The One-shoe'd Guide.

by Hope Ogbologugo (Nigeria)

Making a local connection Nigeria

One worn-out looking shoe lay forlornly by the roadside. Several pairs of eyes went from the shoe to the yellow bus with black stripes speeding away and back to the shoe. Its owner jumped off the moving bus, clutching a brown file to his chest, shaking his head as he walked to the shoe. He wore a black trouser that seemed to be in dire need of an extra inch or two, the black had turned grey, maybe from being beaten countless times by the sun. The coat he wore hadn’t fared any better, loose threads hung at the fray but the white shirt underneath the coat was sparkling white and stood in contrast to everything else as it stuck to his chest, drenched in sweat. I looked down at the face of the watch on my wrist, it said five minutes past eight. The clouds were clear, the sun barely peeking out from behind. “My guy na wa oh, na only you come dis Lagos? See as you just fly enta bus like James Bond, na so your shoe sef fly like oroplane, go land one corner!” A burst of laughter erupted from the passengers waiting for buses to take them to another day of work. I couldn’t help but join in the laughter, the description was apt. I turned around, looking for the source of the jab, one of the many touts at the bus stop. The one-shoe’d man had a tight nervous smile plastered on his face, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at himself. He got to the shoe, dusted off his foot by rubbing it against the material of the other leg and slipped it into the shoe, still shaking his head at the weakest link in his ensemble. Another yellow bus with black stripes came rolling by, an unshaven young man with dirt-covered clothes hung from the bus, shouting, “Obalende! Obalende! If you no get change, no enter oh!” People scrambled to get into the bus even before it stopped. They were shoving with elbows, pushing with reckless abandon. I walked away to stand by a corner, watching with equal parts amusement and fright as I sent Amaka a text: ‘What is change?’. It was at this moment I understood what my Couchsurfer host had meant last night while we had dinner when she said, “You know, you really can’t say you have been to Lagos if you don’t experience what it is like to commute via public transport during rush hour.” “Humph” I snorted. “Are you trying to scare me? How bad can it be?” I asked. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She had said with a glint in her eyes. Now I was having second thoughts. Should I just ditch this challenge and fire up my Uber app? My knapsack lay resting on my belly, I was carrying it the wrong way. Amaka said this was the right way in Lagos because the ‘real owners’ would take out their properties from it if I carried it on my back. I took out the piece of paper Amaka had scribbled the bus stops on, surely there must be another way to get to that beach. “Are you lost? Where are you going?” I lowered the paper and looked up to see the man I had dubbed the one-shoe’d man. I smiled. “I’m trying to get to Landmark Beach but I’m not sure how.” I replied. “You have to get to Obalende first and then get to Victoria Island.” He answered. “I was hoping there would be an alternative route, there are too many people scrambling for the bus.” I said. “It’s normal, this is Lagos.” he said. He continued, “If you had been here earlier you would have seen what happened to me.” Then he threw his head back, letting out a loud laugh. I was hesitant for a second or two and burst into laughter too. “Come let’s hustle our way onto the next bus.” He held out one arm to me, the other clutching at his brown file. I linked my hand to his and let him guide me.