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 noise as they budged. The layers of the rooftop were exposed, allowing the little drops of water that fell from the perforated roof to soak my hat. It's no strange thing to me that drivers treat their buses like old, dirty rags, most of which are not roadworthy. But still, this is Lagos, a vile and abnormal city with a bittersweet experience. A city where the principle of survival of the fittest applies in almost every situation.

The unsteady movement of the bus caused a lady who sat next to me to spill a cup of tea over my shirt. "Are you mad!" I exclaimed, momentarily allowing Lagos's vulgar spirit to take control of me. I quickly composed myself and apologized, "I understand, it's not your fault. I'm also truly sorry. We can only blame these incompetent commercial drivers for subjecting us to this distressing condition." I chuckled and continued, "Lady, it's more than reckless drivers, more than corrupt government officials, more than the pickpockets and riffraffs that cause havoc at every opportunity. Everyone is just trying to survive and thrive in this Lagos."

"You're right, though. Lagos life is vile and risky. While the stubborn and experienced survive, the careless and weak ones fall victim," she replied. "And like that, the frustration cycles around."

The conductor, who had hung on the edge of the bus all this while, suddenly beat the top of the vehicle and sat down next to me. He pulled the door to close, but it didn't respond. He pulled again, this time harder. "Oga, how far now? Try to be careful with your vehicle. We inside no be animal na," he scolded the driver. The gentleman at the back of the bus chimed in, but the conductor simply ignored him and reached into his pocket. I thought he was going to pull out some denominations, but instead, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox. He puffed a couple of times, infuriating the passengers with the hazy atmosphere.

"Owa oo!" I yelled, signaling the bus to stop as we had already reached the outskirts of Ikeja.

© Oluwatobiloba Akinnate
© IGNITE STORIES