So I am in a bus – not the air-conditioned, comfortable seat type bus, I mean ‘this is Nigeria’. I am in a Danfo, sitting on a pako seat with an iron head rest type of bus, the type that always has
The evangelist screaming “the Kingdom of God is at hand, shange your ways…”
The loud Yoruba woman that is always making a call “haaaa so Kike ti loyun”
The political debaters: “we must change the change, APC se ba puo”
The serial dozer ‘nods nods, hits head on iron, wakes up, repeat.
The fat person that is always eating “galaaaaa, abeg bring two, and two superyogo”
The living advert with the igbo accent ‘EM EM EM will make your dreams come true. My uncle’s brothers girlfriend has built a house with this money
The JJC that just came into town: “excuse me sir, how do i get to Obalende?”
And then there is me, the observer, the quiet one with headphones on listening to nothing and everything simultaneously.
Then something happens and what you hear is “park, PARK!” yelled by a scraggy-looking man carrying a long whip. The conductor jumps out of the bus and confronts him. A fight breaks out and the JJC sitting next to me asks “won’t you call the police?” The entire bus bursts out laughing and the living advert whispers in JJC’s ears ‘welcome to Lagos”.