There's Love In Lagos After All

Our family had just moved from Ibadan to Lagos because Father thought Lagos would proffer steady employment with a regular paycheck. Lagos was after all the city of endless opportunities and people came from all over Nigeria to snatch at them. Father had been laid off from his job at a sales agency because the sales company had merged with another one and they didn't have need for a lot of workers. He had tried looking for other jobs in Ibadan that he could do but most companies were interested in hiring youths just fresh out of university. Ageism had become the norm. We were gradually slipping into a period of scarcity when a ray of sunshine shone through the clouds. One of Father's former co-worker who had relocated to Lagos in search of greener pastures had told him that there was a job he could do in Lagos. Only if he was ready to move to Lagos and statt afresh.

Father wanted to decline the job because he was worried for our accomodation. One thing about Father was that he never left his family alone. If he needed to relocate, that means he was going to take us with him. Father's friend allayed his fears telling him that the company provided accomodation for it's workers if they didn't have one. So, that solidified the decision Father made. We were moving to Lagos. I had only heard about Lagos from friends at school who had gone there and I had seen it on TV. It was always portrayed as a clean beautiful city with good roads, traffic lights and order. But when our car rolled into Lagos, the first thing that assailed my senses was the smell. Lagos smelled a lot. It smelled like different things all at once. It smelt of people's lives, of the sea that surrounded it, of the slow rot thatwas eating through it and of sadness. Lagos was too choked. There was always movement everywhere with people hustling for their lives and daily bread. People hunched their backs against the sweltering heat of the sun or the refreshing cold of the rain, they cuddled their bags or precious items to their chest to prevent thieves snatching them and didn't give a damn about the next passer-by. There was no love or joy in Lagos, I had concluded. So, I hated it.

Dad’s regular paycheck from his job as a warehouse manager was good but it didn't make up for the feelings of displacement that we were experiencing. The move to Lagos had taken it's toll on our family as a whole. Lagos was lonely and we didn't know anyone. In Ibadan, we had had lots of friends and a day didn't go by when someone didn't visit to check up on my parents or to ask questions about the community since my Father was the community chairman. But in Lagos, we only got the occasional his and hellos from the neighbors in the block of flats we lived in. They didn't pop in to introduce themselves or to make friends with us, their new neighbors. Everyone was just so busy trying to live, survive and provide for their families. I could see how lonely Mother was. She always loved having a sense of belonging and community wherever she was. She was planning to open a small store where she could continue selling provisions and household items but Father had pleaded with her to put it on a hold till he was able to really find his footing. I and my brother, Daniel were so bored as school was also on holidays.

One chill Saturday evening, it came as a big surprise to hear a knock on our door. We hadn't had any visitors for the past three weeks that we moved in. I looked at Mother questioningly and she motioned for me to answer the door. I lifted myself slowly from the couch where I was watching a rerun of Henry Danger. My brother was in his room and Mother had been knitting. I went to the door and when I opened it, I saw a boy of about seven standing there. He had tears streaming down his face and he kept using his hands to brush them away. I felt concern and bent to his level.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Please, come with your mummy. My mummy is in a lot of pain. She’s crying. She said I should call your mummy.” He said as he hiccuped.

“What’s your name? Where do you stay?” I could feel his panic coming out in waves.

“In the other block at the back.” He said. I could feel Mother's presence at my back. I turned to face her to explain but it seemed like she already understood.

“Joju, I’m coming. Go to your mummy and tell her I will be at your house soon.” Mother ordered. Joju nodded and raced back to his house, still crying.

“Joyce, we need to hurry to help his mother.” My mum said.

“What's wrong with his mum?” I asked as I followed my Mum to her bedroom where she grabbed baby wipes, tissue and napkins and stuffed them into a bag.

“She's pregnant. When I spoke to her, she told me the baby was not yet due until two months. But it seems the baby might be coming early after all.” My mum explained. She raced of the house and I followed after her, closing the door behind me. Later on, my mother would tell me that Mrs Asher had been one of the friendly neighbors who had welcomed her and struck a long conversation with her. That was how she knew about the due date of the baby.

When we got there, we knocked on their door and Joju opened it for us. When we entered the apartment, we saw Joju’s mother lying on a single bed in the room. She laid on the bed with her knees in the air. She was breathing heavily and tears rolled down her cheeks. When she saw my mother, I saw relief creep into her eyes. Mother rushed to her side and asked her where the baby items were. Mrs Asher pointed to a blue portable bag placed at a corner of the room. I carried it while Mother gently helped her to her feet, speaking words of comfort to her. We were going to have to go to the main street to get a taxi that would take her to the hospital. I placed one of Mrs Asher’s hands around my shoulders while my mother placed the second hand round hers and we moved slowly to the door. It seemed the contractions were coming faster now and Mrs Asher cries were louder. We were just outside her flat when we saw a man coming towards us. Car keys were dangling from his hands.

“I heard her cries. We can take her to the hospital in my car.” He said in an Hausa accent. Mother nodded to him in appreciation and he took over from me as they led Mrs Asher to his car which was already parked out front. Some other neighbors were already peering out of their respective flats, some even coming out to offer words of comfort to Mrs Asher. Finally, the male neighbor and Mother drove off to the hospital. Mother instructed me to keep Joju at our house in the meantime.

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Later that evening, Mother arrived from the hospital with the male neighbor who we later came to know as Mr Danladi. As they drove into the compound, it was like almost all the neighbors had planned to meet them. They trooped out and asked Mother questions about Mrs Asher’s wellbeing.

“She's fine. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.” Mother said smiling wearily.

All the neighbors seemed to exhale in relief.

“But the baby is so tiny since she came prematurely. So Mrs Asher has to stay at the hospital for some days.” Mother continued.

“What of her husband?” Mrs Nkechi asked in concern.

“Her husband had to travel to Borno for work. And we have all heard of the religious unrest that is going on there. Maybe it was her worry for her husband that made the baby come too early. Anyway, Mr Danladi was able to get through to him. He’s fine and should be able to get back to Lagos soon.” Mum affirmed and Mr Danladi nodded along.

“Thank God then. What are we going to do about Joju?” Another woman called Mama Ojonona asked in her thick Igala accent.

“He can stay at my place. I have room.” Mr Danladi suggested.

“Okay then. We should take turns keeping their house clean till Mrs Asher gets back from the hospital, so she won't have to worry about the state of their house.” Mother said

The women all agreed to this and that was how a sense of community took place in everyone's hearts because of a baby. The neighbors all went to the Ashers' home to see what they could do. That was when it struck all of us how sparsely furnished and bare their house was. There was only a single bed and a chair and table in the room. Two clothes boxes were placed on top of each other at a corner of the room. Mrs Asher’s urgency hadn't allowed us to take note of the state of their apartment. Soon, the neighbors were volunteering to pitch in items to make the apartment look more homely. Mr Danladi volunteered to order couches for them. Mrs Nkechi had a baby’s crib in her home that was unused. Mama Ojonona decided to give an extra bed so the Asher family could lie in comfort. Mother offered to bring extra kitchenware for them. Another neighbor who was a furniture maker offered to make a wardrobe for them. Other neighbors also pitched in what they could spare; toys for the children, pillows, rugs and other items. And over the weeks that Mrs Asher was at the hospital, the neighbors made it their duty to keep the apartment homely and comfortable. They cleared and cleaned and added with Joju even helping out. The joy reflected on Joju’s face whenever he helped with adding a new item to the home was irreplaceable.

Two weeks later, Mrs Asher came home with her tiny beautiful baby girl, Joju carrying the baby's things in his hand. The neighbors were already waiting in front of their apartment, including I, my dad and my brother. The excitement we all felt was palpable in the air and it was hard to keep it down. We welcomed them and Mother handed over the keys to her. We watched as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She took a step into the apartment. Our chests were tight with tension as we wondered how she was going to take the surprise we had prepared for her. I was gripping my brother's hand tightly. When she came back out, tears were streaming down her face. Her lips were stretched into a smile that reflected all the happiness and gratitude she felt inside. And the neighbors all smiled back in response.

There was love in Lagos after all. All it took was one baby to tear the facade of impassion down.