At Mowe, one could hardly find enough buses going in the direction of Ikeja. Unfortunately, only a few went that way. I almost lost my balance with the amount of passersby colliding with me from both sides. The dark clouds, which had been roaring for a while, began showering their blessings. "What kind of rain is this again?" I muttered to myself.

"Ikeja! Wole pelu cheinj, Ikeja!" a conductor cried, hanging on the edge of a passing vehicle. I spoke to my feet ASAP and jumped into the bus heading to Ikeja. I'd rather endure the discomfort of a Danfo than soak under the cold, cruel rain.

The seats of the bus felt cold and wet, and the windows were half-opened, causing a lot of...