Three Sundays ago, hardly has James stepped into the auditorium when the ushers begin to direct him towards the empty front rows. He ignored all of them and went to sit somewhere between the middle and the back of the church auditorium. One particular young female usher was known to be particularly insistent. He followed James to his seat and told him to move to the front. James ignored her again, bent down his head and closed his eyes to say a short prayer. When he opened his eyes, the female usher was still beside him. He tapped him on the shoulder and told again him in a low voice to move to the front rows.

A wicked glint of smile flashed across James’ face. He raised his head up in his seat and said in a loud voice, “Please leave me alone. I told you I’m not interested. I am married, can’t you understand?” Everybody turned their eyes towards James and the usher. Some members laughed, while others opened their mouths in astonishment. The lady usher felt very embarrassed, and looked as if she wished the earth will swallow her. She quietly withdrew from the auditorium and went to the back of the church. She never bothered James again about where to sit in the church.

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“Who the f**k do you think you are? A goddamn immigration officer?” exploded the young man. “Can I see the manager, please?” he demanded. “I’m sorry you can’t see the manager. Go and bring a valid identification”, she dismissed him off-handedly. By this time, one of the bank’s security men had already approached the young man to keep him calm. “Keep you your goddamn hands off me. I’m not leaving here until I get paid or see the manager”, he yelled at the security man.

The bank’s manager, attracted by the noise from the banking hall, came out of his office. Seeing the young man being accosted by the security man, he walked over to him and said, “Is there any way I can assist you, sir?” The young man fumed, “Yes. Tell this your cashier to quit acting like a goddamn immigration officer. I gave her my school’s ID card; she said it expired last year. I gave her my International Passport; she said it is also expired. Alright, I agreed they are expired, does that affect my identity? Am I expired? Can’t you just identify me and pay me?”

To cut the story short, the manager invited the young man into his office and he came out after a few minutes. He represented his cheque at the cashier, got paid and went away.

Two days ago, I met the same old man around the same spot at Ikeja. It was around the same time. He approached me again with his cock and bull story of being stranded as a result of loss of his transportation money, and on his way to Surulere.

I looked at him with pity. But I will be damned if he gets my money this time again. I respect old age, but not a liar. I looked at him in the eyes and said, “Baba, is it everyday you lost your transportation money and get stranded on your way somewhere? Last week you told me you were stranded on your way to Mushin and I gave you N100, today it is Surulere again. If you want to be a beggar, be a proper one and stop telling people lie”. The old man looked around him to make sure nobody heard my outburst, then with a surprising agility for a man of his age, he turned around and walked away.

This is a common example in Lagos everyday. Try moving through Obalende, Oshodi or Agege market, and you will feel like punching someone. The annoying thing is that, as you are hurrying along some will stop suddenly in your front to watch one spectacle or the other beside the road. Sometimes, you cannot help but bump into them. Most annoying are fat people moving ahead of you in the crowd. They block all available ways of escape with their main frames. If they have massive rears, then forget about overtaking them. Just accept your faith and  tow the line.

Try using a pedestrian bridge to cross to the other side of the road, only to be checkmated by a man and a woman holding hands as they walked on the bridge. There is no way you can pass them without breaking their cord, and doing this can lead to a street fight. Ever try to rush past some old folks in a crowded place? It is a practical lesson on patience. Move this way, they block you, move that way, they are there too, walking slowly. You dare not side-stepped or push them, else you commit murder.

Kunle, a JJC to Lagos, was busy with other idlers, watching a magician perform by the side of the road, one sunny afternoon at Oshodi. All of a sudden, two guys beside him started fighting. In the ensuing melee, Kunle was pushed down alongside others. Anyway, some peace-makers stopped the fight, and the fighters went their way. Inside the bus, on the way home, Kunle put his hand inside his back pocket to retrieve his purse. The purse was no longer there. The purse contains ten thousand naira he went to borrow from a friend, in addition to a few naira notes he had there. The price of wondering or wandering.

1. You have a terrible mouth odour
2. You have a terrible body odour
3. You fart too frequently and unusually too loud

It is compulsory to be afflicted by at least one of these diseases. Well, the guy decided to settle for number 3, which is farting too frequently and too loud. I could not hear the reason he gave for his choice.

I turned to my friend beside me and asked him which one he preferred. Surprisingly, he also preferred number 3. I asked him why. He replied, “This can be managed. All I have to do is fix a silencer to my butt. Anytime I fart, the silencer will muffle the sound”.

Well, the presenter started talking, in her characteristic humorous way, complaining that no man is approaching or courting her, despite being available and attractive. She wondered whether it was because she has a baby girl that men shunned her. But she declared that even that is a plus to her since whoever married her will also have her daughter. Finally, she declared, “Marry me now and get one free”.

So, to you all wife seekers over there, while the offer lasts, grab your chance now before any other smarter guy does.

Just as the bus was speeding along the Third Mainland Bridge, the man said, “Driver, please stop, I want to piss”. A few people laughed, thinking it was a joke since the bus will not stop until it reached Berger. Besides, Third Mainland Bridge is a dangerous place to stop when it is getting dark.

When the man saw that the driver did not respond, he shouted, “Conductor, tell your driver to stop for me because I want to piss”. This time, almost half of the people in the bus are laughing, thinking what kind of a joke is this. The conductor replied, “Sir, this bus stop nowhere until it reaches Berger. Until then, please hold your body”.

The man said again, “Driver, if you don’t stop for me, I will piss on the ground now. You think I am joking?” A young man from the front row gave the conductor an empty small Ragolis bottled water container. The conductor came to the man, gave it to him and said, “Sir, you can piss inside this. Don’t piss inside my bus”.

Before you know what is happening, the man unzipped his trouser, brought out his thing and started pissing inside the small container. The two ladies sitting beside him held their noses and leaned away from him while the man answers the call of nature. The bus was almost silent now, except for the noise like tap pouring water being made by the man’s piss as it poured inside the container.

Suddenly, the man said again, “Conductor, please give me another container, this one will soon fill up”. A gale of laughter swept through the whole bus, as the conductor frantically begins to ask from the passengers, “I beg please, who has more containers for pissing in?” Fortunately for everybody, just as the piss filled the container to the neck, it stopped.

The man corked the container, put his thing back, and zipped up. He leaned towards the lady by his side, slides the window open, and was about to throw outside the container and its urinary contents, when a gale of protests broke out from some of the passengers. “You can’t throw it out, Mr. Man. Don’t litter the road”, protested one young man. A lady towards the front row said, “Oga, put it inside your pocket. When you get home, show it to Madam and tell her the feat you performed in the bus today”.

Having now emptied his bladder, the man felt relieved, but realising what he has just done, he was ashamed. He said to no one in particular, “I’m not ashamed anyway. I’ve done what I wanted to do. So, anyone who likes should keep looking at me. As for me, I’m not ashamed”.

Eventually, when the man saw that nobody was paying him attention again, he quickly opened the window, and threw out the container with the urine. What a day!

Then it happened close to Maryland. I changed lane to the left in order to overtake a slick, blue Toyota Avensis car in front of me. But the Mercedes car behind me decided to accelerate, thereby closing the gap to the left. To avoid being hit from behind, I swerved to the right again, thereby hitting the new-looking Toyota car from the back, who has started changing lane to the left.

Gbese! I quickly leveled up with the driver of the Toyota car, a man in his middle age with a lady sitting beside him. “I’m sorry sir. E ma binu. I’m sorry”, I blurted out, looking at him like a school kid caught in a wrong act by his teacher.

Both of us got out to survey the damage to the Toyota car. Luckily it was minimal, just a slight brushing of the side. The guy looked at me and said, “My friend, count yourself lucky this morning because I’m in a hurry”. “Thank you, sir”, I said, feeling relieved that it is all over so soon. “And next time you hit my car”, he said, pointing his finger at me, “make sure you hit it hard enough to cause a big dent, then I can deal with you better”. I walked back to my car speechless. As I drove away, I said to myself, “What a close shave”.

*Gbese in Yoruba means debt
*E ma binu in Yoruba means don’t be offended.

As I drove near the illegal tollgate on the road, I began to feel some annoyance within me. I normally have this feeling anytime I drove through this road. Why? There is no reason why a tollgate should be there in the first instance, and secondly, a few years ago, this present government abolished all tollgates in the country. But some corrupt officials in Ikeja local government in connivance with the Police maintained this illegal tollgate.

I debated within myself whether I should pay the toll fee or not. Sometimes I pay; sometimes I do not, depending on my mood. It seems I am in no mood to pay this time. The toll fee is N10 for cars. I remembered that the lowest denomination of Naira in my pocket is N500, and I will be damned if I break it for N10 sake.

I thought of zooming off without giving them any money; sometimes it works. But then I remembered one night when one Mercedes car in my front zoomed off without paying them, and unknown to the driver, the toll attendant put the iron spike under the back wheel of the car. There was a puncture, but the driver knew not since he was using a tubeless tyre. I don’t want to risk puncturing my tyre.

I checked the front pocket of my shirt, and I saw what I was looking for, and smiled. As I reached the tollgate I took it out of my pocket, folded it neatly until it became very small, and held it in the palm of my left hand. I deliberately slowed down so that there was much distance between me and the car in my front. A cop was standing beside the tollgate attendant to intimidate motorists to pay. The attendant held his iron spike, with the spikes facing up on the ground to warn motorists of the consequence of not paying.

Pay Them Back In Their Own Coin

As I drove through, I stretched out my closed left palm without slowing down. The attendant stretched out his own hand to collect the fee, and I dropped the content of my palm into his hand, and zoomed off.

I watched his reaction from my side mirror. When he saw what I gave him, he was furious, shooting his hand sporadically into the air, swearing and cursing at the same time. I had a good laugh. What I gave him was the receipt given to me in a restaurant earlier in the day when I bought some meat-pie and doughnuts.