4 Where I lose control

HADIZAT I was woken up by the voice of pilot announcing our arrival. I started to unbuckle the seatbelts but before I could do that, Salim had already walked away without saying a word to me. Of course, nothing would ever really be perfect, he may have looked like he fell right out of heaven, but his personality was seriously lacking. I couldn’t care less though; I was never going to see him again anyway, and that was another sad reality I had to come to terms with. I had arrived a country I knew no one and nothing about. Everything I loved I had left behind. I almost wanted to remain seated, or to book the next flight back home, or to scream, or to cry, anything but step down into my new life. The airport was the noisiest, craziest, and busiest place I had ever seen. There were so many people moving around as if in circles, I could swear there were fights going on in every corner, passengers with guards, passengers with other passengers, yelling and cursing in different languages. To make it worse, the AC’s in the airport were completely useless, some weren’t working and others blowing hot air. I was hot, tired, frustrated, and had nowhere to seat because all the seats were occupied. It took forever to find my luggage, through the very disorganised and distinct smelling crowd. Clearing customs was no walk in the park either; thankfully all my papers were complete and valid, thanks to my Father. The officers were rude and one of them kept staring at my behind, and touching me unnecessarily, and even when I eyed him, he just winked and flashed his yellow knocked out teeth. The girl behind me wouldn’t tolerate it though, as she insulted the life out of the officer, while he just kept on calling her áshawo. Leaving the airport in one piece felt like my greatest achievement, but I would come to realize that surviving in Lagos, would be an even greater achievement. I found a taxi driver who was ready to take me all the way to Victoria Island, and introduce me to Lagos, at double the price. He was a middle aged fair man, with a moustache and a cartoonish smile. He had the most trustworthy face I saw amongst the other drivers, and I was always a good judge of character. He asked me to call him Baba Lucky. His cab looked old, but not knocked up. "Can you take me to Victoria Island?" He looked confused when I spoke at first, so I had to fix my accent and it wasn’t too hard because I had a lot of African friends when I was in high school and my college best friend and roommate, Shade, was a Nigerian. There was a time I was fascinated with the accent only because my Nigerian parents lacked an accent, so while other normal people were busy learning British and Australian accents, I was learning a Nigerian accent and Yoruba language. I may have succeeded in learning the accent, but honestly, I failed miserably in learning the Yoruba language, only because Shade gave up on me too soon. He smiled and muttered something in Yoruba language. “Oya anty enter,” he said, carrying my luggage into the trunk of his vehicle. For a moment I wondered why he was calling me anty, it was obvious he was way older than I was, but as I settled down in the car, I started thinking about how I was going to survive in this strange country. I could say that I had been living an umbrella, always protected and guarded. As an only child, I enjoyed the privileges to the fullest. My parents were always over protective and I never could complain of lacking their attention, despite their busy jobs. What was I to do with no one but Imran, which equalled no one. Imran was the real free spirit; he lived life like he was going to die tomorrow. It was always a roller coaster with no stops, and lots of crashing and rising. He had come for his Grandmother’s funeral from America, five years ago, and never returned. He said living felt more like living in Nigeria. I never understood what that meant. Soon I would come to understand what he meant. Imran had asked me to meet him at yellows shop, Bar beach, victoria island. I was supposed to call him before leaving the airport, but when I checked my back for my phone, it was nowhere to be found. I thought it fell off, but Baba Lucky swore it was stolen, I believed him. I didn’t have a phone to call him, so I prayed he would wait for me there. I had no idea how hard it was going to be getting there, no idea.