The ROundaBout Market (Just In Case You Might Want To Visit)

In most remote township settlements in Nigeria, you’d hardly find spectacles that could incite feelings of intrigue; but if you were to visit the far-flung town of Ayingba, I am sure the Roundabout Market would catch your fancy.

The traffic circle turned marketplace is one big circumference of unconventionality. In it are a great number of different stalls for buying and selling. With a diameter of some thousand feet, you'd find displayed all the basic features of a regular market, with almost every commodity that a typical townie might need.

Within the traffic island is the typical air of hustle and bustle familiar to most markets. Even from a distance, the boisterousness of the market traders going about their business is most palpable. And with the familiar ritual of haggling and persuasion, you’d see the sellers actively making customers of both motorist and pedestrians as they go round and round about the market.

On inspecting goods on display, you could acquire, though for just a moment, the lofty title of Oga-madam or Oga-sir. In fact, if anyone were in need of sycophantic praise, the roundabout market would be more than ready to oblige, “Oga-madam, come buy my tomatoes wey fresh and fine like you”. As long as you are buying something, you are special.

The uniqueness of the marketplace is further heightened by the oddities of its people. Various kinds of folks give their own colour to the place. Brightly clad in yellow and blue, the market constable braces with a stance enough to scare any of the hooligans or pickpockets. The urchins, though mischievous, are ever ready to lend a hand of help in carrying your load of goods for a little remuneration; but interesting of all are the antics of Bullah, the town beggar. Crippled on a skate-like rolling board, he rides energetically round the market accosting passersby for some coins. And with queer comedy, he cajoles even the most miserly of men to part with their hard-earned money. Well, most markets do have them.


But then again, unlike the well-aligned bazaar sort of North Africa, the circular market is a sight of positive disarray. Scattered all about the place are tables of various shapes and sizes, bearing the burden of different articles of trade. However, contrary to its appearance, it’s said that the spherical ground is neatly divided into various sections for different assortments of wares. Yet, like broken rules, the allotted spots are not recognized.

However, in validating firmly its status as a genuine place of commerce, the round market boast of other things besides the necessary farm produce. Very much available in the area are boutiques that have everything from casual jeans-wear to official suits; also, spare parts' booths that would readily give original replacements for your Peugeot or Mercedes Benz.

For the foreign observer, the icing on the cake for his fascination will come from the view of a local monument. Fixed in the centre of the circle, standing about 14 feet tall and carved in some abstract form, it bears on its top in bold metallic letters, an ironic name for the traffic junction: “Igala Unity Square”.

Never intended for recreation, least of all for a marketplace, the central island partly lives up to its name in the sense that it unites the people commercially; but to call it a “square” is another matter entirely.




*pictures from Google images

Virtuously Bizarre, I Think

At the risk of coming across as one who’s gone off his rockers, I’d like us to consider for just a moment the notable virtues of the man I saw visiting the bank in stripy boxer shorts. True, say “bizarre and strange” and I would totally agree with you, but let’s not rush too quickly into conclusions and think this man is nothing else but a wacky fellow. In my own opinion, I think he’s a very rational man and I dare say, wise, too.

It all happened last Thursday, at lunchtime, when I went to the bank to use the cash machine. It was while I was waiting my turn that I had the pleasure of seeing this spectacle of a man: black as coal, tall as an iroko and wide as ehh...I can’t really say – anyway, he was a big, big, full-grown man. He was a man in a gray long sleeve shirt and of course, a red and white striped boxers. Undoubtedly, he was the most interesting sight I had seen that dreary Thursday.

Naturally, to all that saw him that day, he may have appeared a mad man.  For to walk into a banking place situated in a bona fide urban area like Alagomeji, wearing what seems to be his favourite boxers (just guessing), is nothing short of lunacy. But what does it matter, especially when there’s a great chance of a good reason behind his action? By merely looking at his form and gait, you could tell there was something driving him. Something we might never know except he told us himself.

However, on this occasion, there was no way under heaven I would have asked him why a seemingly sane man as he would go outdoors in that fashion. No way I’d risk an insult. Nevertheless, with keen observant eyes anyone could tell he was at least driven by a touch of purpose, thus, the reason I admire him.

With stern dark eyes, he was a man fixed on a goal, looking straight ahead, looking neither left nor right. He wasn’t bothered by the eyes all around him. There consternation was none of his business. All that mattered to him was the task of withdrawing some money. That was his only concern.

And by the manner in which he ignored the world around him, he showed nothing but sheer mettle. He showed the way we ought all to carry ourselves in whatever we did that mattered to us. He demonstrated focus by paying needless attention to what the world might think about his dressing - a thing of lesser importance. To him, all that counted was the achieving of his goal. For that, he couldn't have had any reason whatsoever for embarrassments.

Now, why the man went out scantily clad might be a question for debate. But why should anyone even bother. Like the proverbial frog, I don’t think the man hopped in broad daylight for no justifiable reason. At the time I watched him, I wasn’t so much concerned about his dressing (though I was well taken aback by it) as I was about the way he carried himself. He carried himself without concern for anything but his business - the business of getting that cash. Don’t get me wrong, his actions were indeed out of the ordinary. But who says there’s nothing to learn from even the most outlandish of things.  Who says?






*Cartoon by Osazee Igbinosun

The Big Madams of Lagos

Just out of the blue, a strange incident happened as I waited at the bus stop for the usual Danfo ride. I was heading home, it was after work, and I was standing under the glare of the afternoon sun when the sight of eight Yoruba women swaggering toward the road caught my eyes.

Their dresses suggested they were on their way to a Friday party. But quite noticeably, they had a particular air about them. It was of a blaring sort I believe - a mix of self-worth, audacity and pride.

The way they strolled, talked and gestured made them a spectacle worthy of interest. And by looking at them, even the least suspecting man could predict an ensuing incident in the making. So with rapt attention I joined fellow spectators hoping and waiting to be entertained.

Surely, it happened our prayers were answered. We witnessed as these women literally laid claim to the major road, Queens Street, as if it were their own. And at that moment, even though it was just for a few minutes, Lagos undeniably lost one of its streets to the madams.

Yes, these women were familiar Lagosian who strutted in peculiar confidence. Yes, the eight of them, stout and plump, were regal, for they were attired in rich colourful aso e bi and crowned with huge headdresses – the gele. However, it wasn’t necessarily how they looked that intrigued me the most. It was their deeds, which spelt in bold letters: “I KNOW WHO I AM, AND YOU BETTER SHOW ME SOME RESPECT”.

It was with assertive force that they arrested all attention when traffic on Queens Street was completely brought to a stop on their account. Not for just a minute or two or even for five but for a whole ten minutes, and it was all because the big madams demanded that they must cross the street in style, and that was exactly what they did.

First, the biggest of the lot walked to the centre of the road, then, with the abruptness and firmness of a military officer, she raised her hand and commanded the coming vehicles to “Stop there!” Imagine that. All the motorists did stop, and they did so without any complaints at all. Oh how dazed I was! As if in awe of a spectacular performance, I stood with a gaping mouth.  I couldn’t believe the sight.

As the women traversed the street, not more than one went at a time. It was a typical fashion parade as they each carried along with calculated grace and elegance. It was a procession of mirth and positive enjoyment for them – all at the expense of the buses and cars waiting to be on their way.

Not in Lagos do you find things like these happen everyday. On the streets this was an offence warranting the usual expletives, “Your papa, Na you get road?” or “Abegi comot for road jare, you done craze for head abi?” In the Lagos I know, insults like that would very much be in order. But as I said, to my shock, all the drivers just sat in their cars and obeyed the stop-command like little docile kids. Not even a word did they utter.

Did the madams cast a spell or juju as we call it here in Africa? I cannot say, but when I think about it, apart from the kick I got from the whole excitement, I can’t help but note a viable lesson: These women walked in the reality of who they believed themselves to be. They weren’t ready to be taken for granted. The common thing would have been to run across the road in fear of the impatient Lagos drivers. But they did the uncommon. They stood their ground with dignity and exerted themselves as the big madams that they were, in every way true and authentic.

  

  

To Be Free Of Guilt

Have you ever seen a man ridden by guilt? Well, you may likely find him wallowing in self-loathing, a very nasty predicament. Also, you may find him driven by the pangs of shame into hoping that the passage or perhaps the reversal of time would save him from his sense of regret.

But, of course, time won’t help. For with every passing second his mind suffers in woeful contemplation. And as a result, he may end up declaring himself unworthy and a sinner with no right to forgiveness.

For many of us, we needn’t look far for an example of a man in guilt. Our own lives have in one time or another suffered guilt, sometimes very severe. In fact, I’d dare say that the feeling of reproach is universal - at least to every normal person.

Nonetheless, in whatever way these experiences are common to us, we shouldn’t let them suffer us unnecessarily. We must not be ignorant of the fact that we can be free of guilt, no matter how grievous the transgressions that might have led to it.

Evidently, guilt is a typical trickster, seeking to convince its victims that they have no right to a second chance. Around us, we see its work: stark, helpless, riddled lives of those who had fallen from not only grace, but from every prospect of a good life.

Against this misery, we must fight, and the mind is where we fight. It’s where the guilt emotions try to take control and steal our peace of mind. In counter, it is where we must resist by maintaining a sound mental state.

Besides, when it comes down to freeing the mind of guilt, it is all about what we accept as truth. Would we think ourselves deserving of shame or of life? It is up to us, for in reality we can only prevail if we have the right mindset.

And what better way to build the correct frame of mind than meditation on God’s Word. In it, we are shown the love of the Father that says to us, “Come now, and let us reason together... though you sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow...” Surely, in these words, we can’t help but discern the richness of God’s mercy and grace.

Just like the story of the prodigal son, God as Father waits eagerly for our homecoming. Not minding our erring ways, He is ready to forgive us over and over, all because he loves us unconditionally. Beating ourselves down is not what He desires; rather, it is the pleasure of reinstating us to a life of liberty and delight.

In view of such love shown by the Father, do we think any of us should spend any more time floundering in guilt? Certainly not. Instead, let’s avail ourselves of the liberating truths of God’s love and forgiveness. For it is only in the knowing of the truth – as stated by our Lord Jesus – can we truly be set free.

By accepting the mercies of God, we can answer the voice of accusation that ever tries to put a guilt trip on us. We could say something like this, “hey you, hush! I recognize am guilt free for God my loving Papa has forgiven me my sins”. This is simply the veracity of our lives.

Yes, our imperfection may never desist in this life and time; however, it is not an excuse for us to agonize and suffer whenever we make a mistake. Let us not be ill with guilt but accept the cure of forgiveness that God so willingly wants to give. Remember, because of the work done on the cross, “there is therefore no condemnation” for us. We are absolutely free.

Two Reasons

My writing was set off by two very personal reasons: the love for literature and the zeal for positive influence. These reasons, simple but meaningfully relevant, are the passions that have driven me onward in my journey to become nothing less than a proficient and competent writer.

First, it was my fondness for literature that ignited my interest to write. I held a special fascination for the works crafted by the Masters. It was by their woven pieces of art that the writer in me was inspired. Thus, in light of their creations, sublime and brilliant, I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, fight the lure to write.

Soon enough, my writing found a second purpose in my desire to influence my world. I came to believe that as a writer I had a duty to enable my fellow man endure and prevail. And in lifting the heart of my fellows, I saw the opportunity to divulge the truths and insights I have come to know. This, above all, has come to be my greatest motivation for writing. 

However, in other to justify these reasons I have done nothing short of pursuing my dreams. I have voraciously devoured books and texts pertaining to the art and style of writing. I have joined writing circles where my works have been constructively critiqued. And of course, to learn even more, I have critically read the literature of many exemplary writers.

Additionally, in an effort to attain a professional status, I decided it wise to seek the guidance that only experienced tutors can provide. This decision has brought me to the Writers Bureau; an institution I hope would help me in achieving my goals to become an established journalist and ultimately, a fiction writer.

Surely, not too long from now, through my toil and persistence, I would have made giant strides in my writer’s journey and I would have become the writer I’d aimed to become, with my aspirations fully met and realized.