It's Lagos, Everybody is Mad.

A Lagos Story: Just my random day in our own Gotham City.

Lagos is the city of dreams, they say. An intersection of shattered hopes and stubborn dreams. It's a place you live or leave. A hub to live your wildest dreams or hustle till you can..or die.

Credit: @gdvomo

The city that never sleeps, from the 5 AM chant from the Alfa and the early morning cry of the evangelist to the scurrying of 9-5ers catching the earliest danfo buses screaming “Oshodi, Mile 12” and the likes to the hustle and bustle associated with various walks of life, the daughters and sons of the night having the time of their lives— high on Amapiano and fake booze or trading their sorrows for a one-night stand.

Credit: @phenom_thatguy

If not, it's the city where connections are made, investments are secured, and the affluent cruise through Bentleys, Benz, and Lexus, seeking their next fortune.

Whichever it is, it's the city where lives are transformed, and that's where I live.

Except for the fact that I live in downtown Lagos— Ikorodu, to be precise.

So, back to my reality, guys.

On a random Friday when Lagos was just being itself, I woke with a severe stomach ache. Could it be hunger or an ulcer? Can't be either. I ate last night…Except that I eat late these days. Blame it on my laziness to cook.

As a Program Manager in a Fintech Startup with the keys to the office, I had to get there early for the monthly brainstorming session.

Honestly, why give the keys to the office to someone who lives in a faraway land? Is it not ment!

But who leaves their house without having something to eat? Because how do you survive the madness in this goddamn city? So I said, “This stomach ache has nothing on me.” Then I prepared the usual rice, freshened up and dived into it.

Until a call intercepts, my content strategist calls.

B: Hello, Dammy, where are you?

Me: Uhmm..why do you ask?

B: I need to pick something up at the office, and it's urgent. Have you left your house?

Me: *swallowing the rice in my mouth* uhm. I'm on my way o.

Anyway, I wasn't going to stop my food just for this company to rush me more than usual. Shebi, it's you people that decided to give Ikorodu boy keys to your office in Surulere.

The COO calls, too. I couldn't understand how the hell they wanted me to fly there. I mean, they could have informed me beforehand. But then, no be their fault —na me go find work.

You know when you're trying so hard to beat time and maintain a good record at work, but it seems like the odds are against you? This was me on this fateful day.

'Cause why did I rush from home only to accidentally enter the wrong BRT vehicle? God knows my head will judge the woman who directed me to the wrong bus.

Calls kept coming, but I was nothing but a mere mortal. I couldn't fly, nor could I speed up time, so patience became my best friend. And I was chilling more than Thermocool, unaware I was headed for the wrong route. It looks like my exes’ spirits connived to make this happen.

The realisation struck when I saw the bus wasn't stopping at the familiar bus stops.

Then suddenly, my eyes became clear. Jesu! Where am I? I asked the man close to me.

“Yaba”, he says.

“Yaba keh! Surulere mo n lo”

So I quickly jumped down and began to ask for directions from the slightly elderly agberos I saw.

That was my biggest mistake.

The men asked me to take the bridge up and keep going, so I raced up, looking for the next bus heading to Ojuelegba/ Surulere axis. But I was wrong. Panting hard, I called for buses, but there was no response. I gave it a few minutes before telling this Yoruba woman where I was headed.

“I should go back, keh?”

My response when she told me to head back to where I was coming from and take another direction on the bridge. At this point, there was no time to curse the men who gave me the wrong directions; I just had to get to the office in time.

Dripping in sweat from my shirt to the cargo pants my ex bought for me, I found myself on the other side of the bridge below, where I could get a bus heading towards the Ojuelegba axis.

But whoever made this script must have written many Wale Adenuga Productions’ This Life and Super Story episodes.

Because why in Sanwoolu’s name did I finally secure a seat in a Danfo headed to my destination only for two female able-bodied Road Safety personnel to hijack this vehicle.

My day couldn't get any worse. Which offence did I commit to be involved in this madness? I just want to get to work for chrissake!

But as they say, the protagonist lives to the end. In Lagos, to survive, you must be mad, too.

I couldn't afford to be dragged into the drama, so I scurried to another bus, which took forever to fill up. But just when I had seen it all, another drama erupted between the conductor and the passenger beside me.

Why me?!

It didn't help that the lady wanted to involve me in the drama.

At this point, there was nothing I could do other than give her a listening ear. I would spare you the details because I don't remember shit. But the summary? Lagos men are mad, and conductors are at the top of the table.

How did I get to the office that day? I'm not sure. But I was the last person to get there.

But how do I explain that Lagos happened to me that day? I just accepted my fate: It was just a bad day, not a bad life.

But deep down, I know that it's Lagos. And everybody is mad.

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PS: The accurate bus stops is what I can't guarantee. But you get the gist.

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I made a Spotify Playlist to motivate myself and titled it #Afro-Motivation. I hope it motivates you too.