I woke up
today with all the old bones in my aged body, screaming in pains.
Believe me,
if you think, you’d been having a bad day since Okada riders went underground, you’ve seen nothing.
Ha! I’ve
been having baddest(sic) days since
all the brouhaha began.
Take Friday
(yesterday) for instance…I was supposed to head to Lagos Island and it turned
out to be a nightmare!
Lagos Island
on a good day, even with the presence and availability of Okada riders, is a place I naturally avoided.
It’s not
just the distance, but the lagoon, crazy commercial bus drivers and of course,
my natural phobia for wide expanse of water!
But that Friday
was supposed to be an important day. It was supposed to be a life turning day
for me.
Whether I liked
it or not, I just had to go to Island.
I had rushed
out of the house like the hounds of hell were after me. I was hell bent on
getting there early…making a good impression if you know what I mean.
Good impression
counts!
Rather than
take a bus from Egbeda to Oshodi, N100, where I would take commercial bus to
CSM, I opted to take a bus to Domepu for N70, stop at the BRT bus stop, to take
one of the Lag-buses to Island.
It was one
of the worst mistakes of my life. When I reached the BRT bus stop, I saw a mammoth
crowd.
My heart
sank!
Since Okada riders started their wahala with Lagos State government, that
was my first time of venturing outside mainland…yes, of course, I used to go to
office but that’s on mainland …but don’t even get me started on that story…
Another name
now for hell is living in Lagos…but it’s a hell we all have to get used to I guess.
The crowd
was thick. Some people were standing; others were sitting on stones, pavements,
sticks. It was simply a refugee camp. A crazy market square.
Nobody was
saying anything to anybody. Those who spoke took sadistic pleasures in criticizing
the state government...calling the government names. These commuters had become
emergency politicians! And can you blame them?
There was
supposed to a long queue, but forget it, nobody was paying attention to it.
Nobody…I mean
the officials of these BRT buses had the courtesy to tell the waiting commuters
what the heck was going on…were the buses ever coming or not?...and if they
were coming, how long were going to take?
For God sake,
were they driving from America to Dopemu?
You wouldn’t
believe that I waited for over two hours without any BRT bus showing up.
People
guessed that the growing crowd was because there were no longer Okada riders to mount to Island. Apparently
many of these commuters used to charter Okada
to take them to Island.
Wow! That
was living dangerously.
Tired of
waiting, I crossed over the expressway, went under the Dopemu bridge to take a
bus heading to Yaba, from there; I hoped to take a BRT bus to marina.
I did just
that…only thing was, the BRT bus I took from Yaba, developed fault at Oyingbo
area.
We all filed
out like goats being led to a slaughter house. We stood under the scorching sun…waiting
for another BRT bus to come and take us to our destination.
When the bus
finally came…it was ‘standing’ for every one of us unfortunate victims.
We were too
happy to file in and stood like Sallah rams. I particularly had been sweating like
a Christmas goat, which knew it was about to be roasted.
I was unfortunate
to stand in front of a short, fat woman, holding a heavy sack.
If you think
I’m short, then you’ve not seen this woman. She reminded me of what footballers
in Ajegunle calls ‘double leather football.’ At every pot holes that the bus
ran into, her heavy frame would smack hard against my backyard! At every lurch
of the bus…huuu! Make I no talk too much ojare….too
much talk dey cause confusion!
Needless to
say, a journey I started by 9am to Island, ended by 1pm.
You think
you’ve had a bad day? Nay, you’ve not! Try mine!
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