I write so I can breathe. I am constantly evolving, mindless at times, frustrating even perhaps but heck, I wouldn't change the smell of freedom that comes with writing.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

A Day in 2006 in Lagos

 (An old post I found...)

Our daily life leaves us wondering for a few moments about a lot of things, sometimes totally insignificant, sometimes totally significant but something that we haven’t yet realised…ah well!

I went to my daughter’s room this morning - four snoozes later – and snuggled up to her like I do every morning and lingered there smelling her baby fragrance and wanting and wondering if I will ever be assailed again by such a heady thing again drawn from my own womb.(I’m still wondering…sigh!)

I start my prayers in the bath and I wonder if I’m doing right.

On my way to work, I sit in the passenger seat, my ipod chanted away my morning prayer (before the other music takes over) as I did the rounds of the prayer beads, thought at the same time about inane things in my life, watched the yellow commercial vehicles pack in people like sardines, wondering if I was right in doing so many things at the same time while it was probably right to just focus on the mantra I was chanting. I wonder if I am just being a hypocrite.

I found no traffic today and I wondered if I should text the other colleagues in my office to take the same route so they could also reach early…scrap it! I did not but I wondered.

I came close to the last flyover that I need to pass before my tiny red Picanto turns into the huge parking expanse. Before the road climbs, in the median between the two roads, there are a number of squatters who have been there for over 3 years I presume. I presume so, because I have seen them there for this period at least. So, there is this woman who has twin boys. I wonder what they do when it rains. Do they really have a place to sleep? I wonder.

Just as I begin to climb the flyover, there sit a bunch of twelve young boys eating their breakfast together. This is a daily event. The garbage truck, orange, cant-be-missed shade of orange continues to collect garbage. Under a tree sits a twenty-something girl, talking to herself and I wonder if she is being abused every day, if her daily existence depends on how she makes herself available to the men around or if she is affected by AIDS and thus left there to fend for herself…I wonder if she has eaten.

I reach the end of the parking lot; get off my car, switching off my ipod, disconnecting it from the charger and adapter, having finished my morning smoke and cross the road, up the stairs into a fourteen floor glass building. The security greets me and I smile back and wish them all. It is a daily routine. I wonder if they do it because they are pleased to see me or if it is a means of getting to be friends with me so I can accept another CV for a relative or friend. I wonder…

I get off on the ninth floor and open the office door. I am usually the first to reach the office and thus have the key to the main door. I am a stickler for punctuality and hate myself when I am late. I wonder if it is such a bother for those who never are on time. I wonder if I would be an easier going person if I took the liberty of being late deliberately. I hold the thought for half a second, shake out of it…but, I wonder.

Three things I realised and try to imbibe in myself every day and I do just the opposite. Well, most times. I try not to have expectations, not to judge and not take people for granted or be taken for granted. At work, I achieve only the last of the three. I expect otherwise bright candidates to come up for interview. I judge, analyse, shred them thoroughly till I get one that fits the bill. I wonder if I can ever get to do my job and at the same time adhere to these things. I wonder and then I think it’s not for me to wonder because I am paid to do that. I feel okay for a while…and then I wonder.

I log in, check emails; official, personal, read through blogs, comment, take interviews, discuss and investigate problems, squeeze in time for breakfast or coffee, chat, work and personal, multi-task like crazy, and then wonder if I only worked, how much time would it take me to finish all of it? I spend eleven to twelve hours officially in the office and wonder…

I wonder next if I should spend forty minutes making my daily report or am better off using that time to finish off something else. I eventually do it and get the hell out of the office, glad to be through with another day, satisfied that I have earned my pay. I take off my ID card, the lapel pin on my jacket stays, go down the lift breathe air and then breathe nicotine and let go. I wonder if it was a good day, if…ah well…I wonder.

The Driver takes off from the dark desolated parking lot; I can smell the weed in the air, squatters everywhere smoking up their drudgery into the air. I think, will my luck run out today? Is it my day to be robbed or mugged? I pass by. Sometimes I am stopped by ruffians. I share my Benson and move on. I wonder if it was the Benson that did the trick or they simply think I am not worth the trouble. I wonder about the stories I hear of the number of people who have got mugged. I thank God in that moment and wonder if there will be traffic on the road. I wonder…

My daughter’s nanny calls. We go through the routine of what-will-I-cook-for-dinner what-did-she-have-for-lunch and decide the menu for dinner. That done, my ipod hums the tune to match my mood and off I go to pick my friend at the nearby island and we sit at the parking lot, smoking, and cracking jokes, bitching and getting the general frustrations out. We are still sober then. I pack off the driver with transport money. I wonder then about the traffic. When it clears reasonably I gun the engine and we drive home, relatively blazed, blazing across a thirteen kilometre bridge towards home talking inane things I wish I remembered the following day. So, on we go and I wonder if I will remember…among the more elevated wondering she and I do on a day to day basis.

I drop her five houses away from mine down the street and call a friend to inform that I have reached home safely. I climb the stairs, chirpy, dazed, and tired and I hear a delighted squeal as the door opens…I wonder if the day really happened.

I am home. 

- Sandy

1 comment:

  1. This was lovely :), it does fit in to the pattern many of us city dwellers follow.

    ReplyDelete