The Lagos Dream

Ifeoma ran towards the direction of the slimy bathroom that she shared with ten other tenants. The time was 5:30am. She could hear the call to prayer from the mosque situated just behind her compound. She adjusted her wrapper as she made her way to the backyard. The morning air was cold, as cold as the chilled can of beer Ifeoma had every evening after a long day at work. She took in the cold, because she knew that it would soon be replaced by the sweltering heat of the sun. The area was dark, save for the dim reflection from the tiny bulb in the compound's kitchen. 

A big rat scuttled in her direction. "Chineke Jesus!" she screamed. She was taken back to a time in her life where she was beaten for her fear of rats. "If only Mama had realised that the rod of correction was not the remedy for fear," she thought aloud. 

The crowd at the compound's tap was nonexistent at this time. She was greeted by three groggy children who clutched to their tiny water cans like they were going to develop wings and fly away, and a neighbour with a chewing stick. 

"Good morning sir," 

"Good morning Ifeoma. May the day be good to us."

"Amen sir." 

Ifeoma filled her bucket and ran quickly to the bathroom. She had wasted a lot of time already. The moon was already giving way to the brilliant rays of the sun. Ifeoma admired the glorious scenery and found an empty stall. The pungent smell of urine hit her almost immediately. 

Bath time did not take time in such living conditions. Anything longer than five minutes would result in an angry knock on the stall door, followed by a stream of curses. 

Prosper was still asleep at 6:15am. He had an interview that morning and had no business being tardy. He woke up drenched in sweat at 6:25am. It usually took a while for him to get up. Prosper was not a morning person. He smelt his armpit and cringed, he smelt like a young heifer. Suddenly, he remembered where he had to be and sped off to the bathroom. 

He was ready in less than twenty minutes. The rush that came with being a Lagosian was evident in almost every area of his life. Prosper took a look at the bloody mess he called his room, and made a mental note to clean up when he got back. 

Living in Fadeyi had its perks. It was easy for his girlfriends to locate and its proximity to the bus stop could not be taken for granted. This was the best place he could afford after his oil mogul father had cut him off over a year ago for having an affair with his stepmother. 

Prosper hurried to the bus stop, past a bunch of arguing schoolchildren, a preacher with his huge Bible and a megaphone calling people to return to the kingdom of God. Lagos had woken up hours ago and he was here for it. 

The sun had risen by the time Ifeoma made her way to the bus stop. The littered streets were full of people, all in a rush to get their daily bread. Mothers stood in front of their houses, giving their young ones a bath. The smell from the mosquito ridden gutters hung in the air like a hangman's noose. Ifeoma scrunched up her nose in disgust. She was late to work already. No god could protect her from the query that was waiting patiently at her office. She cursed under her breath. Any serious minded Lagosian was at the bus stop by 5:50am, anticipating the arrival of the BRT buses. 

Just an express road was standing between her and the bus stop. She could spot the crowd already. There was no way in hell that she could get a bus. Ifeoma had two options. Taking the pedestrian bridge which was two minutes away, or risking her life by crossing the expressway.

"Pedestrian bridges are for pussies," she chuckled as she dashed across the ever busy road. She was not the only one taking this risky step. A pregnant woman and her two toddlers were also dashing across the expressway. 

Impatience was the mark of a true Lagosian. When they were in a bus that moved too slowly, they would come down and jump on a bike. The need to be in a hurry was never ending. Walking too slow could earn you a load of insults on a good day, getting trampled happened on an extremely bad day.  

Seeing that the queue for the BRT bus was as long as the remaining years she had on earth, Ifeoma scoured the busy road for the yellow buses. 

The first bus swerved sharply and came to a stop. Two passengers had jumped down before the bus had reached its stop. This Monday rush was real. Ifeoma sighed loudly and approached the bus conductor. 

"I dey go Yaba, how much?" 

"Sisi na 500 last, going to Ojota na wazo". 

"Oga how far, fear God," Ifeoma begged. 

"Oya pay 300 naira and enter, no tell anyone say na that price you pay o!" 

Ifeoma entered and sat down at the edge. Beside her was a bulky man with a funny hat, eyes fixed on a Bible. "Oga abeg shift," she said. He looked at her sheepishly and reluctantly moved. Ifeoma exhaled and counted her blessings. First, there was water in the morning and second, she had found a bus. 

Her joy and sadly, her comfort was brought to a pause when the conductor returned to the bus. He sat on a vacant seat and the atmosphere was replaced with a pungent smell of body odour. Ifeoma held her breath and held a handkerchief to her nose. "God help us all," she muttered.

The dilapidated bus snaked through the terrible Lagos traffic and made its way to Fadeyi. The driver parked at the bus stop. " I no dey go Yaba again, oya everybody come down," he shouted. The passengers grumbled and rained curses on him. "Come down if not I go carry you go Ojuelegba," he bellowed. 

The passengers accepted their defeat and came down noisily. The driver drove off, leaving them in a cloud of dust and smoke. The time was 8:30am. Ifeoma was dangerously late and was two bus stops away from her workplace. 

There was a crowd at the bus stop. People like her who were anxious to get to work. A bus rattled along, and suddenly there was a massive frenzy to catch the bus. Ifeoma struggled to get into the front seat and was pulled back by a young man dressed in a black suit. It turned out that she was not the only one who had been eyeing the front seat. 

He shoved her aside. She pulled him by the collar. "Woman, if you no comot for here I go commot ya teeth just now," he roared. Ifeoma would not let go. "Madam, 600 years of suffering for you and your generation if you no leave me," he said. 

Ifeoma let go of his collar. Another took the front seat. They looked at each other and laughed. Lagos had turned them into touts. 

Thankfully, another bus came along. The time was 9:30am. This one was half empty, causing the struggle to be less chaotic. Ifeoma and the young man got in. 

"My name is Prosper and I was on my way to a job interview which I'm clearly late for. What's your story?"

Ifeoma proceeded to tell her story to this young man from the bus stop. She told him about how she moved to Lagos from Enugu, in search of a better life. She told him about how her mother's early demise had brought about hardship, and how she was cooped up in a chicken pen called a house all in the name of pursuing the Lagos dream. 

In turn, he told her about his rough relationship with his family. How his mother killed herself when she learnt that her husband had been molesting their daughter. How he had avenged his mother's death by seducing his stepmother. 

Ifeoma listened, tempted to hold the hand of a stranger she had just met. Prosper was shocked, he had unburdened his life to a woman he did not know. They had never felt this way before. 

This unusual meeting from the bus stop would then span into a series of meetings, leading her to a decision to marry him and together they would achieve the Lagos dream.