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

FROM SURBUB TO URBAN

Next was the food seller.
The food seller didn't start the journey with us. He was picked up somewhere along the journey. Actually I was hungry before he got on board. I have been hungry ever since my father approved my one week holiday in Lagos. My hunger was greater than the craving for food. It was a hunger and thirst for newness and discovery. An enthusiasm and desire to see, to feel and to adapt.

After the charlatan drug seller concluded his business, the hanging TV came to live. I was visibly overjoyed. I have seen and watched television before but i have never sat to watch a colored television. As children we watched colored television through our neighbors windows. So when the television was switched on, something in me was also switched on. My reaction through hindsight was similar to my reactions whenever Messi scores a breather. But I recalled what Izunna told us when he first came back from Lagos: " in Lagos, when Aeroplane is flying above, no one looks at it. Even small children will be busy with their plays and house chores. Unlike in our suburb, where on hearing the vibrations from an aircraft, we would abandon everything else, rush out to our balconies screaming and waving 'bye bye' to the tiny flying object. When we heard that helicopter landed in our public secondary school in our neighborhood, we all ran to see the wonder, most of us didn't see it. The few that saw it before it took off became local celebrities. They felt advantaged, we felt more local. So i looked around the bus to observe the general attitude towards the television display. I was gladdened when I noticed everyone was looking up.

I can't really recall the name of the movie we watched but i do remember it featured some of those 'celebs' I was hopeful to see at the National Theatre. It was a movie above Emeka Ike and Genevieve Nnaji. Either it was Emeka Ike dying in love for Genevieve or vice versa for that was the summary of all the nollywood movies of that time. I still recall their most popular movie then: NOT MAN ENOUGH.

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

TO BE CONTINUED FOR THE LAST EPISODE

FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

But seeing the states was geographical. 

I took my concentration off the main road and brought it back into the luxurious bus as the road and houses we passed were pretty much the same. Inside the bus however proved more entertaining.

A man in probably his late 40s who had been helping the passengers arrange themselves and their luggage suddenly began to sing: "O praise da Lord, o singo o singo ooo praise da Lord". The passengers immediately began to respond; the women threw handkerchiefs over their heads. Some of the guys removed their caps. Captain my brother and Ekene continued with their endless discussion about their Oga and made it more noisy with their throaty laughter. I wondered if the prayers and gospels wasn't for them. The loader turned man of God was becoming louder at each responded Amen from his 'congregation,. I joined in the prayer but sincerely I joined just as an observer. For me it was another discovery. After the many blessings prayed onto our heads, the 'man of God' began his real business for joining us in the bus. He had written a book on "DESTROYING THE SATAN KPATAKPATA". He asked us to support his ministry to enable its movement towards the permanent site. I wondered if the already established ministries weren't enough for the conversion of souls. What we needed about to our SS 1 Economics teacher was MORE FACTORIES. We used to call him the atheist but for just a moment inside the luxurious bus I concurred with him. He passed the Satan destroying book around beckoning on us all to accept and then give out anything. of course the two people you would have guessed refused to collect the books. Instead Ekene said: "Oga do your business comot make person sleep". Captain laughed more noisily. I smiled but had some pity for the loader turned businessman of God.

Immediately the preacher stepped down, 'Doctor Okenwa took over. From one of the compartments he took out a medium sized 'ghana must go' bag inside which were stored drugs and herbs with the overall ability and potency of healing all types of diseases; cancer, arthritis, back pain, constant fever and headache, diarrhea, syphilis, gonorrhea and other sexually transmitted diseases. Each drugs cures over seven ailments completely without any chance of a comeback. He told us about some testimonies; how a woman was totally cured of her fibroid after taking one of his roots. The woman lost his contact but recognized him inside a bus on his way to Abuja. so many other testimonies with none happening in our own very eyes. A reminiscent of how we do hear about miracles in churches without ever seeing it first hand. So many pastors were said to have cured thousands of mad men yet the mad people we grew up to know were either still mad or long dead; njemiyookwuru, nwanyi na-agara onwe ya, etc. 

Anyway he was patronized mainly when he advertised the totally cleanser that cured all types of sexually transmitted diseases. I wondered why the rush. I thought sex was a taboo #virginme#.

Next came the food seller.

TO BE CONTINUED

FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

........"The journey is far nwa m. Kpee chaplet gi ofuma" she said. I said yes mama while also nodding in obedience as if she was right in front of me to observe the body language.

My big brother was talking with his friend Ekene who was right behind us when the bus left the park. They were constantly laughing intermittently. But I wasn't to be distracted at all in this my first major voyage of my life. The farthest I have ever travelled in my life was between Onitsha and my hometown Ukpor. It's about 50mins journey from Onitsha to my secondary school which happened to also be in my hometown. So I was determined to savour every minute of this journey. I was fully awake, fully observant to see URBANIZATION. Maybe he is a magician who would swipe a wand and my rural life would be made urban.

Once we passed Bridge Head market Onitsha, I realized that the places and landmarks I have always known have ended. The appearance of a highly complicated bridge atop the River Niger brought goose pimples all over me. Or did the goose bumps appear on account of the freezing breeze oozing out from the tiny outlets above head? Yes I have never really been inside a car or bus with its side windows wound up to the finish. My papa's Peugeot, the one we popularly called 'Pick Up' with a tarpaulin back always had its side windows down except for Christmas period when the harmattan dust becomes too dusty. I was however in great awe of the mighty iron bridge as we drew closer. The bridge was made of thick iron that were tightly crosslinked. It looked like a giant rectangular iron hole that opened on both sides. When we got onto it, my awe suddenly transformed into fear. The thought of being right above the dreaded river Niger with just a man-made bridge as a barrier got me nervous. The recollection of what our Physics teacher told us about bridge being built with gaps left to allow for thermal expansion, instead of confidence rather made me more uneasy to know that this bridge has 'holes' on it. However when I confidently looked over my brother's shoulders to clearly see the River Niger that took one of my childhood friends' life, my brother 'Captain' noticed the little fear hidden in my eyes. He smiled and started telling me the little he knew about the Bridge. He was an art student in his schools days and his stories about the Bridge made me regret for a moment while I chose the boring science in our SS1.

"The Niger bridge was built even before the war of 1967. It was built by a French construction company just under one year. During the war, Ojukwu ordered the Biafran soldiers to destroy the bridge to avoid the Hausas from invading Onitsha". "where they able to bring it down?" I asked. My brother replied with a confident and arrogant YES that left me unsure of my own reactions. First I was concerned that the bridge has been brought down before, so it is not almighty. But then i was quite glad that our soldiers were strong enough to bring down this mighty landmark. In about 60 seconds we were out of the bridge and in a few seconds i looked through the Window and beheld a signpost which read: WELCOME TO DELTA STATE.

My brother said to me: "This is Asaba". Before he could go on, I added: "Asaba, the capital of Delta state. He smiled and I was proud. Although 36 states and capitals is elementary knowledge seeing the states was geographical.
TO BE CONTINUED

photo credit: za.pinterest.com

FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

.......My first feel of traveling. My first feel of Eko. And surely my first feel of what is to come

"Captain my brother, how far?" My big brother turned and greeted a man with gleeful handshake, a knuckle and a hug. I looked closely to identify the young man but couldn’t. They must have met in Lagos. I have heard from the too many stories about Eko that Igbos in Lagos see themselves more like brothers than friends. Away from home and one identifies someone he shares the same culture and language with, he feels brotherhood, "nwanne di na mba". 

When they got the tickets my brother introduced his friend to me: "This is Ekene my friend, we served the same Oga in Lagos and we now stay in the same market". Ekene brought out his hands for a handshake and I received the kind gesture with my two hands, the left palm grasping the right wrist. "You look exactly like Captain your brother. Just that you are more innocent". I didn't know exactly how to react to such compliments. But I just smiled while I watched 'captain' my brother defend his innocence. I have never heard anyone call my big brother Emeka, Captain. Lagos seemed to change everything. Maybe my brother also plays for a football team in Lagos. And maybe he plays so well, he is now the captain. Maybe his Super Eagle call-up is just within reach. 

We got into the luxurious and it was as luxurious as was described; two narrow sides occupied by two adjustable seats per row and a central aisle for easy passage. In front and at the center top were television sets mounted for our viewing pleasure. Captain led the way checking our seat numbers against the underside of the compartments where smaller luggage were kept. We inserted our bag into the compartment just above our seat numbers. I was elated. I was just smiling. I was glad. I was in a luxurious bus for the first time in my life. I wished my sister would see me now, I wished all my secondary school classmates would see me. For myself I was proud. In myself I was happy. Sitting down was not just right. I would sit with my two hands placed perfectly on my knees like mass servers on the altar. Then I folded my arms. Again it doesn't seem right. I rested both arms on the armrest I felt too proud. I removed them and then I clasped the two palms together and placed them between my thighs and I felt innocent, new and yearning to discover. 

Before the journey started, big brother Captain bought gala, some soft drinks and #200 mtn credit. He would later go on to call papa that we were about leaving Onitsha. Mama asked to speak with me. We did, she blessed me and reminded me to say my rosary "The journey is far nwa m. Kpee chaplet gi ofuma" she said.

TO BE CONTINUED

photo credit: thesheet.com

SUBURB TO URBAN

......The journey according to big brother is usually between 8 to 9hrs by road. Anyway I don't need the ETA information. I have always calculated it whenever papa told us that big brother will be coming back from Lagos or whenever i woke up and heard that he had left for Lagos. 

Immediately we alighted from the bike that took us to the park, big brother gave me the first advice for a first-timer; "Nnaa, hold your bag well. Just follow me". I nodded without quite understanding the need for the instruction until when we took few steps towards the park. First I thought it was robbery; two men probably in their late twenties suddenly appeared from nowhere infront of us and were dragging my bag off my hand. Frightened, I turned to my brother who quickly shouted at them and they let go but continued to seek for patronage: "bros bianu banye confirmed luxurious bus. No one chance". While one was motioning this way, the other was pointing us to another angle. I would later in the bus ponder on the never-before-heard commanding tone with which my brother calmed my 'assailants'. I wasn't one of His apostles but at that moment I felt it would have been the same tone with which our Lord quietend the turbulent sea. The same tone with which He called Peter, Satan and ordered him to get behind. Same tone with which He ordered the Legion of demons to depart from their captive and drown alongside the expendable pigs. Maybe living in Eko bestows on one some celestial confidence. 

He walked briskly while I followed up behind. He kept looking back to make sure I was right behind. The big buses were lined up in different parks except for the ones already making their exit. Smaller buses parked just beside the highways with a destination board placed atop. As we passed one of those smaller buses, my brother turned and said to me: "be wary of these smaller buses". Again i nodded without quite understanding. We entered a loading park with about 5 big buses lined parallel to each other. Different colors but with one inscription in common: YOUNG SHALL GROW MOTORS. The inscription was written in a V form with SHALL GROW forming most of the inverted apex. 

I have always boarded buses before. Small buses within the suburb and big buses between the suburbs. But there was something different about the YOUNG SHALL GROW buses; they were bigger, colorful and above all, they were LUXURIOUS. 

Luxurious buses according to the so many stories we were told by the 'been-tos' were heaven on earth: AC tight that keeps the inside at freezing temperature. The seats were so many and so comfortable. One can easily adjust the seats even to a sleeping position. And it's just two people aside. The luxurious buses according to the legends were so tall and big you feel you are on top of the world once you are inside. To make it more desirable and a bus of our dreams, our narrators never fell to mention that the buses have inbuilt television with a video machine with which the passengers are treated to various captivating movies till they get to Lagos city. 

Once we were in the park, and close to one of the buses, I stretched out my palms and touched the bus. With my fingers I caressed the bus for a feel of the luxury. This was surely my first feel of urbanization. My first feel of traveling. My first feel of Eko. And surely my first feel of what is to come.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Photo credit: cknnnigeria.com

FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

It was after my senior secondary school examinations that I first visited Lagos. Eko as it is popularly called was a great longing for most of us that grew up in the suburbs. We have heard about the giant flyovers, the no vernacular city that made most of its dwellers speak pidgin with enviable fluency whenever they returned home during festivities. We have heard about the beauty of FESTAC and the foreignness of Victoria Island. We've been made to resent our village streams by the captivating stories of bar beach; the rolling waves, the music, the horses, the smoked fishes and the bikini ladies. We have heard about the National Theatre with its out-of-the world edifice. Once in the national theatre premise, we would see Genevieve Nnaji, Emeka Ike, Omotola, Nkem Owo and Liz Benson as the story went. We felt backward. Even my eyes have not seen our own uwaezuoke and Nze Oderaa. 

So when big brother came back from Lagos after my SSCE, I pleaded with him to ask papa to let me travel back with him. He told papa and after some resistance and hesistance, a week-long visit was granted. My joy when papa finally said: " nsogbu adiro, but biko sooso otu izu uka ka oga ano nata ( No problem, just one week and he is back)" was exceeding. Greater than when Nigeria won Brazil in Atlanta '96.

Elder brother was to go back in three days time, so I started my preparation. My brother bought me a travelling bag. According to him, none of my boarding school bags were fit for travelling to the city. My shirts too, so he took me to Onitsha main market and my local wardrobe was transformed to Eko wardrobe.

The transformation was real. My immediate elder and only sister cried all she could but her own request to travel was turned down my mama even before it got to dad. Mama said constantly: " She won't be traveling to anywhere just yet. I need her in the kitchen. She is my only daughter." To compensate her, a travelling bag was also bought for her, but it was only to properly pack up her too many clothes. I told her I will get her some goodies while coming back from the city but that remark had an undesired feedback; she cried the more.

We got to the bus park in the wee hours of the morning. Upper Iweka was already getting crowded to my surprise. And even some luxurious buses were already fully occupied, ready to start off the journey. The journey according to big brother is usually between 8 to 9hrs by road.....
(TO BE CONTINUED)

photo credit: www.jujufilms.tv

BE WELL-MANNERED

The guy actually got more than he bargained for.

This new year with new resolve yet the old habit always finds its way into the new. Sometimes it does so that the newly dropped habit receive its Karma.

So the festivities are almost over and Lagos city is getting back to shape. Hundreds are already back and the rest will troop in by weekend. Lagos Trade Fair opens on the 9th of January. Those Igbo boys actually do rest.

So I got into a bus this morning en route work. The bus had just one chance when I boarded. So technically I ' ENTERED ONE CHANCE'.
The body complexion in the bus was predominantly fair. I think it was just the driver, myself and another that were chocolate in color ( yeah, I'm chocolate black. Ask iyawo mi). But there were these 3 that were strikingly fair. So similarly fair that I assumed they were family: a woman in probably her late 40s, a young girl of about 21 behind the woman and a young man beside the woman. Maybe the family was going somewhere i concluded.

It then came to past that the Lord asked me to look left. I obeyed. That was when I saw the young man's left palm confidently resting on the woman's left mammalian gland. The palm was confident and almost squeezing its prey. Before my eyes could complete its translation of this public display of affection, the woman turned and gave the guy a loud-sounding slap just a little below the deserving punishment.

The guy filled with guilt maintained his cool while the woman wouldn't be consoled: " idiot, so you can't control yourself. You are here touching a married woman on her breasts. Don't you know that I'm old enough to be your mother? My first son just wedded last Christmas. Shame onto you." 

The guy wanted to put up some defensive words but ended up getting more than he actually bargained for; "ashawo woman. Who touched you? That's how you go about seducing men". The other black guy then concluded: " Oh, so you just confirmed that you touched her breasts because she seduced you?"
His words sounded like a question but he needed no reply before descending on the young man. Heavier slaps and a few blows with just two words separating the beatings: "bloody civilian".

I alighted at the next bus stop with questions in my mind:

1. Why was this young man fondling the woman's breasts?

2. Was it a mistake?

3. If yes, why did he use the words.. seducing men around?

4. The black guy that did most of the beating, is he actually military?

Nevertheless, I saw the proud and impunitive fondling. He was guilty as exclaimed.

Some habits should be dropped.

photo credit: www.lovepeaceandtinyfeet.com