I don’t know which is worse; driving or NOT driving in Lagos. If you drive, you face a minimum of 2 hours traffic, depending on what time you leave the house and where you are heading to. If you don’t, the conductor of the Danfo you board will keep brushing you with his willie-willie. In the space of a few hours, my phone has disappeared from my handbag and my arm is in need of further medical care.
My phone was indeed stolen when I was trying to collect my change from the conductor. He claimed he didn’t have change and by the time we walked round Mile 2, my phone had vanished.
I feel like someone slit open my stomach,uprooted my fully formed baby and ate it before me.
I’m really sad because of four things-
1.I don’t have the immediate funds to get a new one.
2. My personal details are on the phone.
3. Unsaved contacts.
4.I don’t need this negative aura and stress around me when I have other things to think about.
After the phone saga (one minute silence for that phone, please. It was my birthday gift to myself. Satan, why? Why you do me this,o? Why you fall my hand? Jesus, na wa o. Atink say you know every?), I got to the bus-top to meet a sea of heads. I was like: Lagos, do you mean me well? Today again?
My dear Synners, I waited for almost an hour o! When a bus finally arrived, I had to channel my inner Edo to get a seat.
There was a problem, though. I was inside the bus but I left my hand outside. In the process, no chill Lagosians, in the scramble to board the bus, scraped my hand against the metal seats thereby bruising my hand in the process.
Did I mention that I wore a black skirt, an appropriate dress for the wake-keep and burial of my phone? Or that my left hand has gone on a numb break?
Somebody should come and adopt me, biko. I need Tender Loving Care.