All posts tagged: lagos

The Silent Driver

Mr Femi was a simple man, with a simple job. Every morning at 6am, he washed first the cars, then himself. After that, he had breakfast- fried yam and egg, washed down with hot milo- if Cook Oye was in a good mood. At 8am, he put on his tie and sat in the car. Between 8.15 and 8.20, Madam and the children emerged from the big house and after a careful drive through Ikoyi’s leafy streets, he pulled into the parking lot of St Joseph’s Primary School by no later than 8.45. At 9.30am, Madam returned to the car and Mr Femi drove Madam to the gym. After that, his time was his own until 3pm. Usually he would return home for lunch – garri and soup- but once a week, usually on Thursdays, he would drive to the local NNPC filling station and fill up the tank. At 3pm, he would pick Madam up from her friend’s house and they would be back outside the school gates at 3.30pm. Madam would gather the …

Friend Dates, Frozen Margaritas and Diane Von Fostenburg

Socialising in Lagos can be, if you let it, a full time occupation requiring hours of grooming, a large financial investment in fashion and a military-like approach to scheduling. There are people here, normal people who put their trousers on one leg at a time,  who have schedules so packed they don’t have a free weekend until Spring 2016. I’ve only got about 3 more months of Lagos living, so lately I’ve been trying to get a piece of the action. I’m determinedly single* at the moment, so I’ve been going on a lot of friend dates. First, to 1415 at Eko Signature, a low-lit, elegant expanse of a restaurant serving up some of the best food I’ve had in Nigeria, ever. I mean it guys- every bite was like a fond memory and the service was impeccable. I went with my dearest S, and we both got obscenely dressed up, as is required in Lagos (she, in a burnt orange two piece with Sergio Rossi heels and a Saint Laurent clutch, and I in …

On Death, Traffic and Dreaming: An Essay

We weren’t particularly close. In fact, we’d never even met in person but I knew him well enough to mourn his loss when I heard the news. Cancer, they said. As much I wanted to, I could not cry. Somehow I could not rationalise the tears. In truth it’s illogical for any of us to think this life goes on forever. Why then does death make us so sad? All lives across time have and will continue to come to an end; this is our commonality, the great equaliser. There is no difference between a dead great man and a dead rabid dog. It is fair to almost feel personal insult by this logic. It seems cruel that after all is said and done, this dark finality is all we have to look forward to.  What, then, is the purpose of all our triumphs and trials? Such a morbid and obscure topic, death, but one I continued to contemplate it as I drove. **In traffic, as in life, the search for greener pastures is often …