leslye’s nigeria journey

overstimulation is an understatement

February 8th, 2006

Lagos almost defies description. So much of our time there was spent simply getting from one place to another. And I came to believe that much of the city’s spirit is embodied within those cacophonous streets.

Having grown up in New York I thought I knew a thing or two about traffic. Hah. In Lagos, there’s about one and a half lanes worth of road for what can loosely be called two lanes of traffic. It’s really more like one gigantic sea of vehicular motion — that is if you’re actually moving. Long stretches of time are spent just sitting in one place. Which most of the time was fine as it gave ample opportunity to observe my mysterious, complicated surroundings. There were moments, though, when the call of nature or nourishment crossed over from nice-to-have into bona fide emergency for one or more of the 40 of us — with nothing whatsoever to be done about it.

There may or may not be actual pavement on the road. If there’s pavement, it may just end at any moment. You often encounter potholes or piles of construction debris so big they simply can’t be driven over. About a second before your car reaches one of these obstacles, you give a big honk and cut over to the right or left to avoid it. The guy you just cut off miraculously doesn’t crash into you. If the way is blocked more significantly, you simply cut all the way over to the opposite side of the street to continue your journey for awhile against traffic. No one seems to mind.

The driving skill is astounding. After observing for a bit, all my potential fear vanished — our drivers quite obviously had it covered. It’s like a well-choreographed dance. Everyone seems to know where to go and does so with precision timing, the whole thing punctuated by the continuous rhythm of horns.

The predominant vehicles are motorbikes (with seats for two often occupied by four and at least one impossibly large object carried on someone’s head) and minivans (with seats for seven crammed with as many as 15 and often two or three hanging out the doorless sides). Most of these serve as public transportation. It’s difficult for residents to afford cars. And the cars you do see are dented all around. Which was interesting considering we never saw an actual accident.

As you’re weaving through the maze, another of Nigeria’s wonders kicks in. Street vendors appear at your windows, often turned sideways to squash into the inches-wide spaces between vehicles. They are selling everything. Seriously. Snacks? No problem. Cigarettes? Sure. Newspapers? OK, they do those in New York too. Phone cards? What a good idea. But then you begin to notice other things. Weird things. Car batteries. Toilet seats. And a parade of parts: electrical parts, plumbing parts, parts that are just plain unidentifiable.

On both sides of the road, no sidewalks but a stream of people walking, walking, stepping over the trash that is everywhere. They’re dressed in everything from traditional African garb (colors gorgeously saturated, the women’s headscarves like pieces of sculpture) to western business suits to Sunday finery to rags. And on both sides of the procession are wall-to-wall markets. Tiny stalls are crammed with eveything imaginable — food, clothing and an endless assortment of life’s accessories. At night, the merchandise is illuminated by flickering oil lamps, creating an eery backdrop for the five-senses-full-on experience that is Lagos.

Entry Filed under: speechless in lagos, stories