one of those angry days...

Drivers in Lagos are probably the most untrained in the world! Trailer drivers get a thrill from popping fright into fellow road users. Public bus drivers drive recklessly; they curse, spit, and fight. They hate the sight of a brand new car, they imagine what a dent would look like by the side of a posh and glittery ride, and they usually go ahead to ‘bless’ a car with one.
Uugh! They just make my hairs stand! The first month I bought my car, I remember the experience was hell.
It just seemed every ‘ugly’ car out there wanted to ‘kiss’ mine. I’d usually run off the road just to stay safe – away from their wicked intentions.

But this is Lagos, you don’t remain ‘simple’ for too long. So I grew brave and dared the buses and even okadas when they tried to play rough. I valiantly gave out the five fingers when I am ‘manhandled’ and on rare occasions give a chase. Ha!

Last Thursday, things didn’t go as planned, and I came out of an accident with a bloodied right-hand.
No, it wasn’t like I was hit and my car tumbled three times and ended in a ditch and I had to crawl out into the streets to scream for help. No!

It was a simple accident really; a private bus driver kissed my car and gave the beautiful thing a dent and ugly scars to go with it. I blared my horn over and over again, but he wouldn’t do anything – I guess he didn’t know what to do, the damage had been done. I was so upset, I started hitting the side of the bus, I grew livid as I picked my shoe and banged at the side of the bus – ‘stupid fool…,’ I cursed. My anger wouldn’t subside, so…wait for this…I slammed a fist into the side window, and the glass shattered all over, bruising my right hand and making the case much more interesting.

I finally got his attention as he jumped out of his vehicle, raving like a theatrical puppet in utter disbelief of what just happened. I on the other hand gave a hearty laugh whilst I tended to my injured hand, blood flowed freely and I wouldn’t stop laughing. He cursed and spat and told me to repair his car. I told him to go to hell.

Now how does it feel being on the other side?

He gave my car a dent, and I gave his bus a shattered window; and I was unwilling to negotiate at all – let every man repair his/her damage, abi?

He wouldn’t let me go, so I wrapped my hand with my handkerchief, got back into my car, switched on the A/C and listened to Cool fm. Yea, I am crazy like that!

An hour or so later, a soldier from heaven came by the side of my car. He smiled at me and told me to explain the situation; and I did. He looked at me queerly; I’m sure he wondered if I was ‘ok’.
“It’s getting late madam, I cannot leave you here with these people, let us resolve this immediately,” he spoke calmly. Of course agberos had gathered, no one needs a crystal ball to picture that. In a second he dispersed the growing crowd of touts, called the driver to the side and pleaded with him… I couldn’t hear what was said as I was listening and nodding to TI’s Live Your Life featuring Rihanna on radio.
After a while the raving driver who was now panting after much exaggeration, entered his bus cursing as he drove off. The soldier came to me again, I alighted out of courtesy, told him thank you, and he said, “you must be very angry madam,”
I laughed and answered, “Oga this is Lagos, we are all angry!”