I looked around for where the sound was emanating from. A quick swing of my gaze to my left caught the source in the act. The rich splashing sound that was made every time his bathroom slippers in giant strides hit the ground, was the distraction that took my gaze off the driver of the bus I boarded. His speed would unsettle Usain Bolt, at the least a bit.
I kept hearing the sound until it faded into the mix of chaos that the blaring horns of these Lagos drivers yielded. He was chasing one of these drivers. He was racing with-from what I saw- enough energy to keep a dream alive. He ran after a driver who might by his gesture have hinted that he was interested in the wares he (the impromptu athlete) was hawking in the traffic. He raced and as I watched him run, thoughts raced through me.
I sat in motion wondering, how much profit could he be racing for? How many times has he had to race like this today? How much has he made from such enervating sprints? How many of them turned up a goose chase? How did he feel when he, after about forty meters of hard chase, caught up with the prospect only to shock the driver or passenger who might hastily admit that he was only gesticulating to a passenger in a chat and didn’t beckon at him? And why he still hasn’t considered crime as a more lucrative option.
I sat pondering deeply on what his motivation was. Motivation that was enough to defy the odds of rejection; a spur, intense enough to allow him risk countless goose chases. I wondered. I still wonder!
I live in Lagos! The Land of the Brave if you will. Desperation and ruthless courage is commonplace fragrance. Heartless efforts for survival and brainy schemes litter the streets. All and sundry are seemingly plagued with the eagerness to breakthrough. In the midst of these, we see as clearly as I just did, some people who make it so obvious that the air they breathe might be free but it is a poor remedy for hunger.
This circumstance-compelled sprinter knows from bitter experience that every gesture counts and every penny is a unit of his life. While I think slightly different from that, I must admit that I also race. I sprint yet with less desperation; more as a result of my God-given leverage than of my value for every single penny. Howbeit, as I watched him, I felt the severe pull of sympathy and gratitude.
As we race through life and Lagos, lets learn to exercise as often as possible, the right quantum of contentment for where we are, sufficient gratitude to God for what we have done and more importantly, faith in God’s promises for our future.
Nearly above all, I think we should shed as often as we can sympathy and assistance especially for those who are caught in the act of survival.
