Random Note

Arrgh…that’s the quiet sound that goes out of my mouth as I drag me to my system. A broadcast message I got lately goes thus, “there is stress that is caused by working too hard. However, there is also stress caused by not working hard enough”. The message ends with a prayer that the Good Lord helps us in finding the balance between the two kinds of work. A part of me wants to dissect the word stress before going further with this piece. My English Encarta dictionary defines it as a mental, emotional or physical strain felt by a person due to overwork or anxiety. Well, looks more like the former but for clarity, I dare say that the results of not working hard enough are enough to produce stress considering such effects as a nagging mate, empty pockets and bad diet. Need I say more?

Only recently, in a bid to reestablish my passion, I heard a message by Marcus Buckingham, the famed apostle of the strength revolution. One line that did catch my attention was the need to devote more time to things that speak of our areas of strength as opposed to working on our weaknesses. Thus, I've decided that no matter how cocky my writing skills are, I better drag me to write something.

What follows is the inspiration. While I may be accused of writing too much about Lagos, I honestly can’t deny how much of an inspiration I derive from the city of excellence.

It seems there just is something out here that catches my attention and has me penning down my thoughts. Add that to the fact that I love the subtle sound of my keyboard as I type on my system. So, I stepped into the city after weeks out in a neighbouring state. Not like I expected much of a change if any given the enormity of task required to put things in shape. From the express, I must have counted a dozen or so religious houses spread over tens of acres. Their use, specifically for worship at a time when what’s required are industries to engage our teeming youths, unemployed citizenries many of them able-bodied. I shook my head wondering aloud if this wasn’t a clear case of misplaced priority. No offence to any but religion to me remains a personal relationship between my humble self and God. Just like the individual I was to face in the bus, I imagined the self-acclaimed man of God dishing out sermons laced with quotations from the Holy Book. Only this time, carefully, interpreted to appeal to what many of the congregation long yearn for. In this age and time where insecurity is rife among many, it’s no wonder thousands throng to this places to seek succor. A situation where the ineptitude of the government translates to seeking divine help even for problems as physical as our epileptic power situation. Even more, it’s no wonder that the very roads leading up to this places lie in dilapidated state. Yet who cares in a world where the message of the day reads as a roadmap to heaven; the believer’s ultimate land of bliss. It doesn’t matter that the man of God journeys across the globe in private jets bought by the contributions of the congregation. Even the politicians call on God for help. Yet, my Holy Book reads in one of its passages that God cannot be fooled. I've since come to the conclusion that no matter how obscure the teachings of any religious following, there must at least be a number of followers whose insecurity the religion addresses.

Two days after I pitched my idea before a set of would-be investors only to have it torn to shreds with the words still echoing in my head, I found myself on the other side of the table. This time though, it was a setting far from the conventional court-like arrangement where the panelists sat arch-like baring down on me like sharks. It was in one of Lagos' infamous public buses. I’d barely sat boarded the bus from Oshodi enroute Mile Two after 6 weeks out of the city. Like a gentleman, he gave out his seat. Next, he’s appealing to passengers to move in to allow for spaces. At first, you may mistake him for a second or third conductor. But his looks gave him away. He’d tried as best as he could to wear a corporate look with a white shirt soaked in sweat that’d seen better days. With the bus barely in motion, he swings in with his nylon bag, brings out a product and starts pitching. He starts out with a welcome message to passengers then ushers a brief prayer for a safe trip to our destinations. That in itself is clichéd given how many of them I’ve since come across. In Lagos, even an intra-city commune could well be a journey equivalent in timing to an inter-city travel. Then, he goes on and on about the different types of dreams that’s common amongst us. In a carefully crafted manner, he takes us through the spiritual connotations of each dream, many of them laden with hellish omen. From eating in dreams to having sexual intercourse in dreams, he painted pictures of the hunting demons. Jokingly, a friend once remarked to me that the economic situation prevalent in our country has spread to the spiritual realm where even demons can’t get tasty bloods to suck. Lastly, he runs us through the finances starting with a lump sum which he says he’s had to cut down to a few hundreds so that the populace can afford the book. He calls out to all to grab a copy before stocks last which is just another way of saying, till the bus reaches its final destination. Me, I couldn’t be swayed by his pitch for whatever reasons. In fact, I’d trust that any enlightened Nigerian wouldn’t buy that. But then, this Nigeria, a nation with a high illiteracy level. Furthermore, this is Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial nerve center where anything goes. The first call came from the back for a copy then another from the front. Before I alighted, I must have counted close to 15 copies sold out to passenger, old and young amounting to 3,000 naira. Not bad for a day’s sale. He pays the conductor and moves on to the next bus.

Originally written 30 Sept. 2011