I still remember how thick the air was that early morning as I stepped out of Miriam's cramped apartment where I was squatting for the meantime until I could afford my place. I was just a fresh Lagosian with big dreams of sneaking my way somehow into the corporate world.
But that morning, my only goal that morning was getting to my interview on time, and somehow, if the rays of luck happen to shine on me, I'll secure the job. I prayed fervently as that would be the start of something big for me.
I checked my watch; I was already minutes behind schedule and because of that, Miriam had already called me a bolt ride, which was waiting outside. According to her, if I were to jump the regular Lagos danfo, I wouldn't make it to my destination on time. As a novice in the big city, I didn't argue with her. All I wanted was the fastest route and means possible to get to my destination.
I got out of the gate to see a rickety ride waiting. At first, I doubted it was my ride because I'd never seen a bolt ride that rickety. Its paint was already peeling, and parts of the headlights were broken. But it was Lagos and anything is possible in Lagos. Also, as time wasn't on my side anymore, so, I decided to give it a shot.
"Mr Wale?" I asked the old man in his late fifties with a wiry smile and brown-coloured beard seated in the driver's seat. He had in his head a Yoruba cap perfectly tilted to one side.
"Yes," he replied smiling. Revealing a set of brown teeth with one of his incisors missing. It made his smile look weird and the whole situation weirder.
Would an old man like that be able to drive me to my destination in a short time? Won't he be crawling on the road?
I pulled the front passenger's door open and got into the car, which had seats that were patched with duct tape. This stirred the weird feeling in me the more.
"Where to, my daughter?" I heard him ask, as he looked at me with a warm smile on his face.
I stared at him with so much disbelief. I wondered how he would be able to survive as a bolt driver if he didn't know that my destination was displayed on his screen immediately after he accepted the ride. I was almost getting angry but I tried to hold myself because of the age difference. It is a disrespectful thing to do in my culture.
"V.I sir" I replied, checking my watch. The interview was in one hour. "I have an interview in the next one hour".
Mr Wale chuckled "You must be new to Lagos?" He asked, shifting gears and zooming off.
"Why do you ask?" I returned his question, looking at him.
"Because you think it's possible to get to V.I. in one hour with the Lagos early morning rush hour", he said.
"Please, anyhow, you can do it. I need to be there on time" I pleaded.
The next few minutes of the ride were a quiet one as Mr Wale did well to manoeuvre traffic and reckless bus drivers while being careful with his driving and humming a song whispering from his car radio. On a normal day, I would have cancelled the ride, considering the kind of vehicle he had, but that day, all I cared about was getting to my interview, so I didn't cancel.
By that time of the morning, street hawkers and vendors were already displaying their wares trying to outshine the other. Children going to school. Bus conductors shouting at the top of their voices calling on passengers. The typical Lagos lifestyle, beauty and chaos in one place.
I stared out the window, lost in thought, saying silent prayers In my heart. The early sun was already peeking out of his hiding place. Getting hotter and hotter by the minute adding to my discomfort and panic.
And just when I thought there would be no traffic on the way. Mr Wale slammed his brakes, jolting me forward. The effects of not putting on the seatbelts. Heart beating, eyes wide open, I turned and looked at the road before us; there was traffic and not just the kind that allowed cars to crawl. It was the typical Lagos traffic, a standstill of cars.
"Oh, not today", I cried under my breath. I pretended not to see Mr Wale stare at me pitifully. "Baba I can't be late today. Please is there something you can do, another route or something" I asked
"I have, but I'm scared you might not like it", he replied, looking at me.
"Just do it, abeg" I pleaded.
Like a man on a mission, I watched Mr Wale grip the steering wheel tightly and smirked. Then perfectly, he veered the car off the road, taking a narrow, dirty, and dusty street filled with bumps and gallops, with children playing on the culverts and houses made of roofing sheets. The kind of street you hardly find on Google Maps
I quickly pulled out the seatbelt and buckled myself in. Then I held onto the car door handle. Now I understood why his car was so rickety with the way he drove. But again I didn't care as long as I would get to my interview on time.
"I told you you won't like it. But relax, it'll get us quicker to your destination" he said, laughing. He must have seen me being nervous.
“How do you know of this place, sir?" I asked him.
He laughed heartily. “I'm called Baba Wale for a reason. I’ve been driving in Lagos for 30 years. I know all the shortcuts.”
That word served as comfort to me, calming my anxiety a bit.
"Lagos will be like one big masquerade o. If you don't know how to dance to its beat, you won't survive. I was once like you, a novice in Lagos, but with time, I learnt," he said.
"What exactly did you learn, sir?" I asked; at that moment, his words were like the advice I needed, and his voice was a distraction from my fears.
"That in Lagos you need patience and a little bit of craziness. Lagos will test you o, but if you stay strong, you'll make it in Lagos" he smiled, showing his brown teeth again.
I was still lost in what he said when we burst out on a main road again, like adventurers out of a maze. Then he smartly squeezed his car through traffic, through the famous Lagos third mainland bridge.
Soon we were slowing down in front of the building for my interview. I checked my time and I was just five minutes late. I felt this rush of gratitude within me for meeting Mr Wale as my driver that morning. Although I had thought at first that my ride with him would be chaotic and that I might even get late to the traffic because of his age. But he had proved me.
I paid him and thanked him, but just before I got out of the car. I found myself asking
"Baba, can I have your number? I think I might need your help again" I handed my phone to him to put his number
He smiled. "No problem, my daughter," he replied, punching in his digits.
And that was how Baba Wale became my Lagos tour guide anytime I needed to navigate to a destination I was not conversant with. We developed a relationship that was more than just a driver and passenger on a bumpy road relationship. On various rides, he told me stories of how he survived years on Lagos Street, and I learned a few tricks from him.
Glossary
Danfo Yellow interstate buses
Abeg Please
