The Hopeless Romantic (The Fine Guy in Kaftan) 1

After spending time deliberating on what to wear, I ended up going English. Omo, the native attires had one issue or the other…short hand, off-colour veils, punctured veils…and so on. I just vexed and took a shirt and black skirt to put on. Yeah, it’s really strange for me to do so on a Friday but the girl was getting late for work.

I hurried to the park to board a bus to Ojota. I entered the bus and deliberated on the area to seat. The truth is, it has never been a big issue…choosing a seat in a red bus.

This time around, I was confused. I went to the back of the rows of seat and when the lady stood to excuse me in, I changed my mind and left for the vacant seat beside a neatly dressed Muslim man (well-starched kaftan and a cap).

We started the journey…except from the hurls and insults from the agberos in the car.

The bus went smoothly till it halted at Majidun. The passengers murmured and it was then I discovered that the bus had hit a car in front. It blocked the bus and demanded for a compensation.
“Ama pe lo ni oo… Awon t’on lo ibi ise nko (We will be late today oo/ How about those going to work?)” The passengers lamented.

Yes! I was going to work and I was late. I sat there murmuring when I noticed the ‘Fine guy in kaftan' making a call.

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I was on my way home in the evening. I alighted from the bus and walked to the next park. Again, I wanted to keep walking down but an instinct told me ‘No Maryam, turn here!’.

I entered the next turning which was just close to a GTB ATM stand…and behold…I saw him!

He was walking towards the GTB ATM stand to withdraw money. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was I dreaming? How is it possible to see someone just like that in Lagos!

Oh well, I was very excited. I was about to walk up to him and thank him for his kindness in the morning when I noticed a lady beside him.

Yes, a lady. Did I say a lady? Well, lets call her a woman. She was very big…three times bigger than me and 21/2 times bigger than ‘Fine guy in kaftan’. I decided to stay back and watch them walk to the ATM stand.

So ‘Fine guy in kaftan’ placed his small black bag in between his legs and inserted his ATM card into the machine. ‘Big woman’ stood at the side of the machine, waiting for him.

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The Scammers


I had just alighted from the bus. I held my well-zipped bag closely to my side and walked down the road path. The garage was always busy at night. Traders sold and people walked on the streets like something chased them. If you intend to walk in a slow way, you will be shoved out of the way.

I decided to avoid the stress of walking too fast or falling a trader’s goods by mistake. I took the other path where banks, restaurants and bukas were situated.

I had not walked long when I heard someone answering a call from behind. The voice was very close but I didn’t pay heed to it. This is Lagos and the large number of people that scurry their way on a single road would make of course make them close to each other.

I continued moving till I heard a man greet me in Yoruba. He walked beside and I turned to my left, to reply his greetings.

(The conversations were made in Yoruba but I translated them to English).

“Is this Ikorodu?” He asked.

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