LIVING IN A BIG CITY
LIVING IN A BIG CITY? I DON’T MIND. By teju duru
To drive on a long road, choked with traffic, belching foul smoke into the already polluted air, to sit in a car filled with bored frustrated passengers absent mindedly listening to what Fashola has to say again, I don’t mind.
It’s a mega city with mega issues, with throngs flooding in daily like an exodus, gold rush, ego (money)madness, leading to dashed hopes of true and dirty riches. Even a con man would need to be hard working, calculative and clever. And most in search of true fortune, in hot pursuit get unfortunate with time.
With a pool of many men from different tribes and tongues coming together with the sole purpose of making money , ensnared by the vicious circle life has to offer to whoever makes it a duty to pursue money, disappointment often sets in. Frustration and bruised ego let loose during traffic jam in Lagos. And this I mind.
One sentence you will probably hear too much in the mega city during a headache rendering traffic jam is a rhetorical question. A question no one but the creator (God) can answer. And the creator of the question (the man asking the silly question) most likely doesn’t know the answer. “Do you know who I am?” That is the question he expects us to find answers to as we get stucked in the traffic jam. A question Google can never find the answer to.
Excuse me. Everybody is an important personality while using the sacred road of Lagos till LASMA catches you. Or Fashola himself apprehends you. The VIP status makes him able to challenge whoever he comes across when there is a conflict of interest. His car has been bashed because of his impatience, he pops the question no one can answer “Do you know who I am?” He lurches forward and blocks the coming traffic and many upset souls in a hurry to get to wherever rain curses on him. Then, he pops the question. It is a question asked to intimidate another. A teenager driving roughly with his mum stolen-borrowed car asks it. A company driver asks it. An insurance man, a commercial motorcyclist asks it, a frustrated banker does too.
“Do you know who I am?” often makes heads turn to look at the direction the question is coming from. A fight is about to ensue, a drama many tensed road users in the traffic see as something to be amused of and let loose a bit, a show to lighten the mood. Often the person that asks the rhetorical question never provides the answer. We all left the road without knowing the personality that fought in traffic today. But we were fully entertained without a pay.
Next time the question is asked, there is an answer. “Do you know who I am?”
Answer: “No, have you forgotten? Should I call your psychiatrist?”
To drive on a long road, choked with traffic, belching foul smoke into the already polluted air, to sit in a car filled with bored frustrated passengers absent mindedly listening to what Fashola has to say again, I don’t mind.
It’s a mega city with mega issues, with throngs flooding in daily like an exodus, gold rush, ego (money)madness, leading to dashed hopes of true and dirty riches. Even a con man would need to be hard working, calculative and clever. And most in search of true fortune, in hot pursuit get unfortunate with time.
With a pool of many men from different tribes and tongues coming together with the sole purpose of making money , ensnared by the vicious circle life has to offer to whoever makes it a duty to pursue money, disappointment often sets in. Frustration and bruised ego let loose during traffic jam in Lagos. And this I mind.
One sentence you will probably hear too much in the mega city during a headache rendering traffic jam is a rhetorical question. A question no one but the creator (God) can answer. And the creator of the question (the man asking the silly question) most likely doesn’t know the answer. “Do you know who I am?” That is the question he expects us to find answers to as we get stucked in the traffic jam. A question Google can never find the answer to.
Excuse me. Everybody is an important personality while using the sacred road of Lagos till LASMA catches you. Or Fashola himself apprehends you. The VIP status makes him able to challenge whoever he comes across when there is a conflict of interest. His car has been bashed because of his impatience, he pops the question no one can answer “Do you know who I am?” He lurches forward and blocks the coming traffic and many upset souls in a hurry to get to wherever rain curses on him. Then, he pops the question. It is a question asked to intimidate another. A teenager driving roughly with his mum stolen-borrowed car asks it. A company driver asks it. An insurance man, a commercial motorcyclist asks it, a frustrated banker does too.
“Do you know who I am?” often makes heads turn to look at the direction the question is coming from. A fight is about to ensue, a drama many tensed road users in the traffic see as something to be amused of and let loose a bit, a show to lighten the mood. Often the person that asks the rhetorical question never provides the answer. We all left the road without knowing the personality that fought in traffic today. But we were fully entertained without a pay.
Next time the question is asked, there is an answer. “Do you know who I am?”
Answer: “No, have you forgotten? Should I call your psychiatrist?”
TEJU DURU IS A FREELANCE JOURNALIST
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