FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

.......I didn't enjoy the movie as I would have wanted. A woman was carrying a crying child just directly adjacent to our seat.

I could say the child cried throughout the 8hrs journey to Eko. A child of probably 8months to one year. All requests to the young mum to breastfeed the child fell on deaf ears. I guess she was probably shy to have one of her breasts unclad in the public. And then i would have been scandalized if she did. I have never seen such on close proximity. Back at home while we watched local and international movies on our black and white television, we always closed our eyes or asked to do so whenever a romantic scene was being displayed. 

Then came the announcement; " biko enwere ndi Berger (are there people coming down at Berger)?". The voice of the conductor woke me up and my brother who had slept earlier told me: "Anyi abatago Lagos". Those words deleted even the slightest indication of sleep from my eyes. It was after 2:00 pm.and I pleaded with big brother to allow me take his Window side position for clearer view of Eko. "Where is the three man sculpture that they said welcomes everyone to Lagos?" i asked. Big brother told me we have passed it. My FIRST LAGOS DISAPPOINTMENT.

But so many other things were thrilling and as described in the too many scintillating stories about Lagos; there were too many buses speeding and overtaking. Stopping with their bus conductors shouting probably in Arabic as I first thought. Most of the buses were yellow. I asked why and big bro told me that's for uniformity. I loved the sense of order. The highway leading into Lagos was just captivating. Neatly tarred with high rise buildings flanking it. Through the windows I could see those building we had only watched in movies. Very tall and a bit scary. The tallest buildings I had seen physically before then were mainly 3 storey building in Onitsha. Very old with already worn out paintings. Eko seemed grandiose. 

Our bus would soon be climbing up and down of many flyovers creatively designed with beautiful gardens situated beside them. I was in awe of Lagos. No wonder they say it is the CENTRE OF EXCELLENCE. When we passed through the independence tunnel, the Sunlight disappeared for a while and came back on to shone on the portraits of Nnamdi Azikiwe, Tafawa Balewa and the other heroes of independence. Lagos is a wonder. And the tunnel with those pictures pushed me back to my primary school class and I remembered our teacher teaching us SOCIAL STUDIES; "In 1960 Nigeria gained independence. The first president was Nnamdi Azikiwe. And the prime minister was Tafawa Balewa". This is me now living history. This is me now seeing the past. 

Then we got stuck in a traffic. It lasted roughly 45mins but I wasn't bothered at all. The traffic allowed me to discover another wonder of Lagos-The billboards. The billboards in Lagos or signboard as we popularly called them were not just designed with a single picture and static writings. Some of them were moving. "Wow!!!! Signboard with movies" I screamed in a subdued voice. Displaying different pictures and conveying different messages. Had the traffic lasted for about 2hrs I wouldn't have cared. I was being entertained. I saw brand new cars numbering about hundreds parked in car dealers shops. So new and so foreign. I can't recall ever seeing a display of nice cars in this number. Even remembering papa's car didn't help my recollection. Lagos is a place to be. So signposts pointed to some directions. I could read a sign with an arrow supposedly pointing the way to Oshodi, our luxurious bus followed the sign. Then another to Mile 2 then to Maza-maza where we alighted and for the first time in my Entire Life, the soles of my feet were in contact with Eko soil. My sister back in Onitsha must be downcast.

But people were much. So much I could barely see the environment clearly as I did inside the luxurious bus. Everywhere was noisy. Everybody seemed busy. The only place I could relate was Onitsha Main Market.
Big brother held me by the hands as we crossed the double-lane road at Maza-maza. The last time I was assisted in road crossing was before I entered Primary six. Mama would hold you tightly and drag you all through the crossing as if you were resisting police arrest. She would then add an extra force at the tail end of the crossing to make sure you were entirely out of harm's way. She knew the pains of birth. She wouldn't afford losing a child to carelessness. And so we crossed over and waited for a bus which according to my brother would be going to VOLKS-BARRACKS. A bus came by with a conductor either speaking in tongues or in Arabic. Big brother waved it down and as we stepped a foot onto the bus, the driver sped off. I held tenaciously to a seat before inevitably falling on top of an already seated passenger. He pushed me off his body before I could mutter "I'm sorry". HARSH LAGOSIANS. 

The bus conductor continued his rambling at every bus stop. I listened closely to decode his fast ramblings but all I could eventually hear was 'VO-ARAK!!!!!' We got down when big bro shouted "BARRACK OWA OOOO". I was still wondering why everyone was shouting even big bro when he made his way to the door and out of the bus. I followed him. The bus then slowed a bit and big bro jumped out. I followed suit but hit the deck after a few staggering. If it were in Onitsha I would have demanded for an apology. IMPATIENT LAGOS

Do you care to know about my next few days in Lagos?

If YES, Then this story has TO BE CONTINUED

photocredit: tolet.com.ng