I finished dressing early in the morning and patiently waited for a designated driver to come and pick me up. After moments of waiting, the driver eventually showed up. I walked with grace towards a waiting, neat black Toyota Camry car to meet a neat and gentle-looking man in the driver's seat. We set out on our journey after a brief moment of exchanging pleasantries with gracious smiles.
Everything was in order—two civilized men travelling to a civil event. So it seems until we approached a lout with a stick similar to the ones used by herdsmen to instruct their herds. The lout yelled at us while flailing his stick in the direction of our car.
A person who's in such a scenario for the first time would do no wrong assuming that either the driver or I did a great evil to this razz-looking young man—an evil of the magnitude of murdering his whole family—while he only managed to survive by a stroke of luck, making a narrow escape after sustaining serious injuries, and just when he thought that the last straw of breath had escaped his lungs, he opened his eyes in God-knows-where to see himself alive.
I have no other way of explaining why this young man lunged at us with his staff and with so much ferocity and indignation with it, acting as though he wanted to divide our car into two halves the way Moses divided the Red Sea.
For a brief moment, I couldn't recognize my gentleman driver anymore. Every drop of civility in him flew into the cool morning air. He started spewing vitriol from his thin lips in a language I barely understood. I at least know that he said "werey" one million times in a minute. At that moment, my driver bore no resemblance to the gentleman I was travelling with. If for anything, he looked more like the lout who was obstructing our way, the differentiating factors being that his immaculate white dress didn't vanish along with his manners and he wasn't with a stick. Otherwise ...
It would later appear that my driver's mannerisms weren't out of order. Obviously, he spoke to the lout in a language he understood because he left the way for us to pass.
Afterwards, my driver wore his civility again. He turned to me quietly and said, "Sir, you have to act this way in Lagos; if not, one madman will delay you for no reason." He smiled slyly and added, "This is Lagos."
Now, I have a problem: why do Lagosians keep reminding other Lagosians that they are in Lagos?
Every place I go in this city, I keep hearing, "Na Lagos be dis ooo." "For dis Lagos?" "Na Lagos we de oooo."
"Yes!" "I'm aware that I'm in Lagos, but can everyone just please shut up already?"
Wait! Why does it sound like I'm shouting? I hope the madness of the city hasn't caught up with me yet. Anyway, if it does, it wouldn't be out of order; after all, this is Lagos.
I hope I'll get to my destination without meeting more "wereys" on the road.
P.S: This was written while I was on my way to an event at the Rockview Hotel at FESTAC, Lagos, and yes, I arrived safely without meeting more "wereys."
