Houses in Lagos want to kill you
My ears pick a sound and I am jolted awake. Something is coming towards me, fast. I switch on my phone torch and scan my room but I see nothing. I stay still and I finally pick it. There is someone crawling in the ceiling.
If you’ve ever gone house hunting, then you know how important dressing light is. But that day, I was in my khaki and jungle boots and it felt like two heavy textbooks were tied to my feet. I was sweaty, my feet were crying and the sun was frying me.
My agent was trying to get me a Mini Flat for my service year. If you didn’t know it before, there is a housing crisis in Lagos. I could cry for those that would eventually move into some houses we had seen.
I and my agent were headed to the next house when a man tapped me and pointed to a police vehicle close by. Welp! My heart rate was already spiking when I saw a familiar face, Jumoke. We were both freshly redeployed to Lagos and had met a few days ago in the NYSC secretariat.
A few hours later, Jumoke and I had paid for a 2-bedroom apartment in what we were made to believe was close to our PPA (which by some stroke of luck happened to be the same).
I had gotten an apartment! Let’s go!
The time that water.
I had to dig back into my Elementary Science knowledge on my first day. Wasn’t water supposed to be colourless?
Before paying, the landlord assured us of a borehole and constant water supply but conveniently left out the fact that the water was polluted. Excuse me sir, you know you can be persecuted for this? And when I say polluted, I mean it’s a crime that it should be classified as water.
Sometimes, for no reason, the water would get less brown, but after a few days, you open the tap and aha, the brown goodness gushes out again. It was in that apartment that I began my too-close-for-comfort relationship with alum. My three buckets became my water purification plant.
I would have to fetch the water the day before I needed it or I would be stranded. On those days, I would dream of my parents’ house and how I took the little things for granted, like my ability to cook with tap water. Scratch that; my ability to drink the tap water brah! No one sent me to Lagos, but as I was buying bags of pure water for my other water needs, my chest was hot.
The time that noise.
There was a mosque beside our compound with two huge speakers facing both sides of the street. Before we paid our hard-earned money to the landlord, he promised us that the mosque would remove the speakers.
If you’re reading this and you go house hunting, know that the landlord/landlady and agent are stark liars.
“We’ll fix it once you pay.”
Lies.
“By the time you’re ready to move in, it will be complete.”
A lie.
“I’ve called the electrician; he’s coming to fix it today.”
From the pit of hell.
Let’s just say that I can sing all the songs they sing in that mosque. Time for prayer? I’ll be the first to tell you. And on the nights they held vigils and sang and drummed, my eyes were blood red.
The time that shit.
I came home one day and saw shit in my toilet. I have never been so confused in my life. We both had our toilets so it couldn’t be my housemate. I didn’t use the toilet before leaving so I was living in perplex-dome.
I came back another day and saw some SHIT again? I called my landlord’s son to see the shit I had been dealing with. To tell you as e dey be eh, it was the shit from my neighbour’s house that was coming into my toilet. I wanted to fight. What kind of stupid plumbing is that?
For the next few days I had to deal with the fact that whenever my neighbour flushed their toilet, something was coming to meet me…tears. The plumber came after I killed my landlord’s phone with calls and fixed that shit.
Only for few months to pass and guess what I saw in my toilet? Shit.
The time that I was locked out.
I work in advertising, and everything you heard is false. There is little glamour. All you get are long work hours and late nights.
My compound comprised of two two-bedroom apartments upstairs (Jumoke and I shared one and a young family — yes, the ones with the shit — lived in the other) and a three-bedroom apartment downstairs (young family as well). Each flat had a key to the main padlock and Jumoke was with ours.
I often came home to that black padlock locked tight, and if it could talk, I’m sure it would tell me to “go back to your country niguuuur”. I’d call Jumoke to come open the gate, but sometimes, she wouldn’t pick because sleep has entered gear 2. Then, I’d have to call my neighbour.
One day, after pouring out my brain juices for my clients, I got home to a locked gate. I called Jumoke like 52 times . . . no answer. I called my neigbours . . . silence. It was dark and it felt like someone was watching me, waiting for the right time to pounce. I banged and banged the gate, hoping to wake somebody up. Anybody!
I don’t know when it hit me. Maybe it was when I called my friend in the middle of the night to ask if I could come over. Or when I ordered my ride. Or when as I rode in the car, I saw my house fading away slowly. But when that kind of thing happens to you, it has you questioning everything, even things that didn’t ask to be questioned.
The time that I was almost thrown out.
I duplicated the key that weekend and — when I tell you that padlock was racist — it decided to spoil the next week. There’s so much you can take in a place. I knew that my time had come.
I told my agent to get me out of the pit he had thrown me into. This time, my sister and I wanted to move in together and Jumoke wanted to move closer to her office. Every weekend, we will go into the wild and see the atrocious things people build in the name of houses. I created a 20-point list of things to look out for in a house and most of them didn’t even cut half. House hunting is an extreme sport. 0/10; would not recommend.
One Sunday, I was having my bath when my landlord paid Jumoke and I a visit. “Your rent is almost due”, he warned. “Pay or leave my house oooo”. Is that what you call a quick notice? Ghen ghen. I blamed myself for not staying in my parents’ house jeje. After a few more weeks of confusion and drama, we gave up. Rather the devil you know than the angel you don’t know, abi?
The night I transferred my rent, I stayed up staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t believe this was my life for another year.
The time that crabs.
I was approaching my gate one evening when I saw a crab in front of it. I had not seen a lot of live crabs in my life, but I imagine if it was caught, cooked and served, the guest will get the hint and block you back.
What if I attacked it and it came crawling to me, on me, scratching and tearing? Okay, a bit extra, but still.
I picked some stones from a heap close by and threw it in its general direction. “Odeshi!” it said and settled even more.
After 10 minutes of walking aimlessly, people noticed and eventually, they gathered and there, I witnessed the glorious stoning of the crustacean.
The time that thieves.
My neigbour was shouting downstairs. This wasn’t exactly new. He was often upset, while his wife would try to calm him down.
He had noticed that all the nets in his apartment had been torn. It was very detailed; like an artist’s handiwork. There was a thin slit at the bottom of the nets so straight they could cut a finger. Someone had torn the nets, and must have been coming to check the apartment in our absence hoping to meet an open window.
His suspect was Mr. Ade, a very popular man on my street, who he claimed was a thief and would be disgraced that day. Mr. Ade was known to sit outside all day, eager to make a remark about passersby. He would often ask me what I had for him in my bag.
So the gymnastics started. His wife and neighbour were begging him to use his common sense. But he and his pot belle were ready to fight. I understood it because a house on the street had been burgled recently.
They didn’t succeed in holding him back, and from that day while Mr. Ade still had a smart remark on his lips, at least he would hesitate.
The day that the wall.
I like to pack my clothes when they’re sun-dried and crisp. I even check the weather before washing to target sunny days. The weather app will sly you, but that’s not what this is about.
This is about when I opened my cupboard of crisp clothes and could smell a certain dampness. I removed my clothes to see the waterlogged wall of the cupboard. Where did I go wrong?
Phone dial! “Hello Mr. Landlord, eez like you see me as a fool, abi?” Okay I didn’t say that, but I wished I did. Maybe I wouldn’t have dealt with that mess till the last day in that apartment.
Also, did I mention that we had moved into a newly completed building? No? Okay.
The time that crisis.
I was on a bike heading to my street when Jumoke called me to take a different route home. A member of a gang in the neighbourhood had killed a member of a rival gang and there was gbas gbos everywhere. Blood and tears. Excuse me ma’am! Instead of you to tell me to find somewhere else to sleep.
I got to my abode to see a heavily armed Task Force patrolling the area like we were at war. Ah! I slept with one eye open throughout that night. And unlike me, I was fully clothed with all my prized possessions close to my side. I didn’t come to Lagos to die.
Task Force people stayed for over a week. They ate our food and drank our wine.
The time that light.
Remember Mr. Ade? Apart from sitting on his ass all day, Mr. Ade enjoyed tormenting people on the street for “owo NEPA”. And because NEPA or as they prefer to be called, PHCN, are what they are, Mr. Ade could come knocking very often.
We had a lot of dry spells. Weeks upon weeks of blackness. Transformer always had an issue. And so Mr. Ade will come to knock on our doors for contributions and Jumoke and I will pretend that the door being banged was not ours.
The time that rats.
I’m not a rat person.
Growing up, we only ever had to deal with rats two times. The times I knew rats for the devils they are were in secondary school and university, because apparently, when two or three are gathered, there rats are in their midst.
My sister came visiting. Night came and we were about to sleep when there was an arresting movement of a nylon bag. It must be the fan blowing something we said, and got cozy. Again we heard tcskkkk and I switched on my phone torch to be sure. And there, just a few feet away from us was a tiny rat running past.
“AHHHYFRWOUFGWJRFPIUHWR!” we screamed in unison.
From that day, the battle with the rats began. They were always so tiny, like their mother told them to go into the world and preach the rat gospel. Maybe because she couldn’t find her way in. When we felt we had eliminated all of them, we’ll see a tinier, newer rat run past us, and we never knew where they were coming from!
They soon got stronger and escaped from the rat glues. They would climb on tables and plates, that if you didn’t see their trademark faeces, you would think they could never reach.
I lived in abject fear. I was scared of my house. I was scared to cook. I was scared to exist.
Then one doomed night, I heard something in my ceiling, running past like it was on a mission. And on the remaining doomed nights I spent in that house, I would look up thinking that the day they break the ceiling and fall on me, might be the day I say goodbye to the world.
The time that…
Two years in that place and I was finally moving to a saner, sexier place. This time I used a different agent, but that didn’t stop him from trying to try me. But that’s a story for another day. After two months of house hunting, my torment was over.
You can bet that I stuck to my new house list. And you can bet that I am enjoying my new haven.
If you’re reading this and you’re going house hunting, my advice to you is shine ya eye, shine am well well. Don’t forget that all landlords, landladies and agents are liars. Start your search early if you don’t want to settle way beneath your expectations. You WILL also need to increase your initial budget. But most importantly, if you don’t build it, the house you’re looking for doesn’t exist.
