There is a piece I have been pushing against writing. I am neither short of how to write it nor have I hit a writer’s block, but somehow, I feel that it should come as a book, not a piece. Alternatively, maybe in parts. When a piece is inspired by the conviction that EVERYBODY IN LAGOS IS MAD, you must know that the account can’t be rendered exhaustively in a piece. But then, I should share this, because this struck me as crazy.


About three weeks ago, I was at the High Court of Ikeja. After the business at the Court, I proceeded to one of the canteens in the Court premise to have my lunch. In less than 3 minutes after my order, a man walked in. Very sane looking, composed, and interestingly, he didn’t appear like someone who strayed into the canteen, he was treated with due respect and even addressed like an officer of the Court.


He turned back, our gazes met, he looked so shocked and stunned at something unknown to me or anybody at the scene. Immediately, I looked back to be sure I was not missing out on something. But gradually, his amusement dwindled, he placed his order and sat very close to my table (not the same table) but he was directly facing me. Then the drama started- he would take a mouthful, look at me critically, sigh and then continue. When he repeated the same habit like 7 times, I started having my concern. As If he knew I was getting uncomfortable and needed an explanation, he called my attention ‘officially’ and asked “Did you sleep with my wife?” “Sir”, I let out without having the intention to do so as I turned my ear to him to be sure of the question. Without hesitation, he repeated, but in a modified language “Are you the father of my 3 years old boy”? I looked around, I wanted to be sure I was still in the land of humans, those of sound body and mind at that, and yes, I was. It was still the Lagos High Court, Ikeja premise. I forced a smile from my throat, he didn’t look less serious all the while, but I needed that smile to sway his mind about what was going on my mind (nothing was though).


“I can’t say he looks like you, he is you-the head, face, lips, skin colour”. “Did you sleep with my wife…” “No Sir, I don’t know her”, I interjected and walked out.


Today, 30.08.2016, I was at the Court premise again. Around 9 in the morning, it was drizzling, so I went to the same canteen, not to eat but to hide from the rain. Then in less than 5 minutes, a short dark man in his late forties entered. He was met with greetings and what was a sane conversation about work by another man I met in the canteen. He proceeded to sit, and behold, it was him again, he sat at the same spot he sat the other day, while it dawned on me that I was on the same seat I sat on our first encounter. He dragged his chair close to his table and looked up, then he sighted me and fixed his gaze. I didn’t look away, and he did not for like a minute. Then he started again “How will my son just look like you! It is too much; this is not ordinary”. I didn’t say a word. It was no longer funny, I only needed to project his thought pattern and think like him at that point. It is a safety approach; you think like the challenger sometimes.


He continued in his fashion of “did you sleep with my wife?”, “you’re the father of my son" for like 2 minutes. When I appeared unbothered, unentertained or threatened, he kept shut and was giving me a suspicious and resentful look. Then, he stood up, told someone he will be back, and guess what? I ran away.

Nigeria is now different, only God knows I have no idea of what he was talking about, if he returns with a gun, a bullet knows no innocent man, and I don’t want to die for nothing. Staying there is like a qualified driver driving on the highway and thinking “Since I drive with sanity, there is no threat of accident”. Trust me, for every sane man in Lagos, there are about five hundred and twenty something mad men.


For those who will ask "why did you run?" when you find yourself in such circumstance, please order for a bottle of coke and relax right there, you'll be offered a straw at the emergency unit of a general hospital.


NOTE: I was told that I ought to make a request to see the pictures of the wife and the son, but to me, that is taking oneself into the lion's den, and an implied way of saying: Okay, I’ve slept with people’s wives, but let me see your wife, maybe she is one of them.