The Empress Decrees: Benjamin Can Stay

On TV they showed clips of how deserted the roads are because of the strike.

It wasn’t that much different this past week, during the petrol scarcity. A couple of days ago when I gave someone a ride home from work, we were amazed that the journey home which normally takes at least 2 hours lasted only 35 minutes. We talked about what Lagos was like in the ‘good old days’: no traffic, getting around was no issue etc. I was talkin’ way back in the 80’s but it turned out not everyone in the car was on the same page.

I said “Wouldn’t it be great if everyone who’s lived here for less than 15 years would move out so we could have the roads free again?” I got no response to this from my colleague and noticed Benjamin squirming a bit. He probably thinks I have the power to make that happen!
So I asked my colleague in the back seat how long she’d lived in Lagos, turns out she’s only been here about 4 years. Hmm, no wonder she didn’t think much of my idea.
“Benjamin, how long have you been here?” He said twelve years, so in my little role play as Empress of Lagos I altered the law to read ‘anyone who’s been here less than 12 years…’ so that Benjamin can stay because I need him to get to work. He looked pleased that I allowed him to stay in Lagos.

Lagos in the 80’s was paradise compared to now. I wrote an article in Island News a couple of years ago about what Falomo Bridge was like back then; you could zip across in a matter of minutes, visit a friend, zip back home, remember you forgot something at your friend’s place and even consider going back to get it. Now it’s a long slow crawl spent maneuvering around beggars and hawkers.

But it’s not all pleasant memories - the part I hated was the descent from the bridge to the roundabout, where if your windows weren’t up you risked getting blinded by a bunch of plantains. There used to be some women and their kids stationed at the roundabout, armed with huge loaves of bread and massive plantains, waiting for motorists to slow down so they could fling their wares in through the open windows. The thinking probably was that whoever got their plantains in first, clinched the sale.
It really didn’t matter whether or not the people in the car wanted to buy anything.

They would run alongside the car yelling Bread! Plantain! Bread! I guess to help you identify the objects they were stuffing in through your window. But they only did it for a couple of minutes, and only at the roundabout. They’re nothing like the new breed of hawkers who are prepared to dog you down the length of Kingsway Road.