By Onatade Koyejo
I just feel like telling my story. A lot has been happening lately — things I can’t always explain, but I feel them deeply. I’ve always been the kind of person who doesn’t like pity. I don’t want people looking at me with that sorry face or assuming I’m fragile. I don’t like playing the victim. But today, I want to talk — not for pity, but to tell my story exactly as it happened.
Everyone has something they are dealing with. I do too. People sometimes forget I’m human, that I also have my own struggles, thoughts, and quiet battles. They expect so much from me, but I’m still learning, still trying to figure out my path and grow into the man I want to be.
On October 8, 2025, my director, Mr Akeem Lasisi — the big boss in my PPA — gave me a task. There was a book reading in Lekki, and we were to go cover it. I work with him part-time as a writer and journalist with his Phenomenal.com.ng, aside from my NYSC duties as a teacher. Travelling is not really my thing. I’ve only been to Lagos and Ogun states all my life. Even within Lagos, I had only been to the Island once. So, this trip to Lekki already felt like a big deal.
The event was organised by the Committee for Relevant Art (CORA) through their BookTrek programme, featuring Bunmi Oyinsan, author of A Ladder of Bones. We covered her previous book launching and review at the J.K. Randle Centre for Yoruba Culture and History in Onikan, Lagos. She’s a woman of depth and creativity — a novelist, playwright, and contributor to African literature.
That night before the trip, I slept early — around 7:30 — but woke up at midnight in terrible pain. My whole body felt heavy and alive with discomfort. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t read, couldn’t listen to music. I just kept turning on the bed till morning. My roommate wasn’t feeling well either; so I stayed quiet, pretending to be fine even though my body was burning from within.
Morning came anyway. I forced myself to bathe — the water was cold, and my body doesn’t handle cold well, but I did it anyway. I joined the morning assembly at school, signed in, and informed my supervisors that I’d be stepping out for a part-time assignment.
We left Ibafo around 9 a.m. The director gave us a lift to Berger, and from there, Lagos took over. We couldn’t find a direct bus to Lekki, so we boarded one to Ogudu. But when we arrived, there were no buses again. We stood under the hot sun for what felt like forever, watching people rush past, hoping one of the yellow buses would take us our way.
The event was supposed to start by noon, and it was already past 10:30.
Eventually, we found a bus. It wasn’t comfortable but at least we were moving. When we finally got down at Lekki Phase 1, that was when the real confusion started.
The address on the invitation wasn’t clear enough, and even Google Maps couldn’t save us. We asked a few people for directions, and everyone had a different story. Some said “go straight,” others said “turn back.” Before long, we found ourselves at Ikate Roundabout — stranded.
We spent close to an hour at Ikate, just standing there under the harsh sun, completely lost. My colleagues and I were sweating, tired, and frustrated. Every direction seemed wrong. The traffic lights blinked indifferently as buses zoomed past, honking endlessly. We tried calling almost everyone we knew including, the director — but none of the directions made sense.
It was chaos. We were dragging our bags, pacing back and forth, trying to keep our cool. At one point, we just stood in silence, looking around like people searching for a lost map. Lagos was noisy, impatient, and somehow indifferent to our confusion.
Finally, after so many wrong turns and calls, someone gave us the correct direction — that the school was at Osapa London. That was the first time we heard that name clearly. Immediately, everything started making sense. We quickly boarded a small bus heading towards Osapa, half relieved and half exhausted.
When we got down, we met a Hausa bike man. I asked him about Lekki Peninsula College, and he smiled, telling us we didn’t even need a bike. “Just walk small,” he said. “You go see am for front.”
He was right. A few minutes later, we saw the school gate. After everything — the pain, the heat, the waiting — there it was: Lekki Peninsula College, Osapa London. It was 12:47 p.m., and the event had already started.
I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since morning because I don’t like eating before travelling to unfamiliar places. My head was heavy, my stomach empty, but I told myself I had to focus. We were there for work.
Inside, the atmosphere was bright. The students were the main participants — cheerful, lively, and full of questions. The author, Bunmi Oyinsan, spoke beautifully about her book, and there was even a reading session. Watching those students engage with her made me happy. Their curiosity reminded me of why I love writing in the first place.
My colleagues and I divided the tasks — one handled audio, another video, one managed interviews. I moved around with my camera, taking photos and observing. At the end, we interviewed the author and the event manager. They were warm and accommodating, and the event ended successfully.
But Lagos wasn’t done with us.
When we got back to the NNPC bus stop at Osapa London, there were no buses heading out. We waited again, walked again. Eventually, we trekked all the way from Osapa down to Elegushi, tired beyond words. I stopped by Chicken Republic to use their restroom and decided to buy food so it wouldn’t seem like I just used the place for free. I bought fried rice, chicken, coleslaw, and a bottle of Fanta. That was my first meal of the day. I ate it quietly inside the bus as we moved toward Iyana-Oworo.
The driver was rude, dropping us at Gbagada instead of our agreed stop, but at that point, I didn’t even care. We crossed over, found another bus, and finally — finally — got one heading directly to Ibafo.
When I reached home, I could barely move. My whole body ached, but I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there, thinking about everything that happened — the endless movement, the stress, the little joys, the sense of accomplishment at the end of it all.
Lagos is a strange place — full of energy and opportunity, but also crowded, noisy, and harsh. It drains you but teaches you at the same time. Still, the experience was worth it.
That was my day — my journey from Ibafo to Lekki Peninsula College, Osapa London, and back. A journey filled with confusion, discovery, exhaustion, and a quiet kind of pride. Because even though it drained me, it also reminded me of something simple: that every trip, no matter how hard, adds another story to tell.
