I grew up in a very quiet housing estate behind Warri in Delta State, where it was common not to know your neighbours. We had our churches, schools, market, malls, and swimming pools so we had very little reason to go out of our estate. In fact, until I became an adult I didn’t leave the estate up to five times a year.
Then I went to the East for my university education and lived off campus. I didn’t see any reason not to mix up with people. I was polite, I smiled and occasionally stopped at doors to say hello but no one was allowed to enter my room, nor was there any reason for me to go stay and gist in other people’s rooms.
The funny thing is, I grew up in a large family, I have five siblings. And I can talk a lot with my close friends: people I attended primary school and secondary school with, the girls I served mass with and attended catechism classes with. Outside any of the friend and family circles, however, one would think I am mute. I would later learn that the word for me is reserved. Ehen?
Then I moved to Lagos.
Lagos will take the “reserved” out of you and replace it with an angry person. Everybody will want to try your patience. Okada riders will look at your calm face and double the fare; bus conductors will allow the devil to use them, drivers are not exempt. I found myself ‘quarrelling’ with a bus driver during the week because he refused to stop the bus for me to get down. In the middle of the ‘you are a very stupid man’ I caught myself; Lucia you are following bus driver to quarrel?
I moved to a new apartment in December, the building has eight flats. It’s been six months and my name is still ‘that small girl,’ and that is fine by me. It’s just that whenever I pass by I can feel their eyes judging me. My immediate neighbour is an elderly Yoruba woman and you know how Yoruba women like to greet. Welcome o, eku ise o, we thank God o, how work, happy Sunday o, happy Monday o, happy sun is shining, happy rain is falling.
All that’s left is for her to greet “happy no light o.” One day she had a party and came to give me food, I wasn’t sure how to react; I blinked several times while she thrust the food into my hands. ‘Eat, you no get bodi!’ she said.
Since moving to this crazy city I have grown to love and hate I still have elements of my ajeboness even if the butter is far gone. I have been watching Lagosians from afar with my mouth open, seeing people do the craziest things, meeting amazing people, of being an independent adult, although I think this is a very wrong time to be a young adult in this country. Here’s to many more happy ground breaking years! My soundtrack for Lagos is still Brymo’s “Eko.”