I miss Lagos and its glory.
I miss the corporate madness and the energy of the city. I miss the headquarters of the happiest people on earth. I miss the home of the 22 million geng.
I miss Eko, the city of hustling and bustling.
A city of hackers, hawkers, and hookers.
Of love, a city of life, a city of fun.
The rainfall city that is also not shy of blazing its sun.
I miss the city where the alayes rule the streets, agberos rule the road, and conductors rule the buses.
I miss this city where real life exists in the go-slow and gets boring when traffic flows. Ask Gala hustlers
I miss Yaba and its energy. I miss the okrika market where bend-down bras are bought and sold. I miss driving on Herbert Macaulay Way through Unilag and Yabatech, and finally taking a seat with Lieutenant Olawale and his military goons at the Barracks beside the Mainland Hospital’s Covid-19 isolation center.
I miss Ojuelegba with the stench of decaying rubbish and the pungent odor of the sewers; mingling with the sweet aroma of shawarma and suya pepper soup.
I miss Mama Lanre’s buka and those rickety makeshift stalls that show up at night and disappear before the day breaks.
I miss the agberos, the Lagos touts usually recognized by their gruff voices, rough faces, bloodshot eyes and incomplete set of teeth apparently lost in street brawls.
I miss Danfo buses, the paraga-drinking drivers, and their ‘insulting’ bus conductors. I miss their threesome show of terror on Lagos roads and the collateral damages.
I miss driving through the busy street of Lagos. I miss being stuck in Lagos traffic, spending 3 hours for a 30 minutes’ drive. I miss being harassed by LASTMA and Police. I miss their ridiculous exhortation and kangaroo judgment. I miss running away from FRSC officials over non-existent driving licenses and expired car documents.
I miss my drive to Gbagada; cruising through the traffic-laden Oworo- Anthony Expressway, turning into Gbagada through Garage, then through R-Jolad Hospital into Gbagada Phase 2 Estate where GDM Group reigns.
I miss my mechanics and vulcanizers.
Awww. Nice guys. They keep me moving and in return drain my pockets.
I miss the 3rd Mainland Bridge and those nightly drives after the Ikoyi and Lekki grooves.
Oh, I miss Ikoyi, driving through Awolowo Way, circling the Falomo roundabout, and linking into Bourdilon, turning in around MacPherson Road into the heart of Ikoyi.
I miss Lekki – Admiralty Way, Farm City, Sailors Lounge, Bays Lounge, and other lounges along the cruise. I miss Cubana on Adeola Odeku, and Natives beside the Access Bank HQ.
I miss the Instagram slay queens and their restroom pictures.
I miss Tunde Akinbode, padi mi Tunene omo iya’lata, a fact-based thinker whose with him you’re either right or wrong; and the answer is either yes or no.
I miss Brian. My coolest dude of all times.
I miss Anty Morufa and her underbridge paraga shop at Ijora-badia. I miss the pure water boy and the Gala hustlers (I wonder how they are currently surviving).
I miss Sisi Eko, Omoge toh baad! Beauty and brain conjoined. Strategic, connected, and sophisticated. I miss her pouting lips and the killer legs!
I miss me, Victor Adeyemi, a seeker of the unknown; left-eye thinker, innovation driver, problem-solver, content addict, creative writer, fun-seeker, visual designer, conference planner, co-creator, startup hacker, consumer/customer analyst, brand culture strategist, and author of sensational idea books, STEAL IT’ and ‘OLIVER THIEF.
I miss my passion for creating compelling propositions that connect brands with consumers.
As the earth takes a break to rest, and God gradually resets the mother earth, as nations heal from the scourge of Covid-19; I sat isolated in my house, socially distant from Cubana, thinking how good life had been, imagining a noisy bar where hookers and hackers hawk in the full glare of the night.
I sat lonely, wandering, and wondering when the siege will be over so the brands and consumers can gather under Ojuelegba Bridge and shout for joy.
I rise.
