SHORT STORY: Thinking like Lagos thieves 

“Lagos is such a tricky place to live,” says Justice as he fills me in on his experiences with Lagos thieves being my first time in the cosmopolitan state.

I had just got a new job at Ikeja and I was expected to get to work early, I told Justice that I would like to leave as early as 5 am.

In his endeavor to convince me not to go that early, he narrated three times he’s been robbed in Lagos. 

5 am, with my tie fastened to my throat 

Dressed in a white shirt, blue pants, and blue tie, I shrugged off all warnings from my landlord not to set out for an interview as early as 5 am.

I couldn’t stop myself, this is the first invitation for an interview I have had in the 5 months since I finished my NYSC, so I wanted to get there early and make an impression.

The black heaven was still out with rays of light still slowly gathering clouds to bestow on humans. As the heavens got busy, I marched out of Aina estate and crossed to the vast, Fagba road linking to Iju. I walked a bit down to a new fueling station to wait for a Keke to transport me to Ogba. 

But suddenly, a slap landed on my cheek thunderously for no offence, I retreated but then one was at my back, who reaffirmed that slap with another one but this time, his coarse hand hit my backhead.

Before I could get a grasp of my circumstance, a tall guy, with several plasters on his face moved closer to me with a broken Trophy bottle and said in a deep voice: “gimme your phone or you wan make I chook you with bottle?”.

While he was speaking to me, another one who had a freshly-cut wound on his hand had me by my tie, leaving me standing on my toes as I tried not to look into the eyes of the tall guy speaking and spitting in front of me.

I dipped my hands into my pocket and gave away my phone to them. A shout of “Na all be that”, made me give the N2,000 I had with me.

I could barely see clearly, my breath was diminishing because the wounded guy still had me by my neck, fastening my tie to my throat, I couldn’t say a thing.

The tall guy told him to leave me. As I was about to take off, he called me back and handed me a N200 note, and said I should “manage” because I gave them no trouble.

8 am, the french, dollar scam 

Not giving up, I went back home to get some cash from my landlord without explaining the incident to him. By now, it was already past 6. 

I waited for about an hour before setting up on the journey to the Island again. On getting to the Ogba bus stop, I realised I would be rudely late if I wasted a minute more, so I traversed to a place not far from Aguda where  I boarded a blue Toyota civic that was going to the Island. 

I sat in between a man and a woman who were already in the car. Since I was the last to get in, the woman at the seat near the entry insisted she wouldn’t move away from the point she was sitting, so I had to squeeze myself to sit in the middle.

The atmosphere in the car was quiet, and a bit morose as everyone stayed quiet by staring at their phones or at the roads through the car window. 

The radio was put on a minimal high and hit songs presently turning heads in the country blasted from the car’s speakers. 

I nodded my head to a couple of the songs and if not for the tight space, I would have been tempted to try out some legworks but on getting to the tow gate, the atmosphere became a bit lousy as the driver and the passenger who sat at the front with him started engaging in a heated argument.

Due to the music, I tried so much but I couldn’t hear the basis of the argument and since no one seated at the back interposed, I leaned back.

The driver lowered the volume of the car’s stereo, and it was at this point that I heard that the passenger in front had started speaking in a language that sounded like French. 

Suddenly, the driver drove to an area that appeared abandoned, marched the brake, and opened the car’s door at his side.

“Which kind currency be this, oga this one no be naira?

With a bit of a foreign language and pidgin English, the passenger responded: “Na wetin I get be that I just enter from Togo.”

He took out his wallet, brought out 2 $100 bills, and stretched out his hand to hand it over to the driver.

The driver rejected it, insisting that he should pay him in naira. The situation lasted for about 5 mins before the driver looked back and showed us the dollar note he had initially collected and pointed the fresh note at me to check it out. 

I laughed nervously before touching it. He suddenly asked: “Is that even original?”, the passenger looked at me, while the other two who flanked me had their hands on me.

By now, I was completely nervous and at the same time started worrying about the interview. 

I said nothing and gave the money back to the driver. He immediately said: “You see, Na fake money be this”

The passenger at the front started speaking in his unknown language but with a sprinkle of pidgin.

He told the driver that he should drive them to the Hausas who are into the business of exchanging currencies. That was the moment I jerked back to life, I realised how much time I have been wasting.

The driver asked what we thought about the decision to drive to this unknown place, and the two people flanking me nodded in agreement as they had nowhere to go.

I told the driver that I would like to alight. He said it won’t take long and since I’m a witness and it may lead to a police case, I should follow them.

I told him I can’t and that I had to get somewhere on the Island. When he insisted and was about to drive off, I told him I’d scream if he didn’t stop the car.

After some seconds of screaming, he granted my wish, I quickly stepped down and walked so fast that I didn’t look back for about 15 minutes. 

7:30 pm, fake accident near Oworoshoki bus stop

Six months after my stay in Lagos, one Thursday night, as we were ranging on 80km/ph after escaping the dehumanising traffic on the third mainland bridge to get to Ikeja, as we were about to reach the Oworoshoki bus stop, I sighted five men waving down vehicles while about two others were trying to resuscitate another man lying wet on the road.

His legs were still on the road as they dragged him by his dark round neck to the side of the road.

I tapped on the driver’s lap to stop. He slowly applied the brake as we passed the men by a meter and parked the car at the edge of the structure separating the bus stop from the road.

As I alighted to ask what was happening, two of them ran at me, as they did, I walked fast towards them, screaming: “how can I help?”.

Meeting them halfway, I saw a glittering sharp but small knife held at my waist. The other had a pistol and followed as the other forced me gently back to where our car was parked.

I handed my new phone and my laptop to them. The driver parted away with the cash on him, while two of my colleagues also “submitted”, their phones in the green bowl the thieves brought. 

After collecting all we had and before leaving, the one that held the knife looked back and said: “Thanks for trying to help, you’re a good Nigerian.”