30 minutes in Lagos and already......

We landed into MMA in Lagos at 5.30 in the morning for some stupid reason(I must be getting senile) I was expecting to be tucked up in bed at the hotel by 7am especially after my luggage was delivered in record time. I mean I was out of the airport in less than half an hour of stepping off the plane. The newly found efficiency at MMA and the newly installed plasma screens combined to lure me into a false sense of civility.

This rapidly evaporated over the next two and a half hours spent in traffic. Most of that was on Awolowo Road just trying to get on to the bridge. Naturally there was the usual mix of aggressive driving, sirens of all sorts, official and unofficial traffic wardens (please when driving past make sure you tip the one armed guy that keeps traffic flowing on that stretch of road. He does a fantastic job.)

As we were just getting to the bridge some moron in a brand new car tried to cut into the traffic from the outside lane. Unfortunately he did so in front of a huge 4X4 which promptly took off his front bumper. Naturally grammar started. The 4X4 guy must have told the idiot driver to get stuffed because he just got back in his car and drove off whilst Mr Brand New Car was left to count the cost of saving two to three minutes waiting in the queue. Where is Take That when you need them? “Have a little patience” indeed.

So it was that we were on the bridge when I heard the familiar siren of one of Lagos’s new phenomena’s. The professional beggars. Professional in the sense that they are uniformed- crisp white shirt, caps, green khakis and black shoes. Usually they would be surrounding some poor sod who would be sat on a chair right on the white lines dividing the traffic maintaining a sorrowful gaze whilst all around Okada boys zoomed hither and thither.

I was expecting to see the usual chap sat in the chair with his huge testicles out for all to see. Now I am not sure that if I had testicles that huge I would choose a bridge on which to display them. Has he never heard of porn videos? Or Nollywood? Anyways I was surprised to see some poor kid , no more than ten years old sat on the chair looking miserable. As we were stationary this gave me an opportunity to do my journalistic piece on behalf of all my avid readers (yes, both of them). Shio.

I called over to the lead beggar as it were and the following conversation ensued.

Me : What is wrong with the boy?

LB : Perplexed that my window was down but there was no visible currency in sight however playing along in the hopes that there would soon be crisp notes fluttering out the window any minute. “Oga na sickle cell dey worry am.”

Me: Thinking - hmm I can see how roasting him alive in the hot sun totally consumed by car fumes will cure him. “So what are you collecting money for?”

LB : “We want to help him. He has to go to hospital to get his blood changed every week.”

Me: “Which hospital?”

LB : Looking confused. Roll of eyes, licking of lips, slight cough. If this guy was on a lie detector the needle would be flying off the page. He looks off into the distance and then says “That one over there?”

I follow his gaze and all me I can see is water.

Me: “Over where?”

LB : Looking even more uncomfortable “The one over there by CMS”

Me : “Ah hah. I see. What is it called?”

LB: After long pause and now desperately trying to get his colleagues attention for help “I cannot remember”

Me: Thinking. So let me get this straight. You take the boy to the hospital every week to get his blood changed but you cannot remember the name of the hospital? Hmm. “Okay, so what do they do for him?”

LB : “They change his blood every week”

Me : “And how much does that cost?”

LB : Brightening up now that we have come on the to subject of currency. Mumbles “Two hundred” and then decides to go for the jackpot “N250,000.”

Me : “So you collect N250k every week for that poor boy to go and get his blood changed at a hospital you cannot name?”

LB : His confidence plummets once again. He can see the money disappearing before his very eyes.

Me: “Well okay. Good luck to you” and I wind up.

Now before you start thinking I am some heartless bastard you might want to read one of my earlier posts about “adopting” the young boys that hang around the Eko Hotel and giving them money everytime I see them. What I am not prepared to do is pay this muppet to exploit some young kid. Our society is already doing enough of that.

So within 30 minutes in Lagos I am already forced to start making life and death decisions and checking my morals and principles. I’m off to bed.