Peace comes tomorrow

I was having a holy dream of praying fervently and getting closer to God until I heard a loud bang on the door. This was about 3.00am. My friend and I scampered up from bed looking very scared. A female voice from the back of the door angrily told us to open the door. That is the voice of Vanessa. My friend opened the door and she matched into the room angrily with a wrapper held loosely,  barely covering her bossom. She said she wouldn’t get out of the room not until we speak to her client and explain to him that she couldn’t go on anymore. She is one of the prostitutes living in the brothel managed by my friend. The hairy client also walked in with a frown on his face. He was pulling his jean over his erection. We were left with no other option than to intervene if we wanted to get back to our sleep. She said the man had used a local aphrodisiac which was working its magic non-stop since 11.00pm.

Imagine waking up to this sort after having a very spiritual dream. The man did not deny the accusation. His argument was that he had duly paid for all the services he is getting and he expects her to honour her part of the agreement.

After about half an hour of persuading both parties to shift ground, I discovered it was time for me to start preparing for work. I had to leave them to start my daily routine.

This is Lagos, I work on the Island as a contract staff in a bank and I leave home as early as 5.00am so that I can get to work early. Though it is always still dark when I leave but the traffic in this city wakes before me. Even the motor park touts and duty-loving policemen are already up to make ends meet.

I grabbed my toiletries from underneath the bed and made for the bathroom. The voice from the bathroom was miming a classic by Celine Dion. I wonder when this termite infested door constructed with wood and roofing sheet will be changed for a better one. I filled my bucket with water and knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Aunty please, do quick,’ I said. ‘You for enter come join me since you wake late today,’ she replied angrily. I had no strength for argument today I just endured till she sang the whole album in her high pitched voice. She stepped out with an irritated look on her face. I muttered good morning but instead she hissed and walked away. I threw my towel over the door and scooped some water to hurriedly brush my teeth. As I splashed the cold water on my body, I remembered my days in the village. I remember the morning dew, the calm and peace which greeted us each morning. Unlike Lagos, where you prepare for the days battle for ten hours ahead and you do the battle for the remainder of the day. As I dressed, I took two slices of bread and munched on it and gulped a sachet of ‘pure water’. Even if the water is impure, as long as it is in a sachet, we call it pure water. I sprayed the remaining perfume I bought from ‘Oshodi under Bridge’ on my jacket which also seriously needs dry cleaning. I stepped out of the building and one of the numerous ‘tenants’ chewing gum carelessly looked at me, smiled and said ‘Oga banker, buy something come o”. I quickly looked away, waved indifferently and said ‘good morning’ as I walked away.

The first day I resumed my job, my fear while going to work as early as 5.00am was that I was at risk of being the only one out at that time. Today, there are just a pocket of people at the bus stop and I don’t have to go through the royal-rumble to board a bus. After managing to beat some people to board the bus, I double checked my phones and wallet in my pocket. Oh! I forgot my phone charger at home. I brought out my earphones and plugged them to my ears. The elderly man beside me tapped on my shoulders and pointed to the bus conductor. I understood, and gave the bus conductor my fare. As I go through my mails and messages, the elderly man was also reading my personal messages with me. Next thing he asked me was ‘How much you buy am?’ It is the IPhone 5s which I had to save money for several months to buy. I decided to tell him a small unreal price so he can end the discussion. I said I got it for Thirty thousand Naira. He replied ‘Them cheat you’. I was surprised. He continued and said his daughter in a higher institution got it for twenty thousand naira. I replied and told him I got my own when it was first released into the market. ‘You young people sha, how will you buy a phone for thirty thousand Naira?’ He continued with this topic of buying expensive phone and I already wasn’t concentrating anymore. I just muttered uhn and hmm and also nodded my head from then on.

Life in a Lagos commercial bus isn’t complete without the morning devotion which everyone gladly joins except for the stern looking Muslim cleric, I suppose from his beard.

After alighting, I stopped by the make-shift canteen at the garage to drink some local pap ‘koko’ before going to the office. The irony about my job is that undergraduates dream about it, while we who are presently working see it as bondage. The only beautiful thing about the job is the beautiful office. I have never for once completed my tasks and the files keep piling up despite the fact that I work overtime always and also weekends.

When I return home at night, I always manage to call my fiancé to listen to her voice and narrate my daily experience. She says it is unbelievable how we live our lives in Lagos. I also think it is unbelievable too but I am a witness to it. One statement she re-iterates is that Lagosians are mad. She wanted to relocate to Lagos with me and has constantly pressured me to secure an accommodation. She has a fiancée working in a bank in Lagos and wanted nothing less than a two-bedroom flat apartment. She couldn’t believe me when I told her the cost of securing such apartment in Lagos. Even after agreeing on a single room, the cost is still crazy according to her. Her first visit to Lagos was that of a ‘johnny just come’. She was amazed at how people of all ages shove and push each other to board a bus. She complained about the cost of everything and concluded that Lagos is over-hyped.

On Sundays, I don’t go to church because that is the only day I have to rest and prepare for the new week. On this day, I sometime ponder over this craze of a life called Lagos. The battle to board a bus remains tasking every day. The extra caution to avoid body contact and preventing pick pockets remains. The excessive noise from power generating sets and partying neighbours is annoying. The frustration of paying power bills which you never consume. The nagging accommodation issue and the slavery which is falsely tagged employment. As a man, I should just fashion out a way to make these burdens lighter for me.

One weekend, I decided to get a laptop so I can bring some work home. Since my boss won’t push for me to get a laptop from the office, I got one from my hard earned money. The following week, I was robbed and disposed of my laptop and phones while going to work. I visited the Police Station to make a report and I got to work late. On getting to work, my boss looked at me cynically; I ignored and sat on my chair to find a query letter on my table which I am to respond to in less than forty eight hours. I got home that day and drafted my resignation letter. This madness must just stop. I woke up around 6.00am the next day. Yes, an hour late. I took my time to queue to take my bath and I also cooked which hasn’t happened in a long time. I got to work around 10.00am with a sense of freedom and relief. I smiled at my boss and he was a little surprised at my rare happiness………………………………..

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