LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

I always thought that life in the fast lane

Was intended to portray the better side of living

But something struck me deep the other day

Some people in the fast lane live in a different way.

Black African roads crowded with traffic

To use Nigerian slang a traffic jam is a ‘go slow’

Vehicles stretch for mile after humid mile

It’s not often you’ll see a driver smile.

Transport battles side by side no inch given

Horns blaring even when there is no chance of anyone moving

Decrepit buses carrying bodies crammed inside

Some place to go, but no place to hide.

Young boys and old men - roadside hawkers plying their trade

Running races between the clogged up lanes

Trying to sell you anything you might need

Propelled in their quest for the cash that will feed.

There is another type of predator out there too

The roadside thugs who will rob and kill

Don’t expect others to extend their assistance

Life is too precious; you’ll be killed for interference.

Other inhabitants frequent the highways too

The maimed and the poor beg at your windows

Legless men on wooden boards with wheels

Can move faster than the traffic shouting their appeals.

Woman and baby both dressed in stinking rags

Wander aimlessly between the cars, eyes stareing

Baby is sucking on an empty breast, no nourishment there

Nobody seems to give a damn and nobody seems to care.

Life in a Nigerian motorway fast lane is not a picnic

People seek to make a living, they want to survive

Driven on by despair and a life that is miles apart from our own

Geared into poverty where hope for a better life is unknown.

Tony

26/2/01