I mutter angrily as I stumble out of my door,
Its 5.30 a.m and check out time for me to head to the office so I can beat the infamous Lagos traffic.
I am tired, grumpy and short tempered almost hitting a teenager nonchalantly riding a bicycle.
I scream expletives inside my head wondering why People never sleep in Lagos.
The day goes by quickly and unceremoniously.
We are almost a scattered hive of different faces in suits at the office.
Meandering between managing tight work schedules and prepping for the weekend.
Short discussions on football, politics and gossip glibly cut through the banausic atmosphere leading to
short bursts of excitement.
The drive home is worse and I curse out loud when a slow driver makes me miss the green traffic light.
I am oblivious to the noise outside, my ear drums accustomed to the characteristic babble that is a
curious mix of English, pidgin and native languages from pedestrians spread across the roads as they
make their way home.
The Radio is our soother, the polish voices caressing our sub conscious with familiarity.
Music our antidote, lifting the air and injecting in explainable positivism into the atmosphere.
The Traffic wardens suddenly become less irritable and we smile at the hawkers as they push up their
wares on my cars windscreen.
It’s 8.30 p.m I drive in tired, grumpy and short tempered.
I mutter to my family as I am about to hit the sack.
“This Lagos Traffic is hell”, everybody nods in unison as we switch off the lights.
Soon it will be morning and the circle repeats itself .In all honesty we will take it all again
The early mornings and late nights, the commotion as commuters head to their daily occupations, and worse still the unimaginable Traffic.
” The Life of a Lagosian is beyond comprehension."
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