By Funmi Adesanya
Did I Just Find Love in Lagos… or Am I Mad?
It was scorching hot that Thursday afternoon, the kind of heat that makes you question your life choices. I was sitting in one of the many uncomfortable shuttle buses in Lagos, feeling like a slow-roasting chicken. Frustration gnawed at me, not just from the heat but from the driver’s sheer incompetence.
Why wasn’t he moving? Why was he parked in one place like a landlord collecting rent from the sun? Lagos drivers are something else. But then again, what choice did I have? It wasn’t like I wanted to get down and start this struggle all over again, only to risk sitting next to someone drenched in sweat with zero concept of personal space.
Finally, two passengers climbed in, and I whispered a silent thank you to heaven. At least now we could go. Or so I thought. Because just as I was preparing to say an even stronger prayer for the remaining seats to fill up, those two passengers and the woman in front abruptly climbed back down.
I was speechless. Annoyed. Betrayed.
The driver and his conductor (who, let’s be honest, were the same person at this point) kept begging them to return, promising to move the bus. But Lagosians? They don’t have patience for nonsense. They had warned him. He ignored them. They left. Simple.
Now, it was just me. The driver looked at me, pleading, “Just wait abeg, once I get more passengers, we’ll go.”
I nodded and forced a small smile. He must have thought I was the most patient person in the world. If only he knew the only reason I wasn’t getting up was that I was too tired to start this struggle all over again. My khaki NYSC uniform was already crumpled, and I wasn’t about to risk sitting next to someone who smelled like a combination of sweat and regret.
No. Today, I would be patient.
Just then, three more passengers climbed in, and I busied myself looking out for potential passengers, helping my dear driver/conductor mentally recruit people off the street. And that’s when I saw him.
Dressed in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, black trousers, and a cap. But what truly got me? The short dreads. The neat, pretty kind. Don’t ask me how I saw them, I just did.
Oh. My. God.
He was handsome. No, he was pretty. The type of fine that makes you reconsider your standards. In that moment, I started praying again. But this time, I wasn’t praying for the bus to fill up, I was praying that this fine man was heading to the same destination as me. That he’d pick this bus. That we’d, oh, I don’t know, get married and have beautiful children?
And guess what?
He entered.
I nearly screamed. Heaven was finally answering my prayers. My excitement was borderline embarrassing. But then I panicked. “What if this greedy driver still refused to move and my fine boy got frustrated and left? This Lagos will not contain me and him today.”
I started fidgeting, adjusting things that were already adjusted, and stealing glances in the dusty side mirror to check my face. I couldn’t afford to have my usual resting serious face. I needed to look… approachable. The last thing I wanted was to hear, “You look like you’re proud.”
The passengers at the back started groaning again. “Driver, move this bus now! Before heat will finish us!” Someone even contemplated dropping right there.
And then my fine boy grumbled. “This driver is something else, oh,” he muttered, looking directly at me.
Oh. He was talking to me.
I quickly pretended to be deeply engrossed in my phone. Twitter had never been so interesting. But I could feel him still looking. Was he about to say something? I switched off my phone and dropped it in my bag. No distractions. Not today.
Then I sighed dramatically. “As in ehn, where is this driver now?”
He turned to me immediately. “These drivers are so annoying. Instead of leaving us here inside this heat and dust, he could just move and pick up passengers on the way.”
I nodded, trying to look effortlessly frustrated but still cute. “Likeee,” I dragged the word out in a way that was probably not as ladylike as I intended. “I’ve been sitting here since forever. Some people even left!”
Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that. What if he decided to leave, too?
Thankfully, he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in slightly and asked, “You’re coming from the NYSC secretariat?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“I said, you’re coming from the NYSC secretariat?”
Oh. My brain needed a reboot. “Oh! Yes, from CDS.”
Turns out he had already passed out two months ago but had gone to see a friend, one of his fellow CDS coordinators, to pick up some files. He started talking about how important it was to maintain relationships, how he still kept in touch with old schoolmates.
At this point, the bus had finally filled up, and we were on our way.
I was fully indulging him, sneaking glances at his perfect teeth. I was beyond impressed—not just by how fine he was, but by his intelligence. And me being me? I love intelligent people. At this point in my life, I needed more of them.
I didn’t want the journey to end.
As our stop neared, I kept stretching the conversation, throwing in small jokes to keep it going. And guess what? He kept responding. He didn’t want to stop either. I was sure the passengers at the back were tired of us at this point. They could probably feel the chemistry.
Finally, we arrived.
He Held My Hand to Cross the Road… But Not Into His Life
We both stepped down from the bus together and walked toward the road.
Then, the moment I had been dreading came: crossing the street.
I hate crossing roads. I don’t do that thing where you “time” the cars and sprint across like a contestant on Ninja Warrior. I like to wait until I’m absolutely sure no car is anywhere close.
He must have noticed my hesitation because he looked at me and said, “Let’s cross.”
I shook my head. “I usually wait until the cars are far away.”
Without hesitation, he moved to my side, gently took my hand, and said, “Don’t worry. I got you.”
I’m sorry, what?!
Was this real life? Was I in a romantic movie?
With his hand firmly around mine, he switched positions, standing on the side closest to oncoming cars. Then he confidently led me across three lanes of madness that is Lagos traffic. I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing at that point.
When we finally made it across, alive, by the grace of God. I turned to him, my heart still beating fast.
He asked where I stayed, and I told him I lived in an estate nearby, so I’d just take a bike to the gate. He said he still had to take another bus to continue his journey.
And this was it, the moment of truth.
The defining moment. He held my hand again. Looked me straight in the eyes. “It was nice talking to you. I enjoyed our conversation. And since we don’t live far from each other, we’ll probably see each other again.”
Probably?
I smiled. Nodded. Pretended I didn’t care.
Then he crossed the road and got into a keke napep ( Rickshaw).
And that was it.
I stood there, completely stunned.
He didn’t take my number.
HE DIDN’T TAKE MY NUMBER!
I climbed onto my bike, disappointed yet trying to act unbothered. But deep down? I was screaming.
Did I just experience a one-in-a-lifetime soulmate connection and heartbreak all at once?
Why didn’t he take my number?!
Funmi Adesanya tells stories for a living, some for brands, some for people, and some for the love of clarity. Corporate Communications is her structure, digital media is her playground, and content creation is where she gets to be magic.
