It’s been a long day (or night) and you want nothing more than to get to your destination (perhaps home, work or somewhere urgent you need to be), away from the unforgiving Lagos heat, the unnerving noisiness of the roads and uncomfortable air. But you’re stuck. You’re sure that once the traffic clears up, its cause will be nowhere to be found. The thought of being held up, possibly for hours, fills you with rage, frustration and unease.
Lagos is one of the most congested cities in the world. Over 40% of cars in Nigeria (the country) are registered in Lagos (the smallest state in the country), so you’re bound to spend at least three hours in traffic each day.
Even though the traffic is something else, always hot, always uncomfortable, it is never dull. Every day is something different. Whether it’s catching up on the sleep you’ve postponed for God knows how many days, having a quiet moment alone in your car, hearing a song you’ve never heard before on the radio, the sweetness of traffic food, the stories of commuters and Danfo drivers, the mannerisms of people by the road or the market-esque feel that suddenly comes with it, you can always find something to experience.
The beauty of Lagos traffic is in the bold, confrontational marketing that goes on there. You can buy a house in Lagos traffic and even get a ticket to Europe. People sell the strangest things and stare directly at you while hawking as if daring you to buy them. As if forcing you to realise that you need them. Sometimes, you don’t even know you’re hungry until Gala and LaCasera are shoved in your face.
Somewhere in this sales technique is a metaphor for life. Life, sometimes, doesn’t give you anything, you run after it, and you demand that it listens to you. You demand that it takes what you have to offer and point it directly at its face. If you do manage to wear it down, there will always be something else, someone else to chase after. You will always demand to be heard, to be seen.
A collective sensation of rush binds us all. A constant feeling of having somewhere to be, even when you know that you’re supposed to rest. But Lagos traffic, like life, says ‘stay still’. If you think about it long enough, in the traffic, you’re probably surrounded by people more like yourself – driven, passionate and too often, tired. We are more alike than we care to admit and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the answers to the questions we’re asking will be found in someone else similar to us.
The beauty is in the way the road seems never-ending. At times, you need to stay in one spot to figure out why you get up from bed each morning. Are you where you want to be? Is there anything you wish was different about your life? What are you willing to do about it?
If you’ve ever been stuck on the Third Mainland Bridge, you may know what I’m talking about. Being stuck there, on the long winding roads, with the bridge vibrating beneath your vehicle and the water expanding before your eyes, you may find the answer you’ve been searching for your entire life. It can come in a sudden flash, “This is not what I should be doing,” or, “I want to marry this person.” It just clicks, instantly.
The traffic keeps you on your toes, in a good, albeit, sad way. You can never be too trusting when a stranger shifts closer to you. You guard your possessions like your life. You know never to use your smartphone seated by the Danfo window, inside keke napep or on a motorcycle, because anyone could snatch it from you and run away. To know never to be too familiar or friendly is one of the many displays of our collective trust issues.
In all this struggle and stillness, Lagos still bustles with colour. The traffic jams are spontaneous, never there when you expect it, always there when you least, as if to say, “Slow down, there’s no need to rush today,” or, “Run, there’s no need to slow down today, go as fast as you want to.”
Every day is a game. You wake up as early as you can and ask, “5 hours stuck, or 2 hours early?” And the roads choose for you.
This essay was originally published on Roadly.
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