THE RANTINGS OF A PAINED NIGERIAN

So I bought this beautiful pumps that cost 8k. Since it is low heeled and fits my black jumpsuit. I decided to wear it and jump bus to see a friend. (Not that I wanted to impress him or anything. Heck! It's comfortable). Now, 8k is not money you see lying on the floor. It's something- a big something.
Anyway, I went to see him; we talked business. And I was frantically watching the time. I knew that once it is 6pm, the traffic on the road to my house would be something else. But I don't know what spirit kept me there, gisting, and staring at fine girls, and fine boys. When I reluctantly decided to stand up and go to my house, it was 6.05pm. I wasn't bothered until I got to the bus stop and saw dozens of people looking for bus - no bus. My palms were getting sweaty as I thought of the way I would jump inside a moving bus, and still manage to safely tuck my purse under my armpits, so that it won't mistakenly slip into the pockets of one of this agbero boys. Bus one came. I saw. I struggled. I lost. Bus two came. Same thing. About five buses stopped, and people rushed in like mad. By the time the sixth bus came, I had already matured into a typical lagos girl. And I fought tooth, nail and hammer to get into the bus.
Finally, I was sitted inside a bus that was almost a molue, except that it was a little smaller, and people were not standing, holding the top rail. I wanted to bring out my phone, so I could at least ping, and pass time, and also take my mind away from the stench that came from the combination of all our sweats - the tension in Lagos can make you sweat in places you never knew could perspire - but the whole place was really cramped, and I couldn't move my hands freely. I decided to do my second best thing; people- watching. So I watched agberos harass bus conductors. Hawkers glued to the side of every bus displaying their wares. I watched policemen gingering one man for only God knows what.
Then we met the traffic. I seriously thought it would clear. Because, ten minutes into the traffic, two people sitting on the same row with me alighted and I stretched my legs a bit, and brought out my phone, and updated 'Traffic o!' on my bbm. Ten minutes later, I realized that the bus wasn't moving. When I realized that technically this was where you stop, and trek through the traffic, the bus was already empty, and the conductor was looking at me as if I am one 'Johnny just come'.
I alighted the bus.It was already evening. My heart was beating. First, because of my Blackberry. Then because the next place I could get a bus to my house was one hour away. The whole thing meant I would trek for one hour.
I trekked, and trekked, and trekked with thousands of people because the road was blocked. The traffic was terrible; it wasn't moving at all. While I was trekking, I was thinking about how we Nigerians are comfortable with things we shouldn't be comfortable with.
Is this how people should live? Like cows? Why do we have to be so quiet when there are so many things to trash out in this country. I later found out that the cause of the traffic was a trailer that one of it's tyre fell into a deep pothole in the middle of the road.
Is it fair, that a road where thousands of commuters ply would be in such a dilapidated state? Is it fair, that a fine girl like me would trek for one hour in the night because of bad roads. Is it fair that, that old woman who had earlier labored in the market selling her cheap atagungun and tomatoes, would close from work, and still be subjected to trekking because of traffic that just wouldn't move. Or is it fair, that the beautiful baby on the back of the woman, that trekked beside me that night, might still be subjected to the same hardship because we have gotten too comfortable with suffering. And we have refused to fight for our rights?
No! It's not fair. We Nigerians don't know we deserve better than the dehumanizing situation we are today.
When I got home, after my one hour walking marathon, not only was I left to nurse my aching muscles and head; I was left to mourn my 8k pumps. Because somehow the road spoilt my shoes. It gave it scratches here and there. No matter how much Kiwi polish I apply on it. It still remains tattered because of that nonsense stone filled road.
We need good roads. We are poor enough. Please Mr president and co don't add trekking to our massive list of problems. Build our roads, we deserve it!

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