When I’m not driving, my transport route takes me through Iyana Oworo and as usual, there’s always drama. Most times, I’m too tired to actively observe or engage, so I just put my earphones on and lock up. On other occasions I stay back at work, not because I’m not done but because thinking about the prospect of crawling through Third Mainland Bridge at snail’s pace motivates me to chill at work and wait the traffic out.
Anyway, some people in private cars usually decide to pick passengers on their way to or from work. If you’ve ever hitched a ride like this, then you know that it’s not necessarily cheaper than the commercial buses, but there’s less drama and you’re a bit more comfortable. Also, they’re likelier to be route accurate. For instance, if I were to do a Danfo, I’ll have to get to Obalende first then take a bike to the office while the private cars might be going to VI through Osborne, so I just drop at Falomo. Less complicated waka.
(Olorun a gba wa lowo one chance, since being kidnapped is not our portion even though it keeps happening.)
So, here’s the thing that gets to me; sometimes you get a driver who is adamant about a few things and it might rub off on people the wrong way. Last week, some guy in a SUV pulled up and said that he’ll be taking three in the last seat at the back even though it’s meant for two adults (It’s a seven-seater). I’m not big, the other guy is just my size so no wahala. The third person wasn’t much bigger either, but he decided to make a fuss.
“Na for two people. I no fit sit.”
I get it; it’s a slight squeeze but for a 25-minute journey at that time of the day, we would be fine. However, Oga no wan gree, forgetting that while he was going to pay for the ride, the driver wasn’t commercial and could decide not to carry him. Driver made it clear that he could either get on board or get off and while the stubborn fella grudgingly got in, he said something that struck me.
“We sef get jeep o, we nor just dey drive all the time.”
In my mind, I was like: Dude, who asked you?
I’ve seen this a few times and underneath all that ego spa treatment is insecurity. Like, do you have to make a point to the other person that you aren’t some ‘commoner’? But last-last, nobody cares or wants to know. As far as everyone is concerned, it doesn’t matter if you have five cars parked in your garage, when you’re using public transportation, you’re a commuter like everyone else.
You see two humans, one feeling slighted by the other so much that he has to say what he has in his account, so he won’t be treated like shit. The question is: why do you have to base your dignity on what you have or who you know? Isn’t ‘being’ enough? If you have to make a point of your wealth, I don’t care if you actually have it; you’re poor.
This also manifests in people doing seemingly odd jobs. A graduate okada man will tell everyone he’s a graduate when things get heated so he can retain some respect. I once rode in an Uber driven by a corps member. On another occasion, it was with a guy who works in a bank. On both occasions, they had to chip in with, “This isn’t my day job o.” In my opinion, it doesn’t matter; just do exactly what you’re getting paid for at the moment. The insecurity worries me. Why should anyone be ashamed of making a legitimate living? I say this because I recognize where it’s coming from and I’ve been there.
When I was younger, I used to go to the mill to buy feed for our poultry at home. I’ll see all those fine girls and start feeling ‘somehow.’ It was funny because if I was in regular clothes or my sparkling white school uniform, I wouldn’t feel that way. My mom noticed one day and asked why I felt ashamed doing chores for the family, especially when it was something that earned money.
My dad’s approach was even different. He’s a qualified vet doctor who has worked with/for some of the biggest farms this side of Nigeria, but baba rarely calls himself a doctor; he says he’s a farmer. Far as he’s concerned, so far as he wasn’t stealing, making money is nothing to be ashamed of.
So, whatever you do – white collar, blue collar, straight out hustling or getting down and dirty, hold your head up. Your work has value. You have a value that you should never have to explain. Just do you and be proud. Everyone else can [redacted] off.
About Wobe Diaries
Unfiltered. Bare bones. Raw. In this diary, I simply record notable experiences that occur in Lagos — buses, motor parks, the streets, churches, etc. — whenever I leave the safety and quiet of my apartment. The term ‘Wobe’ is primarily associated with young, streetwise people who are (maybe) mostly unconventional, unpretentious, very down to earth and probably unruly.
Beautiful.
Clean write-up omo Wobe! 😀