Lagos diaries II
Photo: Stephen Olatunde
Caught off Guard
The streets that once came alive at 4:00 am are now shadows of themselves. The order had been given and all were asked to stay at home. A virus was on the loose.
It is two weeks into the quarantine and the supplies at home are quickly running out. From my calculations, they won’t last till the end of the week. What is left? Half a bucket of garri, some cups of rice, some rolled up dried fish and bits of ingredients for one pot of vegetable soup. These were meant for mum’s small buka by the street junction, but, since the lockdown, they’ve been used to feed the house. Besides the lockdown, mum, who has been on bed rest because of her high blood pressure, couldn’t set up shop like the other food vendors in the neighbourhood.
I am Nonye, mum’s first of five children. I am also the only one who has finished secondary school. We last saw our father when Chinonso celebrated his first birthday. He just went out and didn’t come back. Mum does not talk about it, but since then we’ve had to deal with her rapidly deteriorating health in our two-bedroom apartment. I know that the news that father had gone off to marry another woman must have unsettled her greatly, and now it seems that all that bottling up is taking a toll on her health.
Times were hard already, and, with the stay-at-home order, things aren’t going to get better. I had to make a decision. I leave Chidera in charge of the boys and go out to sell pure water. Armed with my face mask and a 50cl plastic bottle of soapy water, I’m ready to combat the virus. I know I won’t be doing the family any good if I get infected.
It is a hot and long day. I head towards the main road as the inner streets are deserted, cutting in between buildings in an attempt to avoid uniformed men.
It is survival of the fittest to make sales. I run after cars, commercial buses, and tricycles, dodging uniformed men. Exhausted, I decide to rest a while by the roadside with my wares. But there is no rest for the weary. From the corner of my eyes, I see a man in army camouflage sneaking up. I make a run for it. The army officer manages to hold on to the fringe of my shirt, but I wrestle his hand off, losing a lot of sachet water to the main road as I escape.
At a safe distance, I count my losses and decide to call it a day. I will try again tomorrow.
Garland of poison
There we were seated
Empty chairs all around
Loneliness crept in like the night
Cold and dry, the bodies fell
Each day the numbers rose
The Queen
She ruled the air
With her crown of many thorns
Clogging our path to life
We fight with each breath
Masks over our noses like ancient warriors
Water running through our hands
We are set for battle
Locked in
We fight in silence
Her domain receding
Fall fast queen of the air
We long to fill our streets
Connections
It is said that you are the only one in the world; there is no other person like you. Yet, we are so interconnected that we unknowingly rub off each other. You never know until you let yourself meet other people. In a city like Lagos, where everything and everyone is on a fast track, everything is heard but no one listens.
She sought my attention while we stood at Obalende bus stop. It was one of those Saturday workdays when we observed a 6-hour work time. It was a cool evening, and I was plugged in listening to Sia's chandelier.
I read her lips and immediately attended to my shoelace as it was undone. I thanked her, and we both continued our lives. I was seated on a commercial bus when I realised she was there again, just by my side, and I needed her help again to make change for the trip. We didn’t only exchange cash. Also smiles.
Her lips didn’t move but I could hear her say: "you again.” I removed my headphones and decided to talk with her. The basics: name, where to, where from, nature of job, education history. It happened that we needed more time to know each other better as she had to alight at the next bus stop. We exchanged contacts, and I promised to give her a call once I settled in at home.
I continued my trip but couldn’t continue on my headphones. She gave me lots to think about. We had attended the same university and had visited the same canteen during that period. Our faculties were close to each other, and, no doubt, we had walked past each other on several occasions. We both remembered the red Corolla incident from our school days. She was there, and so was I.
I searched my mind but couldn’t make out her face, but her description of the event confirmed she was there. Whoa! So, she has been there all this while, and I never noticed. Now that I have seen her, we can connect the dots, and we will see where these dots lead.
Just Mercy
Sought not found
Guilty for your colour
Guilty for your speech
Justice is blind
Others wield her sword
Watching in silence
We get cut down
Mercy is ours
Where justice wins
Yet we wait
For her arrival
Just Mercy
Vampires
They are small
They are tiny
Ruling the night
They kill joy
Piercing the skin
They leave pain
Heat their acquaintance
Sweat their delight
Leaving nothing
Headache is compensation
Small they are
They command the night
Self-made rulers
Choices
Sitting at home in Lagos can take its toll on you. Lagos, the city that never sleeps, is forced to a halt in the face of a pandemic. In a city of over 20 million people, the very air you breathe can become a problem. So everyone stays at home.
Photo: Muhammadtaha Ibrahim Ma'aji
Staying at home when power is a problem and the system is designed to make you the master of all your basic amenities can be a challenge. But we shall overcome. We have been through worse, and we are still here. We can get through this although working from home is a struggle. Consuming all your supplies before the end of the quarantine is a possibility and mind wandering to dark places is a trait. Still, we will make it through.
Sometimes, a little silence is what is needed to make the music of life worth listening to. Those short breaks in between notes give life to the entire body of work. It all falls to each one to determine what those breaks will be used for. To come back strong and ready to face the challenges to come or end up worse off than we were before it all began. It all boils down to choices. Funny how life is full of them. They must be worth something.
Family
F for we are friends
A for affection
M for memories
I for intuitive
L for love
Y for you first
Blood is thick
The soul is strong
We are beyond the physical
We are out of time
Distance is at infinity
Still we stand strong
We are ageless in time
We are one
We are family
Lockdown and lookout
Everything is on lockdown. Everybody is at home. I live in a government-owned estate with three-bedroom flats scattered everywhere. Since I went off to the university three years ago, I rarely visit home, and, even when I do, I don’t get the opportunity to see my childhood friends because of the variations in school calendars. This time is different. Everyone is forced to come home for the three-week nationwide lockdown.
The exhaustion from the quarantine is getting to me, so mum recommends I take a walk with Ola round the estate. Ola too is forced to work from home, and his phone never stops ringing. It is work as usual for him. He decides to give me an hour so we can catch up. We get talking as soon as we step out of the house. There are so many things we don’t know about each other as the three years have left gaps in our relationship.
It is fun talking to him until we run into Bode, his old friend. My temperature suddenly starts to rise. I cannot restrain myself, so I walk away as they talk. Ola beckons me to come say hello to Bode, but I give him the excuse of social distancing. I just stand and watch as my brother talks to the wolf in sheep clothing. The wolf looks harmless and gentle but his appearance is only a facade to get you to trust him. It is all a show for him, his brain always two steps ahead in everything. I can tell he’s already working out something in that distorted mind of his.
The memory is still fresh in my mind. Four years feels like yesterday. I remember the smell of his perfume and his chain. It was dark and I couldn’t take in any more details. But I remember everything: grabbing me from behind, pinning me down on the bare floor with all his weight, firm hands clapped across my mouth. I couldn’t come out with it because no one would believe me; he has everyone fooled with his act.
He couldn’t have his way with me that time, and I have no doubt he will be coming again like a wolf that has tasted blood. This time I will be ready for him and he won’t see me coming at all. The innocence I once had was long gone, and I am ready to face any animal now.
When we get home Ola asks why I wasn’t nice to Bode. I respond with a smile. He doesn’t know who his friend is.
Heart Beat
I was wrong
You are light
You are right
I missed the mark
I lost your love
I was blind
You made me see
I shut my eye
I walked away
You deserve another
My heart stopped
We can’t go on
Better one dies
Than two hearts
Beat for me
Beat with another
A letter from Jollof Rice
Hello there,
Yes, it’s me. I know you know me. My sisters and I have been on African tables for a very long time. We are bright, colourful, spicy and irresistible once we are put together. We have helped many ladies to the hearts of their beloved. We are that good. Even if it means she will be spending most of the time in the kitchen, not in his hands. We have made people commit crimes like breaking into a party uninvited, fight among themselves in public places. We even cause BFFs to become enemies once we are not delivered to them on time. Yes, we are that good.
I am Nigerian Jollof, and I hear I am the best on the planet even Prince Charles (yes, that Charles) had to weigh in on the debate. He confirmed it although my sisters are still pulling their hairs out over who’s the best. For goodness sake, I made us all famous. They wouldn’t remember, but such is life.
I am the go-to festive delicacy for over 180 million people. Go to any event on Saturday aka owanbe, I am available. Just be careful; I am a hot commodity, so if you arrive late, your loss. Once I am well put together with the right measure of rice, fried pepper sauce, and seasoning, I will call your attention for miles. I am that good. Want to know the best part of me? That bottom part left in the pot; yes, I make you eat from the pot. The control I have is that deep. When all is said and done, I am just rice with the right mix.
Concerning the dispute with my Ghanaian sister, a spoon will let you know who is Queen of the party. No comments.
More than a tree
Like a seed
Buried in the earth
Growing in the dark
Now we have put down roots
Dip into the ground
Our truck has many rings
Our branches spread far
Our leaves evergreen
Our flowers are rainbow
Our fruits are sweet
We have seen many storms
We have stood through droughts
Yet we stand
Our roots run deep
We are more than a tree
We are a legacy
About the Author
Wale Mariano (Olofinkua Joseph Olawale Omaseye) is a Lagos-born researcher, designer, writer, music lover and, most importantly, hustler. Born in the Yaba area of Lagos, he spent most of his early years in Lagos and Benin city. He holds a master’s in Thermofluid from the University of Lagos. He live and works in Lagos as a consultant.