A healthy, altruistic Sunday evening walk turned dangerous in Onike Yaba Lagos

A healthy, altruistic Sunday evening walk turned dangerous in Onike Yaba Lagos

By Hafiz Adewuyi   May 21, 2017   1 comment :

I feel lucky to be back home this Sunday evening with no harm done to me and with all my possessions intact. And I'm starting to seriously consider enrolling in some self-defense training because I know I might not be as lucky as I was today in future.

Whenever someone in my network gets attacked by robbers, I always feel fortunate about the fact that I've never been assaulted in all my time in Lagos, let alone robbed. The worst nuisance I had experienced on Lagos roads was obstinate beggars and maybe, nasty bus conductors. Other than that, I've been okay. Alas, fate decided that today was to be the end of my lucky streak.

Around 6 pm, I stepped out of the house where I'd been all day to have my first meal of the day. My destination was White House buka at Sabo, Yaba. I boarded an Okada whose route to Sabo went through the Onike area of Yaba. During this Okada journey, I made brief eye contact with one peculiar character. He's a raggedy old man who hawks mopsticks around the Onike-Sabo-Alagomeji area of Yaba.

The first time I noticed him in the area was some two years ago when I lived and worked in Yaba. Seeing him every single day on the way to/back from work, doing the same apparently fruitless activity in his old age touched me deeply. So deeply that I actually considered eking out some living space for him in my then en-suite room. In the end, though, my kindness did not make it beyond my heart. Despite the persistent urge to do so, I failed to reach out to the man until I moved out of Yaba after quitting my job.

Today, over two years later, he's still in the same 'trade'; same apparently unrewarding trade. From the look of things, the trade has not improved his life to any degree. Quite poignant, if you ask me (watch this video on my favourite YouTube channel to learn how to pronounce the word, "poignant").

We made eye contact in the brief moment that my Okada stopped just in front of him for traffic. I fumbled through the right pocket of my shorts for the 100 Naira notes the Okada man had given me for change. But before I found them, it was time to move. However, I made up my mind that I was going to have my first interaction with this old man today.

Approaching the old mopstick selling man after lunch at White House

After downing my jollof rice, meat and water at White House, I retraced my steps back to the Birrel avenue junction where the old man sat behind the barracks fence (blue dot in above image). I walked up to him and as soon as I was close enough, I asked him how many mopsticks he had sold today. He sprung up excitedly from his seating position, regarding me as Oga (or something of the sort).

I guess he didn't get my question even after I repeated it two more times. Because he went on to tell me the price of the two categories of mopsticks he carries: 500 Naira for the small one and 700 Naira for the big one. I asked him to show me the small one and the big one for conversation's sake. He pointed them out to me in his stack of about a dozen mopsticks + broomsticks. I failed to see any significant difference though; maybe because I wasn't paying attention. I handed him two of the three 100 Naira notes I had on me and continued on my way towards my house. Of course, the old man was very thankful for my kindness.

Setting out of White House, I had planned to join a bus going to Abule Ijesha (nearest bus-stop to my house) once I was done with the old man. But it required me to walk backwards again to get to Sabo, the bus park. Since I had ample energy in me and a bit of free time on my hands, I took on the task of completing the approximately 2-kilometre distance back home on foot.

I was midway on Barikisu Iyede street when this scrawny looking young man with dreads called me from the other side of the road. He seemed to be greeting me like someone I knew. After a quick scan, however, I concluded that I had never met him. Nonetheless, I responded and waved back at him. This seemed to have excited him, judging from his body language, as he beckoned me to wait for him while he prepared to cross the road over to my side. I kept walking.

Before long, he was beside me on the edge of the road. He stopped me with a call and I obliged; I turned to face him, not wary of any danger. I thought worst case, he wants to share a pity story and ride on the back to ask for alms. As soon as we were face-to-face, I said, "How may I help you"? The rest of the conversation between us ensued as follows:

Him: "Bros, I'm just greeting you now".

Me: "Ok, that's fine. I already answered you now. Is there anything else I can do for you"?

He moves closer, touches my bare shoulder (I was wearing a tank top) a couple of times in an overly friendly gesture. This makes me feel very uncomfortable so I take two steps back, telling him with a straight face and stern voice: "Hey! Don't touch me. You don't know me"!

Him: "Bros. You be my guy o. Na why I say make I tell you say next time, make you no wear this kind colour again".

For a second, I look down at my tank top to confirm it wasn't camo or any other conspicuous colour associated with some occult group. It wasn't, so I was really confused at this point. Just when I was going to reply him, perhaps to ask for clarification, I saw in my peripheral vision, another young man cross over from the other side of the road to join us.

As soon as he was on our side of the road, the first thing he said was, ""Bros. How far! Do you know who I am"? At this point, I was sure this pair of guys were hoodlums and were up to no good. They'd had my attention for an entire minute and not said anything of import. Without as much as another word, I made an about turn and continued on my way home, in my regular brisk but confident pace. I definitely was not going to let this little threat rid me of my confidence. A quick look over my right shoulder a few seconds after let me know that I was being followed.

A map of Barikisu Iyede street, adjoining University road

I'd say the malicious pair followed me for about 4 minutes before branching off the long stretch of road that Barikisu Iyede is. My hope was in getting to the police truck which is usually stationed on University road, just by the end of this street. During my walk, I was busy imagining how painful a stab wound could be and wondering if I'd still be able to defend myself after such an injury.

I was close to the NSPRI guest house (see the green spot in above map) when I looked back over my shoulders after about two minutes of ignoring the guys. I noticed the pair had disappeared from behind me. A second later, I saw them in the distance (see two red dots in above image), just as they were disappearing into Adesina street. Fantastic I thought, I got them off my back. A wave of relief hit me.

Any recommendations for effective self-defense training, so my heart rate won't go as high as it did yesterday due to my biology preparing me for the worst outcome? I'd be happy to hear from you.

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A day in the life of a Lagos squeegee boy - Part 1

A day in the life of a Lagos squeegee boy - Part 1

By Hafiz Adewuyi   January 06, 2017   No comments :

On my way back from the business where I'd gone to make enquiries, I turned in the direction that led to the spot where the bunch of squeegee boys was located. As I approached them, I noticed one of them who was speaking and had the audience of every other boy. I heard him say something about stealing in Yoruba with a voice that reminded me of the typical Lagos bus conductor. The closer I got to them, the lower my confidence fell. The boys were too close together and seemed really engaged. I felt it would be awkward for me to just barge into their midst and ask for their audience. They would probably shoo me off rudely.

I walked past the boys until I got to the end of the road, then I turned around and started again towards the boys. I ended up pacing back and forth about three times, trying to decide the perfect icebreaker for approaching the boys. Alas, nothing was coming to mind. After my third time past the boys, I felt like someone might have noticed my wandering and started to get suspicious. So I threw in the towel and just continued away from the boys towards the junction where I was going to get a bus to take me home.

For the first minute of walking away from the group of squeegee boys, I was okay with my justifications. My ego consoled me with the thought that the boys were probably nothing I couldn't fathom with a bit of imagination. That a chat with one of them would probably not teach me anything I didn't previously know or assume about them. However, as I continued my walk towards home, the full realisation of what I was doing came to me.

I was giving up too easily like I'm used to doing in the face of challenges that take me out of my comfort zone. I felt like a loser and I thought, "really, if you can't do it now, then will you ever get to it? The conditions are perfect now, why don't you take your chance! What's the worst that could happen? At worst they would be rude to you and of course, you will survive that". A line from a graduation speech (The sunscreen song) which Seun Lari-Williams first shared with me in my final year at UNILAG came to me. The line says: "Do one thing that scares you every day".

In that moment, it dawned on me how despite the fact that I had always wanted to follow that instruction because I know how much doing so could improve my life, I hardly ever did. And here I was, about to pass on the perfect chance to live by this rule. "Not this time!", I thought to myself and I found myself turning in the opposite direction once again. Even though I had now put quite some distance between me and the Lagos squeegee boys, I made my way back towards where they were gathered on one side of the Herbert Macaulay road.

"This is it", I thought. This time, I approached from the other side of the road as I was on my first attempt. I figured it would help if I approached a lone boy who had just finished hustling a few customers. As I approached the traffic light behind which several cars were queued, waiting for the green, I noticed the outspoken Yoruba boy once again. He was in the midst of the cars.

I approached him quickly and confidently. As soon as I was close enough for him to hear me, I said in Nigerian pidgin: "Hey, I want to see you. Come with me". With little hesitation, the squeegee boy whom I was soon to find out is named Shakir came with me as I crossed over to the other side of the road and headed for a spot which I deemed quiet and calm enough to host our discussion.

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A day in the life - Series

A day in the life - Series

By Hafiz Adewuyi   January 04, 2017   1 comment :

Up until one of the last few times my friend, Ifeanyi rode with me in my car, I always got worked up whenever I noticed a squeegee boy approaching in traffic. On that particular day, as the boy was doing his thing on my windscreen, I told my friend how I was worried about how much the stubbornness of these street kids gets to me. The only invitation they will ever need to proceed with rendering their service is that your vehicle's windscreen is not sparkling clean. It won't be surprising if they deemed your windscreen deserving of a wash as you drove your car home from a car wash centre.

Ifeanyi asked me to just ignore them, that none of these kids was worth my fretting. From that day onwards, that was how I handled any of these ubiquitous pests who approached me. To help his hustle, each time I see a squeegee boy approaching, I usually make a waving hand gesture to indicate that I am not interested in his service. But that rarely ever stops him from going ahead - my car's glasses are not tinted.

He will go ahead to dutifully apply his squeegee on my windscreen with one hand - soap bottle in the other - completing one side before proceeding to the next. He would continue until either the windscreen is spick-and-span - by his judgement - or the traffic light which brought us together turns green. He would then proceed to the side of the car where I - the driver - am seated to request for a monetary handout; his tip for an unsolicited job well done.

All the while he's going about his business, I would watch calmly from the protection of my car; confident in the security that my wound up car windows offer against him. More often that not - since I am usually in a good mood - I would look in the pigeon hole and the other compartments of the car to see if I have any small notes to hand out. The availability of such notes would then be the sole determining factor of whether or not he was going to get paid for his service.

Today, while walking along Herbert Macaulay road in Yaba, Lagos, I walked past a group of squeegee boys on one side of the road. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel threatened by their presence within my immediate vicinity. After all, my forehead bears no resemblance to the windscreen of a car - except that both are positioned analogously (kind of). The first thing that came to my mind was a (bathroom) idea that got me really excited a couple of weeks ago.

I often find myself wanting to know what a typical day is like for people whom the regular flow of our daily activities would never allow our interactions - if at all they ever happened - breach the mere surface. My mechanic, the Obioma (nomadic tailor), the ancient looking man who has been hawking cleaning mops around the Sabo/Alagomeji area of Yaba for the past few years. Or the mama fine-bara of Ozone/White house at Sabo who inspired a funny Facebook note I wrote five years ago. So, I thought it would be a good idea to let my curiosities lead me as a writer. To go ahead to satisfy my curiosity by starting a writing series which documents my chat with one person that falls into this category from time to time.

Up until today, I had procrastinated my first chat out of a baseless fear that the subject of the interview would not be as cooperative as I would like. As if one episode of rudeness from a stranger would zap all of the self-esteem that I've struggled to build over the last decade of my life. However, today was one when I was not going to let this perfect opportunity slide past me; the conditions were perfect and my passing upon this opportunity would make me doubt if I have what it takes to achieve my dreams in life. I made a mental note to approach one of the squeegee boys on my way back from the business which I had set out for.

To be continued tomorrow...

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First working day after moving to the mainland

First working day after moving to the mainland

By Hafiz Adewuyi   October 04, 2016   No comments :

Just before logging off on Sunday night, I set my alarm to wake me up by 4:30 so I would be on the road to work, latest by 5.15 Monday morning. I had recently moved from Lekki to Yaba (UNILAG area) and with my workplace in VI, I wanted to make sure the increase in my daily commute would not be so high as to be murderous. So, the simple solution was for me was to leave early enough to avoid the rush-hour traffic.

Alas, I woke up just a few minutes to six on Monday to a phone call. Either I had not set the alarm correctly or my body just decided to ignore it anyway. Fortunately, there was an issue early in the morning at work for which my attention was needed. Only God knows what time I would have woken up if my colleague Cyril had not called me when he did. I scrambled to get ready quicker than I usually would and in about thirty minutes, I hit the road. Trust me, thirty minutes is impressive when it comes to me getting ready.

Thankfully, I parked my car at a good spot in the compound i.e. one where no other car was blocking my way out. I got on the road at 6:30 and there was little congestion on the road up till the point of the Third mainland bridge (3MB) where traffic coming through Adekunle merges with traffic coming through Oworonshoki. As I pressed on the breaks, nostalgia of my days in my last job when I had to wade through this traffic every single day washed over me. Now I think nostalgia is not the right word to use here, because, for me, there's nothing desirable about driving through slow-moving traffic. I was shocked to realize that the last time I was in this traffic was well over a year ago. You don't know what you have until you lose it.

It took me 1 hour and 10 minutes to get to work that morning. On weekends when there are no congestions, the drive to work from my new place at Yaba is at most, twenty minutes. So travel time triples in morning rush-hour on 3MB. Who knows what the multiplier might have been, had I left home at 7?

I made up my mind that morning that this was not going to be the norm. I was gonna be an early riser to avoid wasting time driving mindlessly through traffic; time that could be invested elsewhere. After all, when I lived in Lekki, I spent an average of only 17 minutes commuting to work in the morning. True to my word, that first morning was the last time I ever got caught up in rush-hour congestion on the way to work.

Over time, I've also discovered that 8:30pm is the ideal time in the evening to leave from Victoria Island to Yaba in Lagos on a regular weekday. At that time, the 3MB route from V.I. to Yaba is more or less as congestion-free as it usually is (in the opposite direction) between 5 and 6 in the morning. Happy commuting through the madness of Lagos.

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