Lost in Lagos

Locating this city on a map may be easy, but pointing to the exact place its collective moral framework lies is difficult.

Lagos operates in a special space-time continuum where anything seems to go by way of conduct and even the most outré behaviour is excused. For new arrivals, it is very easy to get lost in the maze of morality. Even if you have the noblest of intentions you can get stuck in a labyrinth of lies, lucre and laissez-faire.

When I first arrived, I sat on what I felt was definitely firm and higher ground. Of course I would never be the victim or indeed the perpetrator of social expediency! There were definitely no shades of grey in my conduct or in the conduct of those I knew.

And yes, the whole ‘corruption and eroded systemic controls’ argument repeated ad infinitum at every higher learning institution that I have ever attended in relation to Africa was a little tired. Yes, there were certain factors both historical and otherwise that had led to how things are done ‘in these parts’ but it was not such a gloom and doom prognosis, as those professional ‘Afro-Pessimists’ would have us believe.

A year and more so in, and I cringe at the accuracy of the professional do-gooders. Lagos is a city where we are all complicit in the moral quagmire. Every time we dash a petrol attendant to jump the queue we add to our own and our fellow city dweller’s misery.

Every hamper accepted in the last week or so, on the basis of future business, is not really a gift but rather a bribe in imported foodstuffs packaging. And practically brawling in the church car-park over a space and then raising hands beatifically heavenwards is not asserting your vehicle rights and then seeking His grace and mercy afterwards, it is hypocrisy plain and simple.

Whilst I would attest that this city is not a place for shrinking violets, one wonders whether this by-force change of behaviours really is a necessity. It seems that if you want to truly have a successful time of things it definitely is. Queries directed at me when I first came here ranged from a polite but loaded ‘why?’ to a more potent, ‘are you crazy?’ A couple of weeks ago I got what the perpetrator was hoping was a backhanded compliment in a sweetly delivered ‘Did you get lost on your way?’ It would appear that I had slotted into life in the city a little too easily with seemingly a bare minimum of the hiccups and challenges the typical lived abroad returnees had.

However, I would say that any level of assimilation I may have achieved has been down to keen observation and occasional osmosis. I too have caught myself mid stanza through a professional praise singer worthy soliloquy and I too have done the ‘classic gesticulate wildly’ when the price is not conducive to the pocket. So far, I have stopped short of grouping friends based on locale, nor have I done anything that would have the scary folk on Awolowo Road knocking on my door, but there are distinct changes.

A tint of ambivalence on my glasses has been added so that the worst of what one sees does not shock me, although I do have my regular educated class mumbles over wine and ‘lady of the people’ laments with my driver. It seems the best way to survive an attack on your moral framework is to do a quick inventory of where you were and where you are, and if it really is still worth it, New Year’s Resolution style. One’s overall objectives cannot be predicated by the situation one finds one in or influenced by your location.

But what I will bet my last kobo on is that your modus operandi definitely changes. It’s the climate after all.

BY: Mazzi Binaisa

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