Olakun prepared to
leave the house for work like he did every other normal day, with a strong hope
for high returns. He really needed the optimism and the high returns to complete
the rent, for he could not afford to be embarrassed one more time by his
Landlord. Though, he ought to have developed a thick skin by now. When he
started his okada, the response was unusually sharp, confirming his suspicion
that the gods were in support of his pursuits. He parted his lips, revealing
his spaced teeth to the heavens, and said a quick prayer. Then he set out.
Five hours later,
having navigated the nooks and crannies, lengths and breadths, pathways and
expressways, under the scorching merciless sun, Olakun had made a substantial
part of the meager balance for his rent. He needed to make this last trip
before catching his breath, and perhaps catching a bite as well. Alas, the
unspeakable appeared! Fashola’s stooges! LASTMA!
Immediately, Olakun’s
eyes bulged, almost popping out of their sockets. It was as though he had just
come in contact with the devil. Perhaps, LASTMA had become the devil to Okada
men in Lagos. The LASTMA official, acting in consonance to the perception of
Olakun, walked devilishly to him, held the Okada and said, in a cracked voice,
“Come down!”
“Abeg Oga,” Olakun
begged. “abeg, na wetin I dey take feed my family be dis. As I dey like dis, na
the balance of my house rent na im I dey find. Abeg sir…”
“Mr man, come down!
Come down!” the LASTMA official shouted, pulling hard at the Okada. “Sunni!” he
called to his colleague, “Come and assist me drag this thing to the office.”
Olakun begged and
begged, and shed tears. A pathetic sight it was, seeing a matured man crying in
public. But, he did not care. His Okada was his company. It was his livelihood,
the provider of his children’s fees. It was the provider of his nutritional and
social needs. His Okada was his only means of being called a man in this
merciless Lagos of “no job”. O, he knelt down and begged. He lay on the ground,
rolled and begged. But, the LASTMA officials, with hearts as rocks, wheeled the
okada towards their office. “No waste your time,” one of them said. “This bike,
na twenty thousand naira you go take bail am if e reach office.”
Olakun, realizing he
had no chance with these two, trudged along with them, calling on whoever
passed by to intercede on his behalf. All pleas fell on deaf ears. When they
got to the office, the lots were even more aggressive. They became impatient
with his relentless pleas, punched him on the nose and pushed him out of the
gate. But not without informing him that if he wanted his okada, he must get
twenty thousand naira in two days or stand the risk of having his okada crushed
in Oshodi. They also did not forget to remind him that over three thousand
okadas were crushed the previous week, and that more would be crushed.
Olakun realized that he
needed to comply. He ran to the nearest junction, in search for a bus. Instead,
he got an okada. Obviously, these men continue to risk being caught. They had
been left with no choice by an oppressive government. He got on the okada and
off they went to his house, with wild thoughts going through his mind. When he
got to his destination, he got off the bike and paid. He turned towards his house, and then an
overwhelming pang hit him hard in the heart. He realized the money he was
rushing to take was meant for the rent. He realized his children’s fees were
yet to be settled. He realized that his family had not eaten a decent meal for
a long time. And all the problems were suddenly too much for his heart to
contain. The blood rushed into his heart with an unexpected force that jacked
him up high and threw him to the floor. He died.
There are numerous
Olakuns in Lagos whose lives are in the hands of the Lagos state government,
which continues to push them to the wall. The government has chosen to be
ruthless, making abysmal policies and laws which drive the people to the
extreme edges. The Tunisian people were pushed to these extremes, and it took
the frustration of one young man who set himself ablaze to spark a revolution
which ousted the president, Ben Ali. The revolution spread across the Arab
world – Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Barrain, Syria and so on. Some of these leaders
fell, and others are at the verge of falling.
Dictators fall. And
Fashola can fall!
