Diary of a Danfo Baby: Entry IV - X

“Konidafun e”

This should have been a stinging attack, but it was delivered in Yoruba contaminated by a higher education and a sprinkle of eliteness. I look towards the direction of the insult and appraise the offender. Her crassness is performative. Fake recognises fake.

I wonder what has provoked the young woman into discarding her sophistication that quickly. I go about my way. My destination is the best life has to offer. But first, a trip to Egbeda. 

“Ikeja Along, Egebeda” 

I check to see if the seats on the bus are cushioned. I have a small bum bum; wooden seats are torture. I hop in and take the window seat. I open the book I am currently reading. The cover says: London, Capetown, Joburg. 

Lagos? 

Entry IV - Good People Fall at Obalende

I can’t jump out of a moving bus. To be fair, I wasn’t trying to. I was getting off the bus and the driver decided to move before I got off completely, so I fell flat on my face. I was in pain, but I was scared of another bus running over me or somebody beating me to publicise the event on TikTok, so I rose as fast as I could. Emi phoenix. 

Once you reach a certain age, falling is not an accident; it is a comedic event. People will giggle before they remember to say “eyah….fine girl, sorry”. I approached an Aboki with a wheelbarrow selling medicine and bought some cheap balm. It was not so cheap, actually, it cost me ₦700 Naira. ₦700 = Oshodi to Falomo. 

A few years ago, falling down at a major bus stop would have been the start of a week-long depression, but now, I just keep it moving.  That same day, the bus I took from Obalende to Banana Island almost crushed two girls on their way to school to death. Their bike man had thought it smart to make an illegal crossing before a speeding bus. My bus misses them by a hair. They survived. I survived. 

The Head of Corporate Services in my office is always talking about improving one’s resilience quotient. I would have said my resilience quotient is at an all-time high. But this is Lagos; there is resilience quotient, and there is suffering, aka experiencing shege daily quotient. I no even know which one dey improve. 

Entry V - Try Not to Enjoy Life Too Much (Corporate Baddie Version) 

If you asked me to tell you how to look like a serious person who knows what they are doing with their life, here is what I would advise.

If it matters to you that people see how much work you do, start by being a wailer. Talk about how your to-do list is choking you. Make a long list of tasks to reel out at stand-up meetings, tick one thing off that list, and then read it again the next day. Trust me, no one would notice. But do not make the mistake of listing two things you plan to do the whole day. No one would take you seriously, even if one of your tasks for the day is an eight-hour task.

Also, do not make cute Instagram reels of your cute outfits. Do not make videos of you dancing all the time. You have to appear high-strung or harried all the time. When someone asks you for a document, note it down so you can add it to your long list of meaningless things you achieved for stand-up the next day. Again, I promise you no one would notice. 

When you join a meeting with your superiors, ask that it be recorded. If they ask you why, tell them it is so you don’t miss out on all the key takeaways. But the real reason is that people lie, even managers and CEOs. Don’t say I didn’t tell you. Also, be humble. Don’t tell people they are doing nonsense, even if they are doing nonsense. 

Talk about the bills you have to pay even when all you pay for is data. Talk about how ridiculous the housing situation in Lagos is, even if your family member has very nicely given you a room to stay in. Talk about how expensive food is even though you have no idea how much anything costs now because someone is generous enough to cater for you. In short, do not appear as if you enjoy your life even one bit. What good is that to anyone?

Hard workers also do not sleep, so leave your digital footprints all over the internet in the wee hours of the day. Send emails at 2:00 am or during the weekend. How else will people know that you are a hustler even though the truth really is that you work better at night and sleep better during the day? How else would you be identified as a hard worker even if, in the grand scheme of things, nothing you are doing is important? So you have sent 8 email campaigns, but people are still dying from cholera.

However, if you are a clown, just look at me, discard all the advice I have given you, and emulate my lifestyle. But please remember that I wrote an entire essay because my Dudu Osun soap was melting at an unprecedented rate. Do you really want to be taking career advice from me?

Regardless of whether you take my advice or not, I believe so much in the person I am going to become, but very importantly, I believe so much in the person that I am. The person who enjoys every process. The person who finds joy in little things like keeping a streak of elevator selfies. The person who finds joy in mundane conversations with strangers. 

I am the person who loves staring at people, hoping to develop psychic powers that would enable her to figure out their misery. The one who asks questions. The one who laughs everywhere. The one who will always sleep because one of her missions in this world is to prove that heavy sleepers can make it too.

I just want to have my cake and eat it, or is it eat my cake and have it? 

Entry VI - Proximity to Wealth is not Wealth

“Shebi Otedola’s house is there.”  

And so? If you go there now, will they open the gate for you? Get out, please. 

You know that thing you people in Lagos do that you try to act familiar with rich and powerful people? Please stop it. We know you work in Banana Island, but please do not forget to touch grass every time you reach Iyana Oworo. You are still poor. 

Entry VII - The Fool’s Roundtable

Are we okay as a people? As a collective, did something go wrong in our evolution?

First things first, APC members and supporters! Please take your place at the head of the table. All seated? Good.

You already know that whatever I do to make money is my side hustle, and this, aka hating, is my main hustle, so I will say what I have to say. Now, you may be thinking, who is she, and what does her opinion mean to anyone? To answer this, I would say that I am nobody, and my opinions do not matter. But you are reading this diary entry and judging by the side of the internet that this would land, you too must be a nobody whose opinion does not matter. Now, let’s focus and get back to hating. 

You people that are always shouting on the internet, “I work hard”, "I deserve all the good things of life” yen yen yen. Sorry, but you are not very okay. Because who deserves all the bad things of life? (Okay, maybe our politicians) but for real, Princess, stop it. It is nonsense. You don’t deserve shit. If you really think your hard work is what sets you apart, then I have an elevator in my room to sell to you.  

Sitting pretty on the other side of this table are people who say things like “I am happy we are all suffering this” or “the majority of people that voted BAT are low-income earners, and they are the ones feeling the most impact”. Are you even okay? I mean, look at yourself, are you doing as well as you should be doing? 

You see those ones that call themselves Obidients. Haaaaa. 

Let’s talk about that borehole. Let’s be honest, if Nigeria wasn’t so bad, would that not be shameful? But let’s even leave the rot that is Nigeria alone and talk about the glaring lack of commitment to excellence. Is this how that man does business? Is this how Peter Obi got rich? How did he succeed at business with such an unholy matrimony with mediocrity? 

“He is a private citizen, and he has provided water for people who need it”.

Okay. I donated 2k to build a well last year, and now I will run for president. After all, I am a private citizen who provides water for people. It is not my responsibility to make people’s lives better, but I do anyway. Please reward me with the most powerful office in Sub-Saharan Africa. 

Just so we are clear on what the issue here is, Peter Obi is not just any private citizen. He is a private citizen aspiring to the highest office in the land. A man who is proud to commission such a project will have no problems signing laws and policies without clear direction. He will have no issues building roads without drainages or expressways without pedestrian bridges. He will build airports without ramps and functional elevators so the disabled can crawl on their bellies. After all, they didn’t have express roads and airports before.

Now I kind of regret casting my vote in his direction because what is this rubbish? Yeah, I belong to this table too.  

Entry VIII - Don’t Look; Don't See

I refused to look. I did not gawk at the man or woman whose head had supposedly split open. I knew it would bother me for weeks if I did. I just simply hoped never to be in a car accident.

I wondered if this was how our politicians address problems. If you don't look, then the problem is not there. But do you have to look to see that more and more people are spending their nights under the bridge and waking up to the sound of traffic?

Do you have to look to see how sad and hungry everyone seems?

Entry IX - Do They Know You Are Insane in Your Office?

Do they know you are insane in your office? Do they know you litter like a goat and wear suits like Oga Kaku? Do they know you pee on the road before coming into the office to talk strategy and market acquisitions? Do they know, or should I tell them? 

I followed a man to a relay race. It was a 5km run for environmental cleanliness - #citizensforbetterair. Cute t-shirts and nice running shoes, and everyone looks like they have sense. Volunteers do a bit of clean-up exercise while we run as a group. Cute nonsense, right? 

After the race, we all got served snacks and my good citizens for better air started to litter. Even if you usually drop waste on the floor, can you at least pretend? Should the fact that you just took part in a clean-up exercise not motivate you not to litter again? 

Entry X - Will I Always Be Quiet?

I am on the bus. It's 7 pm. I am somewhere between Oshodi and Egbeda. I know there are several bus stops in between, but I do not know which one I am closest to, so I am shocked when someone makes a call one hour after I have been on this bus telling the person on the other end of the line they are still at Oshodi. 

I shouldn't have been caught in the traffic, but I needed to return a book to the library, so I didn't get a ride with my boss like I normally would. You see how I made sure to mention that I use a library? Good. I just needed you to know that there are libraries in Lagos for poor people. You are welcome.

After one hour in traffic and with a cute baby girl in the mix, the other passengers are bonding. They are talking about how the protest scheduled for the next day might be the reason for the unusually heavy traffic. Then, the owner of the cute baby girl who has allowed a strange man on the bus to kiss her baby, starts to recount how she “enjoyed” the last protest. 

She got two gas cylinders and lots of cake, ice cream, and other goodies. She sold off the cylinders and ate a lot of ice cream.

I am angry.

I am irritated.

And then I pity her.

Five minutes later, she talks about how spaghetti now sells for ₦1200 per pack. Can she not see it?

Someone on the bus says, “This one no go be like that”. The woman laughs. She speaks wistfully about almost owning an iPhone 12. “I suppose don dey use like iPhone 12 like this. But the shop no quick open before police come. Them burst one policeman for mouth.” She laughs again. 

I want to yell and say, “You are one of the reasons Endsars failed”. But I look on and say nothing. I am one of the reasons Endsars failed.

I was quiet then. I am quiet now. Will I always be quiet?

I make a mental note to stop eating so much spaghetti before I bankrupt my helper, and then I stop listening. I open the Instagram app on my phone and post my July dump. Spaghetti is ₦1200?

Àlàkẹ́ Akọ̀wékọwúrà🍒