Lagos has severally, and rightly so, been described as no man’s land. What informed such description can be found on multiple fronts – diverse and interestingly so.
Arriving in Lagos for the first time, I wasn’t surprised to see the popular and dreaded LASTMA officials, in their yellow on horse-blood red uniforms, directing the bus conveying us to where they felt it was supposed to park. Such paramilitary government institutions have become commonplace in most of our states; they have appeared the only response by our “innovative” governors to the scourge of “youth unemployment” ravaging the land. This is however a wonderful response, for on cursory observation, one sees that such organizations are usually filled with rustic, stone-faced, middle-aged to outrightly elderly persons, so set in their old ways that it has become absolutely impossible to expect any form of civility from them. This is same with Lagos state, for we usually hear the government singing on different keys with the actual perception of the people on its paramilitary wing.

They, however, serve a purpose for the driver refused to stop at some points when requested to. The reason? He didn’t want LASTMA officials swooping upon him.

When people say that Lagos practically sits on water, I never believed them until I took the trip from Ojota to Obalende. From atop the Third Mainland Bridge, I beheld the massive body of water below, so expansive that it was sometimes dreary. Many thoughts came on my mind: how deep could the water be? What happens should one of those canoes conveying people across capsize? I had heard of that happening before. One had to be a very good swimmer to harbour any hopes of survival and even that ability had to be backed up by massive reserves of strength if such won’t find himself overwhelmed by the tide midway. I willed never to undertake any of such missions – definitely not in one of those wooden boats.

The style of bus seats was another fascinating thing. They were so functional that associating any form of comfort to them appeared sinful. I wondered whether the bus owners, after purchasing such buses, took them to the panel beaters or welders to get the original, padded seats removed, for those hard, Spartan looking benches that unendingly reminded you of the fact that you weren’t on your couch at home, therefore had no business falling asleep on them.

Eventually, we arrived at Obalende, and I saw for the first time, the much talked about under-the-bridge apartments, mainly associated with Lagos. I looked below the bridge and saw men and even women, who had made living spaces for themselves; sovereign demarcations where some of them were either fast asleep or engaged in one domestic chore or the other. I wondered how such persons weren’t affected in anyway by the din all around or the flurry of vehicular and human movements above them, but then that’s Lagos for you.

I wondered at the apparent social disparities all around, as one could see from a spot the very poor and the very rich. Their accent was different, their smiles too. It even showed in the silkiness of their skins, the kind of cars they drove, the clothes they wore and the kind of tricycles, or keke marwa, they boarded. One thing bound them together – the general rush that had become a way of life with Lagosians.

The people appeared in a perpetual rush; they rushed to push themselves into cabs, board steely seated buses, get on old, noisy tricycles and even to purchase fuel from the fuel stations. You saw persons rush to work in the mornings, sweating in their smart looking suits and fancy ties; you saw them unmindful of what they wore, ready to get into a struggle with even the smelliest fellow jostler for the last available seat in a rickety keke marwa. This didn’t change in the evenings as same persons rushed home from work, they had club meetings to meet up with, they had evening church services to attend.

Gradually, the shadows came on and the streetlights came up (this is one thing for which I must commend the Lagos state government, though achieved on a budget bigger than what some fellow African countries can boast of). Some, held up by the traffic hold-up could still be seen hurrying to their various abodes of rest, but chairs and tables have been set against the walls beside the traffic lights. On these were seated persons of different societal strata – the businessmen, the bank executives, top management staff, the shop owners, a few drivers and even street hawkers keen to catch some fun and burn some cash after a hard day. One could see on the tables items ranging from expensive wines, beer bottles and even a few soft drinks to plates generously decked with pepper soup and chunky suya cuts. No one was left out of this rendezvous, not even those lurking in the shadows puffing at rolls of tobacco and even the illegal marijuana.

As the night wore on, one was exposed to the sight of scanty and salaciously dressed femme fatales shuttling to and fro the sidewalks, flaunting their perceived assets at whoever walked by, suspecting such to be prospective customers. Like the general diversity all around, these came in different shapes and sizes; from the extremely thin to the generously fat, from the innocently young that you wondered who let them out of the house at such odd hours to the sickeningly old that you wondered what made them think anyone would be attracted to them; all such jostled around like roaring lions seeking whom to devour.

I wanted to see some form of order, some order in the inevitable hold ups, that arose from vehicles attempting to turn in the middle of nowhere, but saw none. I wanted to see some form of order in the forceful and wrongful determination by some motorists to use two-laned roads like they were four or five lanes. I wanted some order in the uneven distribution of developmental projects that saw some areas having beautiful and well-marked roads while others were shamefully puddled and cratered all over. And I realized that I was expecting too much from the Lagos government, after all these were problems with about every other state’s government in Nigeria, I realized too that its description as the “centre of excellence” was farcical, at least for now, and that much more needed to be done to make it actually so.

I join the current outgoing governor to say: ‘EKO’ONI BAJE O!’

Welcome

@ OP, I say a nice write up.

Egeh omueh!

.

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Nice write up.

hadura29:
Welcome

Thanks.

UAE123:
@ OP, I say a nice write up.

Smiles...I think so.

cleatoris:
Egeh omueh!

Oni'ughina ee?

ba7man:
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Nice write up.

Yea, my honest observations...Thanks.

Nice write up Op. I love going to lagos.

ok!

tlops:
ok!

hmmm

we need to keep nnas out.......of lagos o.....sho ti gbo....

Ohibenemma:
Lagos has severally, and rightly so, been described as no man’s land. What informed such description can be found on multiple fronts – diverse and interestingly so.
Arriving in Lagos for the first time, I wasn’t surprised to see the popular and dreaded LASTMA officials, in their yellow on horse-blood red uniforms, directing the bus conveying us to where they felt it was supposed to park. Such paramilitary government institutions have become commonplace in most of our states; they have appeared the only response by our “innovative” governors to the scourge of “youth unemployment” ravaging the land. This is however a wonderful response, for on cursory observation, one sees that such organizations are usually filled with rustic, stone-faced, middle-aged to outrightly elderly persons, so set in their old ways that it has become absolutely impossible to expect any form of civility from them. This is same with Lagos state, for we usually hear the government singing on different keys with the actual perception of the people on its paramilitary wing.

They, however, serve a purpose for the driver refused to stop at some points when requested to. The reason? He didn’t want LASTMA officials swooping upon him.

When people say that Lagos practically sits on water, I never believed them until I took the trip from Ojota to Obalende. From atop the Third Mainland Bridge, I beheld the massive body of water below, so expansive that it was sometimes dreary. Many thoughts came on my mind: how deep could the water be? What happens should one of those canoes conveying people across capsize? I had heard of that happening before. One had to be a very good swimmer to harbour any hopes of survival and even that ability had to be backed up by massive reserves of strength if such won’t find himself overwhelmed by the tide midway. I willed never to undertake any of such missions – definitely not in one of those wooden boats.

The style of bus seats was another fascinating thing. They were so functional that associating any form of comfort to them appeared sinful. I wondered whether the bus owners, after purchasing such buses, took them to the panel beaters or welders to get the original, padded seats removed, for those hard, Spartan looking benches that unendingly reminded you of the fact that you weren’t on your couch at home, therefore had no business falling asleep on them.

Eventually, we arrived at Obalende, and I saw for the first time, the much talked about under-the-bridge apartments, mainly associated with Lagos. I looked below the bridge and saw men and even women, who had made living spaces for themselves; sovereign demarcations where some of them were either fast asleep or engaged in one domestic chore or the other. I wondered how such persons weren’t affected in anyway by the din all around or the flurry of vehicular and human movements above them, but then that’s Lagos for you.

I wondered at the apparent social disparities all around, as one could see from a spot the very poor and the very rich. Their accent was different, their smiles too. It even showed in the silkiness of their skins, the kind of cars they drove, the clothes they wore and the kind of tricycles, or keke marwa, they boarded. One thing bound them together – the general rush that had become a way of life with Lagosians.

The people appeared in a perpetual rush; they rushed to push themselves into cabs, board steely seated buses, get on old, noisy tricycles and even to purchase fuel from the fuel stations. You saw persons rush to work in the mornings, sweating in their smart looking suits and fancy ties; you saw them unmindful of what they wore, ready to get into a struggle with even the smelliest fellow jostler for the last available seat in a rickety keke marwa. This didn’t change in the evenings as same persons rushed home from work, they had club meetings to meet up with, they had evening church services to attend.

Gradually, the shadows came on and the streetlights came up (this is one thing for which I must commend the Lagos state government, though achieved on a budget bigger than what some fellow African countries can boast of). Some, held up by the traffic hold-up could still be seen hurrying to their various abodes of rest, but chairs and tables have been set against the walls beside the traffic lights. On these were seated persons of different societal strata – the businessmen, the bank executives, top management staff, the shop owners, a few drivers and even street hawkers keen to catch some fun and burn some cash after a hard day. One could see on the tables items ranging from expensive wines, beer bottles and even a few soft drinks to plates generously decked with pepper soup and chunky suya cuts. No one was left out of this rendezvous, not even those lurking in the shadows puffing at rolls of tobacco and even the illegal marijuana.

As the night wore on, one was exposed to the sight of scanty and salaciously dressed femme fatales shuttling to and fro the sidewalks, flaunting their perceived assets at whoever walked by, suspecting such to be prospective customers. Like the general diversity all around, these came in different shapes and sizes; from the extremely thin to the generously fat, from the innocently young that you wondered who let them out of the house at such odd hours to the sickeningly old that you wondered what made them think anyone would be attracted to them; all such jostled around like roaring lions seeking whom to devour.

I wanted to see some form of order, some order in the inevitable hold ups, that arose from vehicles attempting to turn in the middle of nowhere, but saw none. I wanted to see some form of order in the forceful and wrongful determination by some motorists to use two-laned roads like they were four or five lanes. I wanted some order in the uneven distribution of developmental projects that saw some areas having beautiful and well-marked roads while others were shamefully puddled and cratered all over. And I realized that I was expecting too much from the Lagos government, after all these were problems with about every other state’s government in Nigeria, I realized too that its description as the “centre of excellence” was farcical, at least for now, and that much more needed to be done to make it actually so.

I join the current outgoing governor to say: ‘EKO’ONI BAJE O!’

Na wawa for wawa o.......anoda nna arrives in lagos....chai....let dem ve Biafra o.....

Eshinwaju:


Na wawa for wawa o.......anoda nna arrives in lagos....chai....let dem ve Biafra o.....

Hmmm, ethno-inspired ignorance at its peak! Did you have to quote the entire article to display that? I'm very sure you aren't an indigenous Lagosian, in the first place! And I'm not even from the East. Like Lagos, before now, I've never even seen the Niger Bridge...

So OP, you mean you were looking like "Lookman" at the sight of large waterbody?? You forgot to tell us how much you paid for staring in askance at the water and the streetlights.

Please, which colour is "horse-blood"

cleatoris:
Egeh omueh!

Who art thou, sir

mapet:
So OP, you mean you were looking like "Lookman" at the sight of large waterbody?? You forgot to tell us how much you paid for staring in askance at the water and the streetlights.

Please, which colour is "horse-blood"

"Lookman"? Twas more like brief glances. Didn't wanna blow open my cover as a Johnny-Just-Come...Lol.

Hmmm. Na so!!! Eko oni baje o

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This is going to be something else!!! Running down to grab mine

xtremelygifted:
This is going to be something else!!! Running down to grab mine

Yea, yea! Cc: lalasticlala

Op nice piece. Keep it up as usual