Midtown Madness

Have you recently been in one of those Lagos bus rides that served to jolt your memory of the nature of the city you were travelling through (as if it were ever possible to forget). You know, one of those where your amused reaction was to shake your head at the often comical display of madness on the roads, or where you were the unfortunate victim of a reenacted episode of Midtown Madness.

Well I was in one today as an amused observer. Here’s the detailed, albeit shake-my-head-worthy account of the day like many others, transiting through Lagos.

The bus was headed for Igando from Egbeda via Isheri (a sort of halfway point of the journey). The bus departed  with just about a third of its passenger capacity. The fare was N70 or N50 to Isheri. (Yes, for the benefit of the unacquainted, there is no qualifiable logic for determining trip fares in Lagos).

I was sitting beside a young man in a black suit, who volunteered to test the efficacy of my leg as a prototype hand rest. The vehicle’s spare tyre occupied the floor space where both of us would have placed our feet, so we both had to place one foot apiece (his left and my right) on the tyre to attain some measure of comfort despite this. I didn’t protest initially, hoping that as we moved on and he adjusted, he would realize what he was doing and make amendments. In my wildest dreams! The gentleman sunk his elbow more forcefully into my thigh. I had to glance at him to ensure he wasn’t trying to pull a practical joke. Oh, he was blissfully unaware of his actions. I casually shifted my legs away from his reach. That worked only momentarily before his elbow once more found my thigh and dug in again.

About two stops later, a fair skinned middle-aged man  boarded the bus alongside a couple that appeared to be in their sixties and six teenagers who ‘lapped’ to occupy three seats.

As the bus accelearated towards Isheri, the fair guy inquired about the fare. He was going to a bus stop which was just three bus stops after Isheri. The conductor charged him the fare for a regular Egbeda – Igando trip. The man exploded.

‘What! How I go pay seventy naira? Me sef dey carry people dey drop for there and na fifty naira I dey collect. If your driver be correct guy sef, im for sabi me for this road’.

Fully tuned in to this dialogue, I feigned disinterest and kept looking out of the window beside which I was sitting.

‘Na seventy naira be your money o!’ the conductor protested and then shifted his attention to the other passengers.

‘I no fit pay seventy naira o. I no be JJC’.

The conductor ignored him. I noticed the driver glance at this passenger through his driving mirror. He did not however, comment on the issue.

‘Your money?’, he asked the older woman who had gotten in at about the same time. She reached into her bag, I believe (she was seating right behind me so I couldn’t see what she was doing) and stretched out a sum of money.

The conductor made to collect as he asked, ‘Na where you dey go again?’

‘Idowuegba’, she replied. (Idowuegba was a bus stop about halfway between Isheri and Igando).

‘Ya money na seventy naira.’

The woman did not reply but simply withdraw the cash and kept silent. Sensing trouble the conductor briefly withdrew to another passenger.

‘This conductor gentle o!’ I chuckled to myself.

The conductor collected the fares from the other passengers and returned to Mr. Fair-Skinned who kept insisting that he would only be paying fifty naira. The driver quickly intervened.

‘File jare’, he addressed his conductor. ‘File’ being Let him be, in the native Yoruba dialect.

‘O ko sharp. Kilode tio sofun koto wole,’ he added, paraphrased to mean, 'You are not sharp (smart). Why didn't you inform him (the passenger) before he boarded?'

The conductor uncharacteristically for someone in his line of work, did not retort. The driver sensing trouble with this passenger advised his conductor to accept the N50.

The other new passenger (the sixty-something year old man) glanced back discreetly at the fair-skinned man (he was seated on the row just in front) and shook his head as he muttered something under his breath.

The conductor returned to the old woman. ‘Madam, pay me na’.

‘Sebi you no wan collect am?’ she retorted and then added for the benefit of the audience, ‘I give am money, e no collect.’

‘I say Idowuegba na N70 o!’ the conductor protested. He wasn’t doing too good a job of intimidating the woman into compliance.

‘Come collect the money na,’ the woman challenged and with that turned away from the conductor. Grumbling in protest, the conductor went about his other duties.

‘Isheri…..Old garage….Orheptal….’ he called out.

‘Orheptal wa o!’ Mr. Fair-Skinned bellowed, for he did have a fairly loud voice. ‘Abeg I go stop before you reach Orheptal o!’ he added.

I glanced at him in exasperation and could only wonder what the driver and conductor were thinking. I saw the driver glance at the man through his mirror again.

The bus zoomed past the Isheri and Old garage bus stops and approached Orheptal.

‘Driver, slow down o, I wan drop,’ the man reiterated. The conductor glanced in from his perch at the door. ‘Bus stop no dey here,’ he said. ‘We go reach Orheptal first, make you come down.’

‘I no go delay una. I go quick jump down,’ he insisted stubbornly. The conductor seemed at a loss for words or logic to pursue the argument and retreated to his perch. The bus rolled on towards Orheptal. The man increased the volume of his protestations. The driver reinforced his conductor’s sentiments.

‘We no dey stop road o! Police go catch us,’ he declared.

‘Dem no go catch you,’ the man insisted.

Mr. Sixty-something glanced back again and muttered to himself.

The driver ignored him and kept going. The bus stop was within sight and about a stone’s throw away. Just before the stop was a U-turn point which happened to be busy at that moment. The driver slowed the bus briefly but swerved towards the side of the road in typical Lagos ‘danfo’ driver style, to continue moving without giving way to the traffic that was navigating the U-turn just then.

‘Abeg, make I come down,’ Mr. Fair-Skinned said. I turned just in time to see him hanging in the doorway alongside the conductor. I have no idea how and when he had gotten there.

‘Driver, owa! Owa o!’ he cried. The bus was still slowing down and at a speed he gauged was satisfactory, he leaped from the bus unto the sidewalk amid light protests from the driver and conductor at his recklessness. With skill definitely borne of out some experience, he controlled his momentum and came to a halt. I shook my head again. The bus arrived at the proper bus stop less than 30 secs later. I could still see the guy strolling back along the sidewalk.

To be continued