It’s common knowledge that we have a severe power problem. We have become a nation powered by the generator. Normally the back-up, it has become the primary source and therein lies the irony…

Once NEPA (or is it PHCN? Same difference me thinks!) strikes and darkness descends the buzz, clatter, bang and other noises associated with them starts. Be it a Japanese Honda engine, I-better-pass, silent or what-have-you the decibels generated if harnessed could also produce electricity for various households. The ‘silent’ type on the other hand only make a deep hum that isn’t grating to the ear (or nerves) and can be generally overlooked. These are specially recommended since they preserve the sanity of neighbours, but alas, like we all know not everybody can afford this class.

Apart from noise, the fumes these machines release are another form of pollution. Some are quite obvious and blow black and thick into the air. Some generator funnels are directed into gutters and so the smoke curls into the narrow, crowded slits and blackens the content. On the other hand the invisible gases from these machines are the most dangerous. Invisible to the naked eye, this gas is airborne like its more obvious counterpart and causes serious damage.

The more obvious itchy nose, sneezing, throaty itching and other respiratory distress can be traced once the gases are inhaled. These symptoms often pass once the place is adequately ventilated but becomes dangerous when the ventilation is poor and re-cycled in an enclosed place. Once fresh air isn’t introduced the oxygen level in the blood drops, until depleted and once this happens the person goes into a deep sleep from which they may not awaken. We’ve all heard stories of people that died from carbon monoxide poisoning as a result of poor ventilation and a generator too close for comfort.

If you live in a neighbourhood that’s densely populated with generators (don’t we all), then you’re probably familiar with the above scenario. On the other hand it also depends on the breed of machines with which you’re also familiar because they could be vastly different from those aforementioned. Some areas are more populated with one variety as opposed to the other as well. One thing common to all of us is that we have come to rely on these contraptions as the primary source of electricity.

Thus we know they either use petrol or diesel to fulfil this function. They usually require regular maintenance for optimal performance, thus regular servicing, oil and parts change are par for the course. We can also calculate (to the litre) how many hours of electricity the fuel will supply. We’ve also become experts at diagnosing hiccups that may occur as is wont to.

The first lesson we must learn is how to start this engine because once we know how it’s done then we can have the electricity it provides. The models that use the rope require that you know the combination of how to pull the rope and use the choke to make it work. Many a person has been frustrated by not having the technique at their fingertips. Some have had the rope snap in the course of trying to start and keys have also been known to break in the other models.

Thus the general knowledge required to ensure that the average generator’s life span is extended and its usage optimised is acquired by all owners. The initial cost of the device is an expense at the onset but one that provides dividends in the long run. As a nation we’ve become adept at providing alternatives where the authorities fail…a quality that can only be rewarded and viewed as an investment to all concerned.

I was tired, really tired. I wasn’t surprised since it was five am. I’d managed almost three hours sleep but knew that I was still going to pay for it later in the day. As it was I had no choice but to get up and get ready for work. With a groan I dragged myself out of bed and entered the bathroom.

My reflection showed an alert, impeccably made up facade. I was thankful for this since it indicated that the make-up course (and pricey fees!) had NOT been in vain. Bringing out that amount of money a few months earlier had proved challenging, but today (unlike some other days) it was worthwhile. I also managed to down a cup of tea before my mad dash out of the house. Thankfully it wasn’t raining and I prayed that the clouds would hold their peace and let me arrive at work nice and dry. The night guard was sitting at his usual spot and we exchanged our customary morning pleasantries as I walked briskly to the bus-stop.

I didn’t see the usual suspects (the two smartly dressed women that waited for their staff bus and the dressed down back-pack carrying chap that was picked up by the betting booth) that had become familiar faces at that time. I checked my wristwatch only to discover that I was slightly behind schedule, thus the usual comfort I derived from them was denied me. I didn’t even know their names but the fact that we met regularly at the same spot (every work day) for the past three weeks made the early hours bearable and less lonesome.

Without further delay, I jumped into the next bus that was going my way. Immediately I sat down I knew something was grossly amiss. All the passengers were men and the instance I got in another two followed, the conductor trailed behind and shut the door. I wasn’t given breathing space before my head was viciously grabbed from behind and held in a vice made of a very muscular forearm. Whilst I was still processing this, I also felt something digging into my side and my handbag was roughly dragged off my shoulder. From a distance I heard someone whispering, ‘don’t shout because nobody can hear or help you.’

I had trouble breathing and became light headed. I tried swallowing at intervals and was breathing fast through my nose. Fear was threatening to overwhelm me as I knew I was trapped in a dreaded ‘one chance’ bus. ‘Is this the only money you have, a big girl like you only has five thousand naira in her bag?!’ the disgruntled question was spat at me. Unable to answer and finding it increasingly difficult to breathe I tried not to panic. With my teeth I clamped down on the arm holding my head. I was only able to do this because the hold was now somewhat loose, but I was still unable to get out of it.

The string of curses that flowed was promptly followed by a stunning blow to the back of my head. The blow left me reeling but able to breathe freely. Greedily I gulped air into my lungs and painfully rotated my neck. Sobbing loudly I pleaded for my life. ‘Please, don’t kill me. That’s all the money I have. Abeg oga, I take God beg you. Please don’t kill me.’ I found myself repeating over and over again. ‘My friend will you shut up!’ the statement was followed by a prodding in my side with the object I now knew to be a firearm.

It took me a while to realise that the bus was stationary and the man behind had stopped cursing. ‘Na God save you, yeye girl! Take your bag and get out!’ My bag was thrust into my arms and I was practically shoved out. The man on the edge caught my arm and quietly advised, ‘make sure you don’t enter another danfo, we have four buses operating in the area so make you shine your eye well, well!’ thrusting me aside, the bus screeched off. My ordeal was over as abruptly as it had started…

I recall the way Yaba market was some years back. Lots of buses, rail lines crowded with wares and people! That was the constant, people…masses of them all over the place. As a major transit point in the Lagos metropolis, it still has that but one feature that’s absent is the regular congregation of people gathered to watch one thing or the other.

Anytime I was passing through and saw another crowd I made it a point to walk by quickly or stay far away from it if I could. Not one to stop and waste time I usually continued on my merry way. The major thing that always piqued my interest was whether those people didn’t have anything else to do!

I was (still am) of the opinion that you left home with a plan to run various errands, appointments etc in order for you to achieve your aim for the day. Certainly standing around at a bus-stop (in the hot sun!) watching people, animals or whatever would not help in this quest. I can’t imagine going to a crucial appointment (maybe an interview) and get carried away dallying this way. Passing Yaba en route was to either make various connections or to shop.

I never woke up and thought to go to Yaba for the heck of it. It was not fun, or a way of passing the time. The mere thought of being jostled, shoved and grabbed by enthusiastic traders (the ibo boys selling all sorts and the black market mallams) required some psychological preparation. So the thought of staying longer than necessary was never part of my agenda.

For me the most amazing part of the spectacle was the fact that those gathered were simply wasting time! I’m sure that I’m as curious as the next person, but satisfying that by standing in the hot sun rather than accomplishing what I’d set out to do was out of the question. I couldn’t understand how people could shelve whatever they were supposed to do (or be doing!) and just watch whatever ‘show’ was on.

I hear the fanciful say that maybe some ‘jazz’ (spiritual powers) had been used to hypnotise the audience. Maybe mass hypnosis could have been employed in some cases, I’m not sure, but I think that a lot of people were just too carefree about their time. There were reports of high pickpocket activities and other petty criminal acts at gatherings like that and whilst the crowd was kept amused, they were also fleeced. The vendors thus made a double killing from ‘services rendered’ during their stint and also by colluding with the thieves.

Those days are long gone from Yaba bus-stop, but concentrated pockets of people still happens. One of the surest ways to pull a crowd on the streets is through a fight! When fisticuffs start, people stop to watch. I think there’s something raw about the sheer violence witnessed firsthand. Again I’m not sure since I’m certain to give the scene a wide berth in order to go about my business. Maybe Nigerians have more of the curious gene than other nationals because we certainly love to stop and stare…

Pauline didn’t consider herself an ajebo (i.e. genteel) neither did she look down her nose when others engaged in unsavoury activities like spitting out of a moving car, digging for gold or blatantly adjusting underwear in full public glare (with the sagging and low cut jeans awash on the streets she doesn’t even consider that an issue any longer!). Her first encounter with a commercial motorcycle (a.k.a. okada) left an indelible mark on her and made this mode of transportation essential only in the direst of situations. Certainly she also only preferred relatively short distances, but like she had come to learn there was always a first time for anything! A recent stint in a remote location had introduced her to longer distances than she had ever journeyed on a two-wheeler.

She had been regaled with tales of friends, acquaintances and absolute strangers crossing the notorious third mainland bridge and other great distances on commercial motorcycles. She was yet to taste this and knew it would only be embarked upon when it became the most and ONLY prudent thing to do. This was also not a thought she relished either!

The fateful day finally arrived when she would join the more hardy commuters of the city of excellence. This elite sect comprised of members of either gender that didn’t blink an eye when they had to ditch more comfortable forms of transportation in order to make deadlines for meetings, deliveries and the like. In this instance, Pauline had concluded her business during the peak of rush hour traffic and found herself inevitably stuck. She immediately jumped on the first okada that she struck a deal with. She had to review her plans when the destination was attained and because traffic was inordinately bad and interestingly it included crossing IBB Bridge. Pauline was relieved because she just crossed to Oyingbo and technically she really didn’t have to traverse the entire length of the longest bridge in Africa.

Her adventures that day were not at an end since the traffic conditions on the mainland were worsened by the rain, thereby wrecking havoc for all and sundry. At Oyingbo the only vehicles on the move were those returning to Lagos island, the others were packed with passengers and lined up waiting for movement to take place. The conditions reminded her of the movie, ‘The greatest American traffic jam’ she had watched years ago. Not one for standing on one spot and to find out if conditions ahead were more favourable, Pauline decided to start walking…

To cut a very long trek short…she ended up at Alagomeji. On a good day if you were to ask whether she would consider walking this distance (i.e. Oyingbo to Alagomeji) she’d think you were crazy! In reality she trekked it in starts and stops, carrying her laptop (that increasingly got heavier by the minute!), whilst a light drizzle wet her to the skin. Lady luck finally smiled and provided another motorcycle that completed her journey and dropped her off a minute’s walk from home. The first thing she did when she got inside was to take off the back-pack and make provision for a hot beverage and bath. Having done justice to both, she hit the sack and went out like a light.

Pauline got almost more than she bargained for with her two-in-one adventure…a crossing of the infamous bridge and a memorable trek to last her a lifetime! Life certainly has a way of giving some things no holds barred…even when you don’t ask, think, desire or believe you need it!

One hundred naira…JUST a hundred bucks! What in the world? Why bother with such a paltry sum. It makes no significant addition in the grand scheme of things and cannot be said to be of value…at least not to me! Not right now!

Interestingly, this wasn’t a movie set or the pages of my favourite novel, but I knew what the young man on crutches had just announced for the whole world to hear. This is what the beggar implied when he shrugged off the money that was proffered from the dark (air-conditioned) depths of the Lexus jeep. The tinted window of the passenger compartment slid down and the note appeared. The note fluttered to the ground as the man hobbled away and the window went up once again. It wasn’t long before a skate-board riding boy swooped on the note and happily carted it off in glee. Watching the drama that was unfolding in the midday traffic was a boon to the usual tedium of sitting and waiting for the go-slow to ease. It took my mind off the hours left roasting in the usual traffic snarl of the city of excellence.

Watching this exchange reminded me of an incident when something similar happened to me. I’m not one that often gives alms it’s a practise I seldom indulge in. On this auspicious occasion I was moved to give and also promptly had my money rejected! I was embarrassed and soundly amazed at the experience. I realised that despite the (old) saying about a beggar being without choices, apparently choice was still available. I was highly puzzled and wished I’d kept my money within the confines of my purse.

Here I was an infrequent giver to beggars and the one I decided to smile upon promptly shoves it back in my face. This was not an easy pill to swallow but since I had no choice, I did. As I continued walking (after putting the rejected note back in my bag) I pondered a bit on why my offer was rudely discarded.

At first I thought maybe it was because the individual had not been actively begging. Maybe the amount proffered wasn’t the bone of contention. On the other hand again maybe he didn’t appreciate the fact that I tried to thrust it in his palms. I stopped trying to puzzle out the reason and tried to shrug it off. Apparently I succeeded since I hadn’t thought about that particular incidence until I saw a similar situation unfold before me.

I guess the young man in this new scenario felt cheated. A Lexus jeep after all…even if he couldn’t differentiate between the brands, but he probably knew that a jeep (being a big car) was expensive and so maybe a two hundred naira note would have been something. Disappointment is something we all understand but his outright refusal was strange…me thinks.

This reminds me of something someone once said about a guy driving a Volkswagen (the model called the beetle) ready to give alms to the tune of five hundred naira, but he didn’t get the chance because the beggar bypassed his car and looked to the more prosperous looking cars to solicit from. By so doing he missed a windfall until the lucky one who dared ask from this source. Ironical really since the level of giving by individuals in traffic is driven by specifics other than their car models. This should remind us that people are deeper than we think and each and every person has cogent reasons to support their actions.

I’m not an avid soccer fan… in fact I don’t watch it. Well I watch World Cup if that counts and we all know how many times that takes place! Quite recently I started watching live matches of my church league. Each month has a team to support and since it’s all part of the fun I go to the pitch to encourage my team. For EPL, La Liga and Spanish league fans and supporters out there, I know I’m not to be reckoned with. I make no apologies and still find that I can do without good old football.

Despite not being an avid follower or supporter of any of the clubs but because of my recent encounter with the game I’ve come to understand why people’s emotions tend to ride high when their teams are playing. The bad calls by the referees, dives by players, unsportsmanlike behaviour of other club players et al is quite understandable. What I simply don’t get on the other hand is the extreme euphoria of some fans. We’ve all read about husbands, boyfriends etc being uncommunicative during matches (especially if the tide’s against their club) and others getting violent to the point of murder. Violent clashes of opposing fans are common in Europe and Britain.

Unfortunately more instances where tragedy occurs because of these extreme emotional conditions is on the rise in Nigeria. Fans are so intoxicated (with the high of winning or other substances) that they either get injured or die. We know how okada riders celebrate such victories, loudly revved engines, flashing lights and highs speeds through traffic! Some drivers behind the wheels of cars also exhibit these traits and a domino down side of supporting the Blues, Barca, ManU (or others) results.

I believe that emotions demonstrate our humanity and it’s good to be in touch with them. On the other hand, we also have cold reason that guides, it balances our emotions. Reason ensures that we protect ourselves and others when things happen and it’s also very useful in our daily lives. It dictates that we proceed with caution in some instances and tells us to desist in others. This balance is susceptible to the level of some substances (e.g. alcohol, prescription drugs, illicit drugs etc) in the system and the higher the level the more unreasonable the person.

Thus, the situation where the fans or supporters watch the matches and imbibe alcohol (and the like) makes for a dangerous combination. This potent mix and heightened emotions is tense at the least and volatile at best. So, arguments, fights and other methods of flexing masculinity occur and ugly is a good word to use when things spin out of control.

The opposing players exchange jerseys and shake hands after a match. If they happen to be friendly may even go for a drink or bite when the match is over. I’m not sure their rivalry extends off the pitch. Personally, I’m perplexed on the other hand when people thousands of miles and on the other side of the world get violent. How does it improve your life? How does it help you or your family? What does it add to your bottom line or character when you act so outrageously?

Celebrate if you must, but everything in moderation. Football is a sport that many love and I believe it’s also an emotional outlet for many that appreciate it. Moderation should be the key when wins or losses occur…after all whether you’re sad or happy it doesn’t really affect the Drogbas, Torres, Lampards and Messis over there!

The age long war of the sexes has been with us since the beginning of time, precisely since the time of Adam and Eve. The roles of the hunter and the prey have been interchanged with the advent of the modern age! Modern man and woman have inculcated certain characteristics into the traditional roles of male and female. Despite the advent of the modern age in Africa, civilisation of man has not adversely affected the roles. This is to say that the role of the hunter, traditionally reserved for males is that which still prevails.

In ages gone by it was the time and reign of the ‘love messenger’, a role played by males or females depending on the society and culture in question. Nowadays, this role has been dispensed with and we have the more direct and one-on-one encounters that has been propagated and directly influenced by the advent of western culture and society. The only time the role still subsists is where an introduction is required and once that’s done is immediately dispensed with.

The phenomenon of ‘the chase’ is an institution that is here to stay, as long as the male and female species co-exist on the same planet. This ‘chase’ is as varied and unique as the men in the world, whether they are Chinese, Brazilian, Malaysian, Italian, Zambian or Nigerian. The techniques differ, as the various individuals. Interestingly, there is ONE thing that is common to all males; it cuts across cultures, continents and societies. In fact this common denominator is anathema to the male gender and has its origin from the ladies.

What could this be that elicits such a strong and universal response? The proverbial bone of contention is the phrase, ‘Just friends’. A lot of ladies at one time or the other have utilised this simple phrase. The response from the men at the time of its usage ranges from resignation, disappointment to downright exasperation and anger. In certain cases an overreaction might be said to occur. Like the overload of an electrical circuit that brings sparks and other violent explosions. Explode is the word that resonates, when the response of the lady being ‘toasted’ is ‘let’s be friends’. What’s in this phrase or sentence that elicits such a strong reaction from the opposite gender?

The male species would have us know (i.e. the womenfolk) that we don’t know our minds! Us, the mothers to be of future generations have been and are sometimes tagged as nothing but simpletons during this phase. This in essence is what the woman in question deduces whenever she utters this singular phrase. How can I come to this hasty conclusion? It’s quite simple really, because from ample evidence once the magical phrase has been uttered there is now a fresh onslaught by the hunter. In order to convince the ‘babe’, ‘chick’,’ gal’ or whatever of the wisdom of her convictions, the bastion is stormed afresh and the individual’s ear talked off in order to convince her otherwise. Sometimes external reinforcement is brought in to buttress the point and elicit a reversal.

Granted, females in general are known to be complex and some are said to dither in decision making, but I wager that a lady knows when she likes a guy and when she does not. Most definitely she knows when she likes a relationship to be anything more than friendship or less. It’s her prerogative if she desires a purely platonic relationship or something more intimate.

Exercising that right to choose has been tagged ‘teasing’ by the men folk, ‘leading on’ is another concept that has been coined from this phenomenon. I think it’s about time that the men grew up i.e. that an adult female (of consenting age) knows her own mind. It is no slight to a guy when a woman tells him she wants only friendship from him. Truth be told, she has paid him one of the highest compliments that could be paid anyone.

The ensuing problem is that the institution of friendship has been marginalized and is viewed a third rate institution or something worthless. Fine, there are people who advocate that there can be no friendship between the sexes, such advocates say that it is only a sexual relationship that can exist between the sexes and nothing genuinely platonic, that has its basis in trust and integrity can survive. Advocates of this theory have to know that a lot of holes can be picked in their theory and that it is only and thus expose it as an archaic theory in this current age of enlightenment.

Certainly there are instances where the ‘just friends’ sentence is handed out and along the way one person changes their mind i.e. feelings may develop. In that situation, an evaluation of the friendship is carried out by both parties and a decision reached in the light of recent developments. Some guys that have accepted this verdict have sometimes used it to bide their time and further worm their way into the cockles of her heart! Whatever the outcome, the phrase ‘just friends’ may not be the death knell it once was and some friendships have evolved beyond this often maligned concept that can be more satisfying than it connotes!

(This piece was published in The Voice newspapers (Benue State) during my NYSC. I recently stumbled on it and decided to share…the original article published was edited.)

There must be a creed by which Danfo drivers adhere or there’s a common anointing that falls on each (and every) person that decides he (not found a woman doing this job yet!) wants to ply the streets of Lagos as one. This is not a hasty conclusion if you observe these daredevils in traffic. Their antics are common and quite familiar: unreasonable driving by ALL standards, honking unnecessarily, compulsively and inordinately LOUD! Purchase of odd ball horns that can simply drive you bonkers when it’s being tooted determinedly in go-slow. Snide and often unpleasant remarks about non-commercial drivers, popularly called ‘my car ’by this breed. Reasoning that’s only understandable to those of their ilk and of course the personalisation of their vehicles.

Some choose to decorate the interior with the photographs of their favourite football players, teams and other related paraphernalia. For others it’s musicians and any other thing that catches their fancy. Again we also have the ‘weird’ ones that have coloured flashing lights (both within and outside the bus), dangling stuffed animals and the like on display. On the other hand, these may have been put by the owner of the vehicle, who’s to say? Whatever the case, we have as many unique buses as there are drivers.

The most obvious aspect of the vehicle is the body and on some is the main message board! Interesting phrases, captions, et al have been written there for all and sundry to partake of and make of them what they will. Some are easily understandable e.g. thank God, God pass dem, Iya Lateef, wabillahi taofeek, nipa ife olugbala (about God’s love),omo alhaja, up Chelsea, God’s blessing and who be fool? Many more phrases abound and reading them is an education in itself.

These texts have been cause of entertainment in some horrendous go-slow. Food for the eyes they have had me chuckling, laughing and sometimes puzzled trying to ferret out the meaning of the more obscure ones. Certainly I’ve often pointed out fresh hitherto unseen ones to other occupants and certain phrases have stuck with me. Quite a few are slangs and if you’re not in the know, it’s likely you’ll stay that way unless someone interprets for you.

These moving message boards have been with us for a while and likely to stay this way, unless the entire transportation system in Lagos state is overhauled and these vehicles banned. Whatever the case may be, we will continue to interact with the drivers, buses and their messages as long as time and existing laws permit.

Mutual admiration by both sexes is par for the course. Admiring glances, sneak peeks, checking each other out, covertly or openly is a way of life. Along with the other freedoms, freedom of expression is nurtured. On the other hand if you live where freedom is heavily defined and confined then you must tread carefully.

Good taste and not giving offence were the watch word for paying compliments. Let me re-phrase that…because it seems that being inoffensive is now ‘old school’ and you must learn to move along with the times and get over yourself. Words and acts that were qualified as being in poor taste have undergone a major overhaul and everything is now subjective.

This brings to mind movies, books and images that were previously censored. As a result of societal change, the category and type of materials that are now censored are as different as night from day. When compared to the Seventies you will discover that what was once banned, seems harmless in the light of the Twenty-first century. In this context, exposure and acceptable standards are constantly changing and this with respect to everything!

When you tell a woman that she looks lovely or beautiful, it may elicit a smile, maybe even a blush. On the other hand you must have evaluated the surrounds (place, people and person in question too) before you tell one that she’s hot or sexy. The age of the object of your admiration may also guide you in the choice of words that will make maximum impact. Wrong evaluation of any of these factors may result in less than favourable response and consequences.

I recall the case of a young lady with a generously proportioned figure being lasciviously propositioned! The words used by the man in question were unpleasant at the least and downright degrading. Thankfully the encounter was in public and she gave him a piece of her mind and left it at that. She suffered that indignity because of her physicality; something considered an asset by friends and foes alike. As a result of this she must be prepared to endure some more of this same distasteful treatment in the years ahead. She either grins and bears it or ignores it and lets the people in question know (in no uncertain terms) her view on the matter.

On the other hand there was the case of a chap with a generous bum (above average for a male) that laughingly protested that the space left for him to sit would not be comfortable. In order to settle the friendly quarrel he immediately turned round so that all parties involved could not deny the fact. The banter ended with phone numbers exchanged and ties established. The chap did everything in such a way that no offence was caused…despite the fact that he was chatting with women previously unknown to him.

When engaging with members of the opposite sex (better yet humanity in general!), courtesy should win out each and every time! Although you might think that the ‘dope’ words reigning maybe more meaningful, keeping your emotions in check and telling the ‘eye candy’ this with the courtesy and in the most courteous manner ensures that respect is given and received. Sometimes, we often forget that goodwill is worth more than a million dollar cheque…especially when you least expect it and bump into that perfect stranger you just annoyed! It becomes more devastating when a favourable response would help things along and when you remember that you could have prevented the sorry situation by just being polite!

(Previously published in the Daily Times on September 16th 2011)

I’ve always wondered how various things were named, more specifically the interesting names that have been adapted for popular items, places and even incidents. The person that dubbed a car ‘Evil spirit’ really out did themselves although the people that propagated the name were much more instrumental.
With this at the fore, today we examine what has been dubbed the ‘owner’s corner’.

The ‘owner’s corner’ (that position in the car diagonally opposite the driver’s seat) is a prime piece of mobile real estate. This (we’ve been told) is where the person that owns the vehicle sits. This being the broadest definition, since we have people that don’t necessarily own the car, but that happen to be responsible for it positioned there too. Ultimately, the CEOs, senior executives et al of corporations to whom the driver reports is included in this league. This position thus signifying that whoever occupies it calls the shots.

A few years ago this position might have been their sole preserve, but nowadays this is no longer the situation. There are some ‘owners’ that prefer to ride shotgun and it’s commonplace to see expatriates doing this, indeed it’s a rare sight to see an expatriate strapped in sitting pretty there. I think assassinations and robberies have also had something to do with this new practise… ‘oga’ is not so obvious if he’s seated beside the driver. Whatever the reason, we have more people shunning the place of honour in a car, for a less obvious position.

Instances where the car owner also happens to be the driver also leaves the seat open for anyone else in the car. Friends, family and even maids now get to ride along playing ‘oga madam’ whilst the car’s in motion. Helping out a few people is common and often waiting for the person in the back seat to move up is cumbersome and so a few friends temporarily occupy the ‘owner’s corner’ until their turn to get down.

Maids and other caregivers also sit there when children passengers are involved. In the case where the mother plays driver, her child’s safety is utmost when conveying her charge around, thus putting her baby and maid there helps her achiever her aims. By definition, the help becomes the ‘boss’ for the duration of the journey. Even if the mother is sans maid, the back seat is the place for children and not riding shotgun.

In several cases and vehicles across the land, the ‘owner’s corner’ is occupied by the bona fide person whom the title fits and that is as should be too. The ‘owner’s corner’ is one way of preserving an element of prestige, for those that find this important. For others it’s just another place to sit whilst inside a motorcar. Whatever view you might have of this trend is totally dependent on your understanding, views, attitudes and beliefs.