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.