Lagos: Ijora Bridge to Close for 20 Days for Critical Repairs from April 27
Happening: From Fine Boy to Motor Boy
…story of middle aged man who would rather live on women than work
Two weeks ago on a Monday, it was a very rainy day—one of those Lagos downpours that seemed determined to drench everyone.
This Monday, while in a cab, the sky suddenly darkened again, and drizzle began to fall. I told the driver, “Looks like the rain is starting again today, just like last Monday.”
That opened our conversation, and I asked him how he had coped the previous week.
He sighed and said he had no choice but to work.
His children were on holiday, and, as he put it, “They eat more during holidays.” Staying home would only mean endless disturbances and rising expenses. So, despite the heavy rain, he kept driving.
“I was shivering, holding the steering wheel, and the rain wasn’t forgiving anybody. Lagos is not smiling, and bills are not reducing,” he said.
We laughed, and then he told me about someone he knew—a man who never worked yet always seemed fine. “In this kind of rain, he wouldn’t step outside. He would sleep all day and still eat whatever he wanted,” the driver explained.
Curious, I asked how the man managed that.
“He’s a fine guy—handsome enough to attract women with means,” the driver began.
“Different women gave him money and took him out. Then he met a woman who wanted to marry him. She was a mother of one, with a failed marriage behind her. She owned a large lace materials shop on Lagos Island with many workers. She decided to settle down with him.
“She gave him money, made him comfortable, and sent the other girlfriends away. She asked what he was trained to do, and he said he knew how to sell phones. She gave him ₦400,000 to set up his business and then returned to her base.”
At this point, I thought the man’s life was finally turning around. I was wrong.
“Instead of setting up the business,” the driver continued, “he went to an expensive boutique and bought designer t-shirts, jeans, sneakers, shoes, wristwatches, necklaces, perfumes, and creams. When the woman returned that weekend and asked about the shop, he told her he had to ‘upgrade his wardrobe’ so customers would know he wasn’t a cheap person. She was so disappointed that she left him for good.”
Without her support, his life spiraled. He began selling his wardrobe piece by piece just to survive. Eventually, hunger forced him into the only job he could get—working as a motor boy, carrying loads and following trailers to the north.
I asked what happened to the fine boy image that once kept him indoors. The driver said the man was now dark-skinned from the sun and simply trying to survive. “I warned him,” the driver said,
“If insurgents kidnap you in the north, nobody will pay ransom. You’ve wasted all your chances. You’ll just end up as their houseboy.”
From the start of my journey to the end, I laughed. Such entertaining stories are what people who don’t use commercial vehicles in Lagos often miss. That laughter set the pace for a humourous week.
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