When I think of the words of motion, movement and activity the first city that usually comes to mind is that of Lagos, Nigeria. Known to you probably as one of the most largest-cities in Sub-Saharan Africa, and to me a place that I called home for 11 years and intermittently ever since.
There are numerous modes of transportation that can be found in Lagos, each serving different purposes and communities. The danfo bus, a small yellow vehicle with black stripes, is a hallmark of the city's roads, known for its affordability and accessibility. Other types include private cars, water ferries, okadas (motorcycles), taxis, and Keke Napep (motorized tricycles). Despite their differences, they all share one undeniable truth: in Lagos, where there is a will, traffic will always find a way.
Among these, the mode of transportation I engage with the most- and the one that will be the focus here - is the common car.
Traffic in Lagos is often seen as a frustration, an unavoidable reality of navigating the city. Yet, in its own way, it creates space - time to reflect, to observe, and to connect. Over the past winter break, I found myself complaining about how I despise the length of journeys during Detty December, the most busiest and expensive time of the year, where the city is overrun with people returning home for the holidays.
In one conversation, however, I was caught off guard by a friend’s completely different outlook. She saw the act of travelling itself as part of the experience, embracing the stop-and-go rhythm of Lagos as something meaningful rather than inconvenient. To her, traffic was not just a delay but a journey in its own right.
I began to reconsider my view about traffic, noticing moments that had once seemed like nothing more than a waste of time. Sitting in a traffic jam became an opportunity - to argue with my sister over who got to control the car’s sound system, to let my mind wander about the place I was heading to and what it meant to me, or to catch up on work. More often than not, when I FaceTime my mother from university, she is in the car, moving between one destination and the next, the background a blur of Lagos streets.
Beyond the doors of the car itself, the city reveals itself in layers. The roads, some rickety and cracked, others freshly paved, stretch in every direction. Street hawkers maneuver between cars, selling everything from the latest iPhone to a newborn puppy. Markets overflow onto the sidewalks, murals brighten old walls, turning ordinary streets into open-air galleries. Then there are the bridges, the most prominent of them all being the Lekki-Ikoyi Link bridge. Completed in 2013, it joins two of Lagos’s most prominent areas, Ikoyi and Lekki. I remember the summer it was finished - driving across it late at night, margelling not just at its design, but at the rare emptiness of the road.
Not only have I been fortunate to interact with the modes of transportation that help to move one around the city, I have also been able to see those that connect Lagos with the rest of the country and beyond.
Every winter, when I return to Nigeria for the holidays, we make a visit to my paternal grandfather and other relatives in Ibadan - a city just as lively as Lagos. Traditionally, we have always made this journey by car, five or more of us packed into a vehicle with the optimistic goal of leaving by 6 a.m, only to actually set off closer to 7:30. The return trip, however, is at the mercy of traffic lasting anytime from a manageable two hours to an exhausting four.
In 2022, we decided to try something different. Instead of driving, We took the train - a mode of transportation that I hadn’t even realised was an option. This time, the journey had a fixed duration 2 and ½ hours there and back, no uncertainty and mostly no unexpected delays. Even better, the switch allowed us to bring along a whole group of young cousins, turning the trip into more of an event than a chore. Gone were the usual complaints - no cramped seats, no backseat arguments. Just me, my book, and a comfortable seat. The only real grievance? The air-conditioning was too cold.
Though I will never be the biggest fan of traffic, I have learned to appreciate the benefits it allows, and the alternatives that, when taken, reshape familiar experiences in unexpected ways.
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