A Very Normal Lagos Day (That Tried to Kill Me)

I woke up one Tuesday and said, “Today go be soft.”

Lagos heard me and said, “Bet.”

I left the house by 6:15 a.m. because if you leave by 7 in Lagos, just turn back and sleep. Immediately I stepped outside, heat slapped me like I owed it money. Before I could recover, a conductor started shouting,

“Oshodi! Oshodi! Last bus! Enter with your destiny!”

I entered. My destiny entered problem.

Inside the bus was chaos. One aunty was shouting on the phone, “I SAID I’M COMING!” even though traffic said no. One guy was playing loud TikTok videos without earphones—straight to hell. Another man was eating akara like his life depended on it. The driver? Pressing horn like he was sending voice notes to God.

We didn’t move for 20 minutes, but the conductor already collected full fare. I asked, “We never move na?”

He said, “Madam, na faith journey.”

As if that wasn’t enough, rain started falling out of nowhere. Lagos rain doesn’t start—it ambushes. Windows refused to close, everybody started screaming, and the driver said,

“No panic, I sabi this road.”

Two seconds later, the road turned to River Niger.

Then—gbam—the bus died.

Just like that.

We came down, standing there soaked and confused, when one hawker appeared like NPC, shouting,

“Groundnut! Gala! Cold pure water!”

Even suffering is a business in Lagos.

I finally entered another bus. This one was worse. Gospel music on full volume, driver driving like he’s late for heaven, shouting,

“Blood of Jesus!”

Every time we almost crashed, passengers replied,

“Amen!”

Peak revival service.

At some point, a keke cut us, a bike passed us, a danfo insulted us, and a LASTMA officer just stood there, judging everyone with his eyes.

When I finally reached my destination, my clothes were wet, my phone was on 2%, my soul had logged out, and my wig had shifted emotionally.

But I laughed.

Because this is Lagos.

It will stress you, shout at you, drown you, embarrass you, and still say, “See you tomorrow.”

And the funniest part?

That night, I still set alarm for 6 a.m. and whispered,

“Tomorrow go be calm.”

Lagos laughed in advance.