LAGOS DRIVE
LAGOS DRIVE
If I were a bus, I'd be like the crouching leopard moving in the famous go-slow jungle of Lagos traffic jam. Away from the restless spirits of the running roads within the coastal land. The swinging hoops of interconnected Danfo buses.
O’ hail the great spirits of the roads - GO-SLOW!!! The ones that need not be invited to a ceremony especially when the masquerade dance is in its highest spirits.
They stay rooted like immutable speed breakers. Other times like fleeing phantoms, they appear and disappear before you can tell what happened. The lords of the metropolis. You can tell they do not care for your foreign or local accents: upper or low caste. They gyrate in the commotion of the big city.
They are but taxmen needing no government approval, collecting toll without fail from their patriots.
How great are the fields needed to cover, to hide away from the spirits of the Lagos traffic. How much rushing current of dust and fear can my bones hold before I'm caught in the ambush of abandonment to the elements?
So every morning I pray; that the roads do not disown me. That my senses do not become dull from the loud baying of the city traffic on another day in Lagos. That the sounds from the rhythm of my heartbeat wouldn't just only scare the innocent commuters but will be a call for help...
If I were a bus, I'd be like the crouching leopard moving in the famous go-slow jungle of Lagos traffic jam. Away from the restless spirits of the running roads within the coastal land. The swinging hoops of interconnected Danfo buses.
O’ hail the great spirits of the roads - GO-SLOW!!! The ones that need not be invited to a ceremony especially when the masquerade dance is in its highest spirits.
They stay rooted like immutable speed breakers. Other times like fleeing phantoms, they appear and disappear before you can tell what happened. The lords of the metropolis. You can tell they do not care for your foreign or local accents: upper or low caste. They gyrate in the commotion of the big city.
They are but taxmen needing no government approval, collecting toll without fail from their patriots.
How great are the fields needed to cover, to hide away from the spirits of the Lagos traffic. How much rushing current of dust and fear can my bones hold before I'm caught in the ambush of abandonment to the elements?
So every morning I pray; that the roads do not disown me. That my senses do not become dull from the loud baying of the city traffic on another day in Lagos. That the sounds from the rhythm of my heartbeat wouldn't just only scare the innocent commuters but will be a call for help...
Can there ever be a Lagos without it's hallmark traffic
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