a shirt here and there and was firmly planted in his seat in a matter of seconds.

His luck wasn’t holding up this morning; he had the extreme ill fortune of sitting next to the conductor.

If you board buses in Lagos, there’s just one cardinal rule, NEVER EVER sit next to the conductor; this rule is a product of experience and necessity and in time, if we’re lucky, the House of Assembly just might pass it into law.

The armpit of many a Lagos conductor doesn’t see water too often. You see, they use the “potent” smell from their armpits to keep away mosquitoes at night.

Many conductors are also not on very good terms with their toothpaste and toothbrush. A shot of ogogoro in the morning usually kills all the germs.

Wole was quickly acquainted with the conductor’s wonderful morning breath and in the process of collecting his fare; the conductor stuffed his armpit into Wole’s mouth a few times.

Never mind that the conductor was wearing a sleeveless vest.

Thankfully, this aroma drove the last vestiges of slumber from poor Wole; after all, they say dark armpits, sorry, clouds, have silver linings.

The bus slowly crawled on to Lagos Island, getting stuck in traffic every couple of minutes; a few “night workers” could be spotted making their way home.

Last night their attires looked attractive, during the day, they just looked naked. That should give you a clue….

Wole’s bus arrived at CMS at 6:30, he was the first man out of the bus, and he had barely 30mins to get to the office.
Wole’s company had a rather ingenious policy of docking N1, 000 for every incident of late-coming.

The fact that Wole earned N40, 000 a month made punctuality a necessity. N1, 000 daily penalty for twenty working days and most of his salary would be gone.

Surely, you don’t need a degree in Mathematics to deduce this.

Wole passionately loathed his job. From the shabby overweight secretary Florence to his dim witted colleagues,

Wole felt that this job was heaven’s punishment on him for some sin in his past life.

Wole was a graduate of the University of Benin and while he didn’t graduate top of his class, Wole was an outstanding student, bagging a Second Class (Upper Division).

Wole had instant visions of a six figure salary, a house on the Island and at least three exotic cars. After all, he had graduated with a “2-1”.

Instead, this was Wole’s reality; a take home pay that kept his body and soul just within touching distance, and yet he didn’t have a choice.

All the influential and connected Uncles, aunts and family friends had made countless empty promises.

As was his usual routine, by midday, he was in deep thought, because by his break time, Wole availed himself the opportunity of what he termed financial freedom; His daily dose of “BABA IJEBU”; the six lucky numbers that would one day fetch him millions.
This daily addiction cost Wole dearly but you know what they say about how a man must take his chances.

After all, Dangote and co all made their billions through persistence.
Lunch itself was usually a drab affair;

Mama Ngozi’s buka was the cheapest in the area and by virtue of Wole’s finances, he inevitably became a regular.
Our people say “soup wey sweet, na money kill am”, Wole’s version was, “Soup wey no sweet, na Mama Ngozi cook am”.

Mama Ngozi’s food was one of the necessary evils in Wole’s life.

To label her food tasteless would have been the greatest compliment her food would have ever received; but where else could you get a plate of rice and a good piece of meat for N150 on Lagos Island.

With a salary like his, Wole quickly settled into stuffing down his daily punishment (or lunch as some would call it).

After all, unpleasant experiences are best dealt with quickly.

The discomfort from Lunch often kept him alert through the rest of the day and by 6pm; the first man out of the office door was usually Wole!
He had to rush home to expel the remnants of “lunch”.

As with Lagos, getting back home was always the tricky part; this time another throng of corporate slaves.

Weary from the sundry experiences and hectic work schedules, the burden of work undone on their shoulders.

Home was a solace, and they were in an angry rush to get there.

Another wrestling match ensued, this time more spirited than before; unfortunately Wole was totally out of his depth here.
He wasn’t a king at this bus-stop; it was going to be a long wait.

Just then, fate smiled on Wole, a bus stopped a few metres from him; with the conductor chanting, “Oshodi Mile two, one more SHANCE”.
In a dash that would have put Usain Bolt’s world record to shame, Wole dashed to the bus and took the only available space.

Wole thanked his stars and settled in for a bumpy ride to his destination….little did he know that fate had other plans for him….

Hey Moscomoet, its like u have a penchant for raising appetite and dashing it. Abeg come and continue this story o!