He woke up at 330 am to get ready for another day. By 430 am, he was out of his house in a God-forsaken part of Mowe to navigate his way onto the main road that will take him to his workplace in Apapa.
There were few vehicles on that inner road in the wee hours of the day. Nevertheless, what should ordinarily be a 15-minute drive from his house to the main road would take the better part of 45 minutes.
Years of government (both state and local) neglect have given birth to treacherous inner roads, worse than the terrain off-road vehicle manufacturers put their products through, to test endurance and stability.
Yet, he and most folks in such Nigerian neighbourhoods can only afford cars meant for paved roads.
As we commenced our journey, I winced in pain, not for myself suffering the slamming and dunking of being thrown up and down within the vehicle, but for the saloon car he was driving, which was constantly taking a battering on its underside from the unforgiving terrain.
Eventually, at about 515 am, we found ourselves on the main road. Traffic was already built up. The second hurdle of a regular day began for him, with the hope that it would be one of those lucky days when traffic would be forgiving enough for him to get to his office by 8 am. A journey that should be less than an hour has routinely turned into a minimum of 3 hours.
The same infrastructure meant 40 years ago for a population of less than 3 million, now caters for over 25 million people. The money that ought to have gone into new infrastructure to cope with the increase in population has found its way into pockets of individuals – looted and embezzled.
Five days a week, apart from the stress of his work, he endures the harshness of commuting for 3.5 hours in the morning and between 4 to 6 hours in the evening.
The day he is lucky enough, he gets back home at 930 pm. When he is unlucky, it could be 11 pm or 1 am. That is when he would have dinner, catch a few hours of sleep, to wake up again at 330am, set for another iteration of what late Fela Anikulapo-Kuti called “suffering and smiling”.
Families of many contemporaries of his, have one day received the news that their breadwinner slumped: was rushed into a hospital where for many days, in ignorance and incompetency, leprosy was left to treat eczema; and sadly passed away before attaining the young age of 40.
This is the tragedy of living and working in Nigeria for most of those who call Lagos and its’ environ their home.
This is Nigeria, where self-centred, looting, and cursed leaders have made death at a young age, ten-a-kobo for the citizens they are meant to cater for.