SHALLY A.

The sound of a siren rings in my head. My sweat dripping body turns, adjusting my eyes to the normal darkness of my room. I reach for my watch and touch light under my pillow, my eyes bulging out of my eye socket… 6am ke! I overslept. Stretching and rushing my prayers (sha chanted something), run to the bath, dress, do a little house work and ‘yippee’ am out by 7am. And here goes my Lagos day (saying it in a Jenifa’s voice) The bus conductors use the gong and crying method to advertise their different bus stop names “Isaga, ogba, agege’. Driver’s hands are glued to their horns. There is always something to horn or scream at with your head hanging outside the driver’s seat window “get out of the way”. Everyone is going somewhere in their cars, tricycles, bicycle, motorcycle, wheelbarrow or legedes benz. The bus line (that is if there is a line sef) is long and depressing. When a bus stops to pick passengers, I notice that the door has almost fallen off, smh well; it’s still tran