Today is the Thirtieth of July,2014, Anno Domini. The Ramadan break is over. Work resumes. I am on my way to catch the BRT bus. There is a cold drizzle. Lagos life in the morning presents what should be Fela's inspiration for the song ,"Everything Scatter Scatter." Everybody is in a hurry to get to his place of work. There are men in impressive suits,women also in suits. Some are on skirt and blouse,and bathroom slippers. They probably have their high-heeled shoes in their bags. They protect their head from the rain with nylon bags. It flutters in the air like a flag. There are men in jeans. Some are even on their work-clothes. Factory workers,I guess.
Motorists serenade this new dawn with long impatient blasts from their car horns. People are crossing the road,worming their way through the traffic of cars. They are quite nimble at it. It is something they do everyday. The Danfo buses,sometimes, are the cause of the traffic: They collect passengers in the middle of the road because they own the road. I look towards the bus park where I should be. I am trying to give the woman from whom I bought an envelope her money. She isn't paying me the slightest attention. A customer is playfully pinching her behind. She is giggling at his guts.
I toss the money at her;hissing in disgust,and take to my heels. I must be in the office before 8 o'clock.
8 o'clock?
I am presently interning in a law firm at Broad Street. The Human Resources Manager has a pretty face,but it is as stern as the devil's. She will brook no bullshit from anybody. I always see her at the entrance to office greeting the interns with a killer-look. I try to build some confidence against this look. It is a daily routine I do;on my lift-ride to the fifth floor.
At the bus park,the woman who sells ticket,is in a verbal battle with the passengers. There should be two persons doing the job. She is the only one. The passengers are working themselves into a fit.
"This ticket-seller is very slow," they whine.
The bus isn't here yet,I reason.
The passengers have broken the queue,charging the seller all at once. A man is attempting to wrest the pack of tickets from the seller. My God,they are about to come to blows! The people send up a great shout. It drowns the drone of the arriving BRT bus.
Thirty-nine years ago,the late legendary novelist,Professor Chinua Achebe was inspired to write about a particular Lagos morning. It was on the Thirtieth of July,1975. Nigeria's wartime leader,General Yakubu Gowon, had been overthrown in a bloodless coup the previous day. His successor, The Monty of The Midwest,had the promise of a hurricane-sweep: Murtala Mohammed! The United States described him as,among other names; "a daring hausa..." And they wanted him at the Hague. He had no tolerance for indiscipline,insubordination and every bullshit you could think of.
Achebe captured that day; the Thirtieth of July in a memoir;all the civil servants in the city of Lagos literally ran to work. Trust MM,he sacked ten thousand civil servants nationwide! It was the biggest purge in the civil service in Africa at that time. I do not know if it still is... .
I step into the office of the receptionist. The room is oozing with cold air. I walk briskly to sign my name and my time of arrival at the attendance note. It is 7:30 AM. My heart sings with beatitude. Other interns haven't arrived yet... So I am the first? Praise God!
The Human Resources Manager;Murtala re-incarnate,saunters in.
"Morning Joel," she says,looking briefly at the attendance note.
"Good morning."
She looks me from head to toe. I am sure going to win a word of commendation from her. I prick up my ears,waiting for it.
"Can't you wear white and black every day of the week? This is an office establishment. Stop putting on your multi-coloured clothes."
I hear noisy laughter from the next room. It is obvious whoever thinks this is funny is within earshot.