Hundreds of vehicles moving at a
slow pace or none at all, bumper to bumper all on a straight line graced the
beautiful uneven soil of Lagos daily. In its heart lies a long bridge which
demarcates the rich from the poor; the water logged areas from the dry land as
well. The endless blaring of car horns, cries of desperate traders trying to
sell off their merchandise, fumes from exhaust pipes which are her signature
scent, awakens you to the reality of the main land- the dry land.
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| Third Mainland Bridge |
An iyabeji with a child strapped
to her back and another firmly held in her arms, singing praise songs and
dancing, goes around begging for money in the marketplace. They say it is to
appease the gods. Ori ibeji, as they call it. Some generous market women
give her a token, others just ignore. She continues her chants notwithstanding.
The crawling beggars tugging at the hem of your garments cupping their hands in
expectation of a token are not so uncommon either. Their incoherent chants fill
your ears as you walk past major roads on the main land. ‘Aunty see I have fine
fine shirts for sale, c-orr- rect pencil skirts, jeans -any one u like” welcomes
you as you walk past another part of the mainland at night. Excessively tugging
and flaunting of wares across your face as they try to advertise their second
hand goods.
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| Yaba Market |