Lagos Driving.

I am going to give all of you a chance to laugh at my inability to draw, because this post just won't many any sense without a sketch.

I learnt to drive in the US of A. Nigerians feel bad for me as soon as I tell them that, for the following reasons:

1. Americans know how to drive.
2. Americans obey traffic rules, and not just because someone may be watching.
3. A manual transmission car has to be specially requested in the US.
4. Sanity is common on the American road.

Now, when I came home in 2006, I was driving our old school auto-transmission Merc around Festac alone (because I didn't have a Nigerian license). I was looking forward to cruising my ride again when I moved back home, but I found out that it would be unavailable for a while. No problem. Taxis became my best friend. (I think I'm a pro at haggling taxi prices now.)

Anyway, my brother started learning to drive, with a VeeDub Beetle (I mean the really old ones o), and my folks started challenging me, talking about - 'your brother is a gee at maneuvering a gear shift, and you're here talking about knowing how to drive a car, when your left leg doesn't even know what a clutch is'. Fine! I started learning how to really drive, since apparently, auto transmission vehicles are 'toy cars'.

I now understand the clutch/accelerator dance, but I'm only starting to shift to gear 3. The first time I tried it, I was in the car by myself. The car jerked and made a funny sound, and I fugured I'd ventured to gear 5 instead of 3. Ah well, I'm sure I'll be perfect soon. I'm still only allowed to drive around Festac and Dolphin, but I'm sure I'll be a pro before I get into the real world.

Driving in Lagos amazes me. I'm not even talking about traffic jams. Check out my less than perfect sketch:

This is what an intersection close to my house looked like a few weekends ago. Absolute chaos! Now, someone please tell me why Nigerians simply don't turn correctly like Car 2 is doing? Everyone pulls a Car 4 left turn, and I really don't get it!

Car 1 broke down right at the intersection, and no one thought it would be smart to push it out of the way. How are those indicators supposed to help?

Car 5 can't see what's in front of Car 1, so he's just going to check. And then get stuck somewhere in the middle.

Car 7 is trying to be patient to let the madness clear out but Car 6 doesn't see the importance of that. You can only imagine the pile up and honk-a-thon going on behind Car 7. Unfortunately, a woman is driving the Car 7, so everyone is going to insult her, calling her 'Woman Driver' though we all know she's doing the right thing.

Car 3 is too busy cursing out the okada that's overtaking him on the right side to see that he's about to lose the front of his car to Mr. I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-proper-left-turn in Car 4.

Don't even get me started on the way all the okadas are maneuvering themselves through the chaos. Look at the one next to Car 1; he's going to want to cross over to the right side of the road without looking, in a few seconds.

God will help us in this our Lagos o.

AMEN!

Chimamanda Adichie: The danger of a single story

About this talk (Source: http://www.ted.com/)

Our lives, our cultures, are composed of many overlapping stories. Novelist Chimamanda Adichie tells the story of how she found her authentic cultural voice -- and warns that if we hear only a single story about another person or country, we risk a critical misunderstanding.

It seems to work faster on the website.

Coming Home Now...

So I’ve been here for about a month now and I’ve got to tell you; coming home after so long was a much more surreal experience than starting from scratch in a country I’d never been to. Everything was so different, and yet so remarkably familiar. Every turn was littered with memories but yet everything seemed somehow smaller, duller, dustier. General observations:

The People

The people here are as I remember them; chatty (to a fault – I don’t know you, stop talking to me), aggressive (observe the okada driver that you are foolish enough to cut off in traffic), enterprising (observe the hawker/hustler peddling potatoes in high-speed traffic) and helpful (just like the kindly lady who reached out to adjust a wayward bra strap that had dared to peek out from underneath my tank top).

The City

The city itself seems to have taken two steps forward and either one or three steps backward (I can’t decide whether cumulative progress has been made overall or not). Certain parts of Lagos – your Victoria Islands, your Ikoyis, your Lekkis – seem to be a bit more civilized and easy on the eye than I remember. The newest state government seems to have taken huge steps in getting the place at least aesthetically more pleasing, but you get onto the Mainland and the story seems to change quite dramatically. There’s certain areas of Lagos that look like they have yet to take a step into the 20th century, let alone the 21st. People living like they’re straight-up in the village; clothes hanging outside the front of their houses, the streets (or rather, random collection of concrete and sand) riddled with potholes, electricity spoken of as though a distant memory -- heard of, but never quite experienced. The contrast is honestly a bit alarming, but I suppose it’s not much different than the difference between Georgetown and Anacostia, or the Upper West Side and Marcy Projects, so I’ll just go ahead and jump off my idealistic high-horse right about now.

The Fashion

Oh and another thing. So I was warned - in worried, hushed tones - by my mother and several friends, that if I wanted to survive in the social minefield that is Lagos, I was going to have to seriously, seriously up my fashion game. The fashion is out of control here, I was told. People dress up to the nines, tens and elevens here, I was warned. If elan and ThisDay Style magazines are anything to judge by, this largely means; bad weaves, fake handbags, too-short skirts, too-tight pants, too-little originality and almost-zero individuality. It seems that money is a replacement for taste, braggadocio a substitute for style. I know that this is certainly not the case with my entire beautiful Nigerian sisterhood, but I gotta say, I was a little disappointed.

The Food

What bad could possibly be said about Nigerian food? I’m not sure if I’m biased because, at this point, efo pretty much courses through my veins, but I think you’d be hard-pressed to find food that tastes better than what they’re serving up here. Even the neighborhood Mama Put serves better food than your average restaurant in DC and at not even a fraction of the price. If I was a woman who wrote poetry, there would be odes to Nigerian food. If I was a writer, there’d be epic novels! I would erect monuments – okay, I’m stopping now. You get it -- I loves me some grub. It’s a compelling enough reason for me to yell from the highest mountain in Abuja – IT’S GREAT TO BE HOME!!! Ain’t no place in the world like it.

For better or for worse.