Journey to Abraka, Melancholy of Lagos (My Memoir – Part 3)


The Iyare Bus Terminal at Iyana-Ipaja, Lagos, Nigeria was bubbling with numerous travelers eager to catch a bus to various parts of Edo state that beautiful morning. The sky was bright and the air was full of tinge of metal smell and with the noise of horns from various vehicles trying frantically to get to their destinations. So many office workers dressed in their corporate wears had horrid looks on their faces as they scuttled for buses to take them to their various offices. I had also witnessed a light version of their ordeal when I was going to the bus-park that morning.

Sometimes when I walk some streets/roads in Lagos, I find it difficult to find where to place my feet, everywhere is filled with various kind of fraught legs walking briskly to only-God-know places. Road-side hawkers and vendors do nail-the-coffin of the situation. I thank God I don’t live in that city called Lagos, I only visit it.

I was allotted Seat-15 in the air-conditioned bus because of my height (6ft-2in). A very courteous (and good-looking*winks*) female ticketing-officer did that for me. She said to me when I got to her “Write your name at Seat-15 because of your height” in an enchanting voice. Her voice gave a soothing relief from the melancholy I had in traffic before getting to the bus terminal. The seat this ‘Cinderella’ gave me is at the extreme back of the Toyota-Hiace bus by the door.

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