Ayodele Arigbabu
Wrap
The time warp occurred at exactly 12 noon. It was perfect timing. A labour
strike in protest against fuel price increase had just been called off. Lagos was
trying to find its feet. Three different convoys with ‘about to wed’ covering the
number plates of their lead cars sped past me while I awaited my bus. I
wondered why people were so desperate to get married on that particular
Saturday; like the world was ending the next day and nobody wanted to be
caught single. If I had honoured another invitation, the one I left behind on
my desk, I would have been at a friend’s wedding myself, rather than standing
pointlessly at Obalende waiting for a bus that would never come. For some of
us, there are better ways to spend a Saturday than sweating out at nuptials in
your best outfit.
Obalende stank. Even Ben Okri had to call it a cesspit. A dark cauldron
of a canal ran under the tangled web of bridges and relentlessly emitted a