Tag Archives: Nigeria

Nigeria at 58

Just like the eyes cannot see without a body

The hand is also useless unattached to the body

I look forward to a nation filled with peace

A nation where the citizens understand that our cultural and religious differences make each one of us important

None lesser or greater than the other

I look forward to a nation where greed and strife become history

A nation where our leaders understand that leadership means service

Above all, I hope for a better Nigeria

A Nigeria where the citizens can proudly proclaim their love for their nation

A Nigeria where dreams come true

——–

Photo Credit: http://www.punchng.com

The troubled N100 note

“I cannot collect this 100 naira. Please change it for me.” The lady said.

“I no get another one.”

“Please change it. No one will collect it from me.”

“I say I no get another one. Dem go collect am no worry. Wón ti cancel 100 naira, kò sí mó ní ta.” (The 100 naira has been cancelled. It is no longer available). The marwa driver said to the lady impatiently.

The lady refused to budge as she pointed the dirty, torn and cello-taped 100 naira to the driver.

“Aunty, no waste my time nau. Abeg, get down make I dey go. Mo ní wón ti cancel 100 naira.” (I said they have cancelled the 100 naira). He repeated.

I looked at the lady refusing to collect the money and the other passenger (a lady also) seated beside her. The three of us burst out into laughter as if on cue. The elderly man seated gingerly beside the driver smiled. “Ta ló sö fún ë pé wón cancel e?” (Who told you it has been cancelled). He asked as he looked at him.

Kò sí n ta mó.” (It is no longer available). The driver replied.

Wön ò cancel è. Wön kò ò print è mó ni.” (It has not been cancelled. They have only stopped printing it).

“Aunty ë jò ó, ë jé, owó ni.” (Aunty, please eat it. It is money).

The other lady passenger and I looked at the lady still holding the money. We both had smirks on our faces.

“Oya give me 500, make I give you 600.” The driver eventually said.

The lady opened her bag, pulled out a 500 naira note and was given three 200 naira notes in return.

She eased out of the marwa and we continued our journey with the elderly man laughing at the driver as he repeated his statement about eating the money.

****

In recent times, with the unavailability of clean 100 naira notes, I have also had to avoid buying things that would make me receive the note. Most of the notes in circulation are in a sorry state and you begin to wonder as there are so many insinuations about the note.

Does anyone still have clean and new 100 naira notes in their possession? Do well to share 😉

—–

Photo Credit: http://www.naijaquest.com

Encounters with men in uniform – Part 3

We were driving on the popular Awolowo way in Ikeja. Hubby drove while I sat beside him. We were almost at the bottom of the bridge which led to either Oba Akran or Oba Akinjobi when the officer flagged us down. She signaled that we park and hubby obeyed.

“Good afternoon madam.” Hubby said to her.

“Good afternoon. Can I have your drivers’ license?”

As I opened my wallet, she looked at me and said; “I was talking to him.”

“I know.” I responded. “Is it not his drivers’ license you asked for?” I asked her as I pulled out hubby’s photocopied drivers’ license from my wallet and handed it over to her.

She looked at it and stretched out her hand to give it to him. I collected it from her and put it back in my wallet.

“Can I see your vehicle license and insurance?” She asked.

I breathed deeply as I casually opened the glove box in front of me and brought out the envelope of vehicle documents. I retrieved the needed documents and handed it over to her. She looked at them, then handed them back to me.

“Can I have your tinted permit?”

By this time, I was beginning to wonder when this would be over. I brought out the tint permit and gave it to her.

Her eyes immediately lighted up. “Did you see what was written on it?” She asked.

I looked at her. “Yes, I saw what was written on it. What does it say?” I asked her.

She immediately called the attention of her colleague who was standing a few metres away. She showed the document to her colleague, who looked at it and flicked her hand to let us go.

She handed it back to me and asked us to go.

“Under processing” was boldly written on the permit and it was signed by a senior officer.

How she seemed not to understand what was written on the document is still a wonder to me. It was not written in another language. It was written in English.

As we drove off, hubby told me the same officer had stopped him a week before at the same spot.

 

One week later, I was driving alone on Medical Road, Ikeja. Same officer decided to flag me down again. She asked for my drivers’ license. I opened my wallet and handed her the photocopied version as usual. She returned it and asked for the vehicle documents.

As I stretched to open the glove box so I could get them out; she said to me. “Madam, be fast.”

I looked at her and said to her. “Since you want to be asking for these documents from me or my husband every week, you will need to be patient so that I can give them to you.”

“Ehen? I don stop you before?”

“This is the third time. Do you still want the documents?” I asked her.

“Don’t worry. You can go. It is well.” She said.

I rolled my eyes as I drove off.

I wonder if we will have a fourth encounter with the same officer. I truly hope not.

——–

Photo Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

Fashion Rounds

There was a time when you were considered unfashionable if you had your natural hair. The trend was to have your hair straightened. Even as a teenager in the early 90s, I looked forward to having my hair permed immediately I graduated from the secondary school. That was the in-thing.

Fast forward to twenty years later, everyone is going back to being “local”. No one sees natural hair as unfashionable anymore. It is now considered to be a pride to flaunt the natural look. Even the social media is agog with different ways to keep your natural hair looking beautiful. Google also has different images of natural hair styles and sincerely they are very pretty.

                                        

There was a time when having a total transformation with your make-up was considered trashy. Prior to that, our parents made up their faces heavily for parties and events. It was the fad then. I smile now when I remember attending parties with our parents and seeing the faces of some women with the rounded red or pink highlights on their cheekbones. It looked really funny but well, it was being fashion forward during that era.

Fast forward to twenty years later, having your make-up done by a professional make-up artist is the real deal. I have seen some faces made up and I actually fail to recognize the person behind the face. I once attended a wedding where I was looking out for the bride but did not realize she had just passed by me. Her make-up was a total transformation with a capital T and she had changed into an evening gown; so identifying her among the many beautiful ladies in various gowns got me confused.

                           

There was a time when wearing our local African fabrics was termed as old-fashioned. Only our grandmothers proudly rocked the Adire and the Ankara materials. Correct me if I am wrong but I believe our rejection of our local fabrics was one of the problems the textile industry encountered which eventually helped in running them aground. Yeah, we all know about the country not having power but it has been that way since eons ago (probably since my toddler years).

Fast forward to twenty years later, the Ankara material became the darling of wedding planners and brides. It became the choice of aso ebi. The fashion industry is also awash with Ankara sewn in beautiful styles while the Adire is gradually stamping its feet.

                    

There was a time when people looked at you with “one kain eye” if you wore a platform shoe. Prior to that, our parents rocked the platform shoes in parties and events. If you need proof, ask your parents or any woman in her late 50s or 60s to show you pictures of herself in her teenage years. Even the men were not left out. They were awesome as they rocked the bell trousers. I remember watching soul train and seeing only bell trousers in every episode.

Fast forward to twenty years later, the bell trousers are back with a bang but this time, the women are owning it. The platforms have been back for a while and it has even been incorporated and designed as normal work shoes. I personally prefer wearing shoes with a little platform as it helps reduce the strain on the arch of the feet.

                             

 

               

There was a time when it was fashionable to amass body weight. Pot-bellied men were regarded as the “Baba Olowos”. Even the women were not left out. If you were married and put on a bit of weight, it was said that you were showing evidence of being taken care of by your husband.

Fast forward to the millennium, everyone is talking about eating healthy. The pot-bellied men of yester years want to have six packs by force and run the six-pack body youngsters out of the market. Gyms are springing up at every corner to assist them in achieving this purpose. The women (both single and married) don’t want to put on weight any longer. And those who have been blessed “in a big way” are getting into diets to remain healthy.

Above all, it is nice to know that I am a part of this fashion eras making the rounds. So in another twenty years, I would be able to tell the youngsters that “we rocked that in those days”.

——–

Photo Credit: http://www.pinterest.com
http://www.weddingdigestnaija.com
http://www.makeup.lovetoknow.com
http://www.prettydesigns.com
http://www.gettyimages.com
http://www.bellanaija.com

Encounters with men in uniform – Part 2

I was in a hurry to get to my destination. I was attending lectures for a professional course and I was beginning to run a little late. I drove the car with deft hands and was soon on the expressway; my destination totally on my mind.

About fifteen minutes into my drive, an officer standing on the right side of the expressway flagged me down. I hissed as I imagined this would take a few minutes out of the time which I did not have. Another car was parked on the right side of the road and I noticed some officers talking to the driver behind the wheel. With nothing to fear, I applied the brakes but left the car running.

“Good morning.” I said to the officer.

“Good morning madam.”

“How may I help you?”

“Can I have your driver’s licence?” The officer asked.

I handed over my original driver’s licence to the officer. He looked at it, was satisfied that it was still valid but held on to it.

He asked for two more items and I stepped out of the car, opened my booth and showed the items to him. He looked at both of them, scrutinizing them as if they were items which had just dropped from space. After a few minutes, he stood behind the car and asked me to go in to step on the brakes.

I sighed. This was beginning to take longer than I thought. I eased into the car and stepped on the brakes.

He walked towards the driver’s window and said; “I knew it. I knew one of your brake lights wasn’t working.”

I looked at him, anger clearly written on my face. “You flag me down right in front of the car and tell me you knew one of the brake lights wasn’t working? In broad daylight?” I asked him as I stepped out of my car,

“I have to seize your driver’s licence and issue you a ticket.”

“Go ahead but I think you should stick to your duties and quit the lies.”

“Madam, it is not that. I….”

“Can I have the ticket and a covering note because I cannot afford to get stopped by another bunch of officers on the way?” I said interrupting him.

A senior officer who stood by their official vehicle some metres away noticed the heated exchange. He called his report and asked him to come closer. “What is the problem?” He asked him.

The report tried to explain the situation to the senior officer.

“Hello Madam.” The senior officer said; calling my attention.

“Yes.” I said as I walked towards him.

“I see that you are upset.”

“Of course, I am. No one is stopping your officer from doing his duties but he did not have to lie to prove a point.”

“I am sorry. He should not have lied. He mentioned that he is booking you because one of your brake light is out.”

“That is what he said.”

“Please try to sort out the brake light ma.” He said.

“I will. Please can I have the ticket and the covering note so I can get moving? You guys have delayed me for my lectures and I am late already.” I said as I looked at my wrist watch.

“Okay. Do you know where to make payment for the seized driver’s licence?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Our office is located at Ikeja. You will need to come with the ticket and make a payment of N2,000 to the bank.” He said to me.

“Can I send someone? I don’t have the time to do this during the week. Besides, my office is on the Island and I am free only during the weekends.”

“Yes, you can send someone but give him/her a letter of authority so that your driver’s licence can be released. This cover note is for any officer who stops you on the road asking for your license.” He said as he handed over the sheet of paper to me.

The senior officer apologized once more for the delay and told me I could go.

I eased back into my car angrily but heaved a sigh of relief.

——

Photo Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

Blind Pact – Chapter 12

Gboyega leaves Akure excited. After the call with Bola two days ago, he had been so unsettled that he made up his mind to visit Akure and discuss with her face to face. He was supposed to leave the office on Friday to visit some sites but he left Shagamu early and did the site monitoring on phone. As he sits in the bus taking him back to Shagamu, he smiles at the thought of her. Bola meant everything to him and being around her made him happy. This fuelled his decision to get an apartment and move to Akure after his one year National Youth Service. Right now, he wished the months would hasten up so he could be done with it.

He arrives home late in the evening tired and hungry. He pulls out the key to his room from his pocket, inserts it into the key hole as he turns the key. The door opens on its own accord without a release of its lock. He stops and wonders. I couldn’t have forgotten to lock my door before leaving yesterday. He steps into the dark room, closes the door behind him and inserts his key into the keyhole. He feels the wall blindly for the light switch as he drops his knapsack on the reading table by the door. He hits the switch and he is suddenly startled.

Kofo is lying down on a chaise lounge in his room dressed in flimsy underwear that barely provide cover and high-heeled pumps. One of her legs is thrown over the arm of the chaise lounge while the other rests on the chair. She has a champagne flute in her hands which is filled to the brim while another filled flute and the bottle of champagne sits by her on the floor. She looks up at Gboyega and smiles. “I’ve been waiting.”

Gboyega is too shocked to speak as he looks round his room. An entertainment music gadget sits under his TV. The curtains have been changed from the drab one he left there yesterday morning to classy day blinds. He takes in his environment before his gaze finally settles on Kofo.

“You like it, don’t you?” She asks winking at him.

Gboyega breathes deeply as he shakes his head vigorously. “Kofo, what do you think you are doing?” He asks in frustration.

She stands up from the chaise lounge, holding her champagne flute gingerly in her hand. As she walks towards the door, she brushes her fingers seductively over his lower anterior. She locks the door and puts the key inside her bosom. Gboyega who is still in a state of shock does not realize what she has just done. She passes by him again as she walks back to the chair wriggling her hips. She is wearing a thong and her butt dances to each footstep.

“Hey, sit down.” She says tapping a spot beside her. “Let’s talk.”

“How did you even get into my room?”

Kofo feigns a surprise. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember how to pick a lock. Or do you need me to juggle your memory? We could retake those classes, you know? She says shrugging her shoulders.

“Kofo, please let me go. Please, I don’t want to do this anymore.” Gboyega pleads.

“But you know that ain’t possible.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t be with you any longer.” Gboyega says raising his voice.

“Oh yes, you can. Gbosgaga, you give me joy and pleasure. How do you expect me to survive without you warming my bed? Since this is how you want it, I decided to make this place…” She says as she looks round the room. “….Comfy and homely for us.”

Gboyega walks towards his reading table and pulls out the travelling bag under it. He begins to throw in some shirts and trousers from his clothes rack. Kofo laughs as she realizes what he is doing.

“Where do you think you are going?” She asks.

“Anywhere. As long as it is away from you.”

“You know you have to get by me before you leave this room?” Kofo says as she downs the champagne in her glass.

“Watch me!”

Kofo begins to laugh hysterically.

Gboyega ignores her. He zips up the travel bag, slings it across his shoulders and walks towards the door. When he gets there, he stands before it, shocked. The key is not on the door lock. He looks back at Kofo who is still laughing as he walks to the bathroom. He puts his hand on the window sill as he moves his fingers slowly hoping to find what he had kept there. After a fruitless search, he walks back to the room.

“Were you looking for this?” Kofo asks as she dangles a single spare key before him.

He walks towards her to grab it but she quickly puts it back into her buxom bust as she lifts up her assets jiggling them in the process. “Not so fast boyfriend. You should say thank you to me for teaching you all these tricks.” She smiles. “You need to relax. Sit down.” She reiterates as she taps the lounge by her side.

“I don’t want to sit down. Please just let me out of the room.”

Kofo drops her champagne flute on the floor and stands up. She meets Gboyega eye to eye as she places her right hand on his chest. “I’m sure you don’t want to mess with me. Be nice unless you want to have it the hard way.” She threatens him.

Gboyega understands her threat perfectly. A man who had once manhandled her at a night club had paid with his life. Gboyega had warned the man to get his hands off Kofo but the man was drunk and he groped her annoyingly. Only a flash of steel was seen and the man had slumped; his throat slit. Gboyega had been dumbfounded. It had happened so fast and he was too shocked to utter a word. Kofo had dragged him out of the night club before they were noticed.

He tries to imagine where she would have kept either her gun or jackknife since she was half-nude. It had to be somewhere close to her, probably tucked inside the chaise lounge. If he decides to take his chances, will he be fast enough? He knows Kofo would not hurt him but what if he was wrong? What if he had pushed her to the height of desperation? He was not ready to find out. He reconsiders his decision immediately.

“What do you want?” He asks with a straight face.

“Now, you are talking.” She answers smiling. She walks to the music system and presses the start button. Soft music begins to play. She takes his hands and puts it around her bare butt. She begins to sway to the music as she rocks their bodies together.

Gboyega takes his hands off but Kofo slaps them back on her butt. Gboyega wonders if he would be able to overcome this temptation. He shuts his eyes as he forces himself to think of something else. He decides to take his mind far away from his current environment. He thinks about his parents and the torture he had to go through to identify their bodies. This causes him pain in his heart and he moves his mind away from the image. He thinks about his brothers and how their lives have panned out. A drunk, a drug dealer, a womanizer, a petty thief. The youngest two who were still in their teens were also beginning to exhibit criminal traits and he became saddened and grieved for them because he was unable to control his brothers or have a positive impact on their lives. He is pained by these thoughts and he forces his mind to change direction again. He smiles as he thinks about Bola. She was the only one who brought a smile to his face nowadays. He remembers her smiles and her frowns and laughter builds in his throat. How he wished he could be with her right now.

Kofo looks at Gboyega’s face and smiles. His eyes are tightly shut and there’s a smile on his lips. She is glad that he is back where he is meant to be. She begins to stroke his body as she unbuttons his shirt slowly. She traces her fingers lightly through the whole length of his body teasing his sensitive spots. Gboyega’s body warms and he opens his eyes. Kofo looks at him lovingly. He realizes that she is still as beautiful as the first time he met her. She pulls him closer to her body as she caresses his lips slowly and passionately.

blind-pact-12

Gboyega tries to pull away from her but his body has been awakened and begins to seek expression. Months of not being with a woman begins to take its effect on him and his will falters. Every decision he made to stay clean crashes down like a pack of badly arranged cards. Kofo, understanding every part of his body continues to work her lips and hands on his body steadily building and fanning the fire of passion in him as she undresses him.

In minutes, the will to be free from her is lost and his only desire is to take charge and possess her. Every member of his body is fully awake and excited. He moans as Kofo unleashes the beast in him as she handles his nether region with dexterity. He tears away her flimsy underwear and the sight of her voluptuous bust being released from their previous hold takes over his mind and ignites his body. Everything and everyone he had thought about some minutes ago take a backseat. His spirit takes a flight as his mind takes full control of every organ of his body prompting it to fulfil its pleasure and have its fill.

The night is still and quiet and the only sounds heard are that of the soft music from the music player and the guttural voices of the bodies in the throes of passion. The night goes to sleep with Kofo gratified roughly just the way she loves it.

——-
Photo Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

My Journey to Identification

“Olubukola, your BVN data have [sic] been enrolled with NIMC. Tracking ID: BVN_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _. Visit any NIMC office to update your data and get your NIN.”

I received the above text message some weeks ago. Sender’s details stated NIMC. My first hunch was to delete it. I was about to, when on second thoughts, I decided to bring out my laptop. I opened up Google and typed NIMC in the search box. My search revealed the National Identity Management Commission website. So it was not a scam after all. I decided to make more enquiries from the website and found out forms and other information regarding identifying myself as a citizen of my beloved country, Nigeria.

I download and print out the attached forms, fill it out and search for an office closest to me on their website. I find that one is just a few metres walk from my house. Cool! I get dressed the next day and begin my journey to identification.

journey-to-id

Considering that it is a government-run program, I assume they would not get started until 10.00am. My daughter and I leave home at about 9.30am. In about fifteen minutes, we get there and I am surprised that the office is open at 9.45am. There is also a considerable amount of people waiting. Hmm! This is a nice change for a government-run program, I say to myself.

I declare my intention to get identified and I am asked the basic question. “Do you have a valid means of identification?” – To which I respond in the affirmative. I produce the ID and my filled form and there is a smile on the lady’s face. “I have not seen this form in a long while.” She says to her colleague. “Our job would be easier with this.” She continues. I am asked to take my height measurement and this is imputed on my form. “Please wait outside until you are called.” I am told.

My daughter whips out her novel, while I read mine on my mobile phone. A few minutes later, I am called in. I am actually surprised at the speed with which the process is run. I sit in a queue in the office and soon, I am next in line. I take a seat beside a guy who begins to input my details into his desktop. My form gives an edge over others as he does not need to ask me any questions. His eyes move from my form to his desktop and the only sound between us is the sound of his fingers clacking on the keyboard. Everything goes smoothly until……

There is a power-cut. The desktop goes blank and the guy imputing my details hisses as he sits back. I look at his face. “You don’t have a UPS?” I ask him foolishly; as if I did not see his desktop go blank. He ignores me and asks that a colleague sitting by the window, lift up the venetian blinds for air. There is a generator by the lady pulling the venetian blinds and I am relieved that it would be switched on very soon. I hoped too soon.

We are all ordered outside and asked to wait till PHCN decides to give them light. What!!!! In this great country? Someone still depends solely on government light? We all walk out and wait for the Nigerian miracle to happen. An hour passes and more people join the queue. Everyone waiting for the miracle of PHCN.

About an hour and a half later, the guy informs us that the local government usually powers the premises at noon. Hopefully, they will power their office. This gives the waiting applicants a sense of hope. Noon is just about 30 minutes away. An hour later, we are told they will power the premises at 1.00pm. We all grumble but still decide to wait. The local government eventually powers the premises but decide whose office to power or not. Our hope is dashed as we realize that this is going to be a very long wait.

 

Collection of ID cards begin at 1.00p.m. Applicants seeking to collect begin to arrive in trickles and the whole office area soon becomes crowded. My daughter signals to me that she is hungry and would love to get gala outside. “If you stand up, someone else would take your seat.” I tell her. She decides to stay put and bear the hunger pangs.

At about 1.30pm; three hours after I should have been captured, an officer working with a para-military organization in the local government premises decides to empower the office with some cash to power their office. The generator is carried out of the office and filled with fuel. The guy who was initially imputing my details decides to give a lecture before the generator is powered.

“Only those whose names have been written down for capturing will be attended to. Every other person should come back tomorrow morning.” There are a lot of grumbles and mumbles but he is undeterred. “If you do not know your mother’s hometown, please call her and confirm before you get to the desk for capturing. If we ask you a question and you don’t have an answer to it, we would send you out and call someone else in. We have only five litres of fuel and we still need to do biometrics for those collecting as well.” He concludes.

I walk back in to take my seat beside the guy and in two minutes, I am captured and identified. I am asked to return three days later for collection of my ID. Three days is long past and it is yet to be available. I wonder how long I still have to wait to end my journey to identification. I hope I get to my destination soon and be identified as a citizen of this great country, Nigeria.

——-
Photo Credit: http://www.deviantart.com

Danfo Tales

The yellow volkswagen buses used for transportation majorly in most cities in Nigeria are referred to as “Danfo” in local parlance. I have no idea where the name originated from but once the word “danfo” is mentioned any where in Naija, every one understands.

Danfo tales

A ride in one of these buses reveal a combination of various characters. I took a ride in one recently and the following ensued. An elderly lady who I will call “Alhaja Trouble” had put her baggage in the boot of the danfo and told the driver that she would pay 100 naira as extra for the baggage.

Now, it is a known fact that danfo drivers in naija do not carry baggages for free. The driver told Alhaja Trouble that he would not carry her load for 100 naira as fuel had become scarce and expensive.

Alhaja Trouble told the driver that she and her friend were going on this ride, baggage inclusive. This meant she would be paying 500 naira (the ride cost 200 naira). She expected the total cost to appeal to the driver. Unfortunately, he was not impressed.

Driver: Mi ò lè gbé ërù yën ní iye yën, Alhaja (I can’t carry the baggage for that amount, Alhaja).

Alhaja Trouble: Ah,ah, a dè n bè yín. Àwa náà máà ní mótò o. Èyin lë ma kókó ní mótò ni? (I have been pleading, we also own a vehicle. Are you the first to have one?)

Driver: Ë è bá gbé mótò yín wá nígbà yën (You should have brought your vehicle then).

Alhaja Trouble: O rí ë ò pé ni (You are nuts).

Driver: Àwön ömö yín ni orí wön ò pé (It is your children that are nuts).

Trust naija, a fight is never complete without insulting the other party’s family members.

Alhaja Trouble: Màá fi ojú ë rí nkan léèní (I will deal with you today).

This is getting interesting as I wonder how Alhaja Trouble intends to deal with the driver.

Alhaja Peace (the supposed friend who is riding with Alhaja Trouble) had all the while been sitting in the bus quietly.

Alhaja Peace: Alhaja, ë fi sílè. Ó ti tó. Ë má sòrò mó (Alhaja, leave him alone. It is okay. Don’t flog the issue).

But Alhaja Trouble will have none of that. She reports the driver to another driver (I presume, the head of drivers) who tries to talk sense into both parties.

Alhaja Trouble is shouting while Driver is also cursing. The peace making driver shuts both of them up and eventually the driver decides to carry Alhaja Trouble reluctantly.

Whew!!!! I sigh. The battle is over.

Unfortunately, I have spoken too soon.

A lady with two kids, one held in her hand and another strapped to her back is trying to get into the bus.

Another driver is trying to park his bus just beside the lady and decides not to look back while reversing his vehicle. Really??? How do you reverse a vehicle looking forward?

The bus brushes the baby strapped to the back slightly and Alhaja Trouble and Alhaja Peace scream. Trust maternal instincts, we have them in abundance in naija.

The lady immediately unstraps her baby and checks her head and body for any scratches.

The driver gets down from his vehicle and Alhaja Trouble asks that he apologize to the lady. The driver does but the lady is not pacified.

She drags the driver by his shirt as he is about walking away and asks that he acknowledges what he has just done.

Driver: Sèbí mo ti ní ko má bínú. Sé ó yë kín n hug ë ko tó gbà ni? (I have apologized to you. Am I supposed to give you a hug before you accept my apology?)

I am about to burst into laughter but hold back so I don’t become the next point of discourse.

Danfo drivers and their passengers are definitely a comic relief.