Propanganda I'm not falling for: Convoys are necessary

I said what I said

Before I start, I would like to note that I am a sane individual. Maybe undiagnosed, but sane nonetheless.

Based on where I work and its proximity to the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, I tend to see a lot of convoys to and from my commute to work.

I also see a lot of airplanes and I’ve gotten so good at airplane spotting to the point it’s an instinct now. I look up and see the plane before I even hear it. But back to topic.

Now I’ve gotten used to seeing convoys. You know the drill: you hear the siren miles away, then it gradually gets louder then you see that one police car, then a black Prado, another black Prado and a last police car with two guys holding gun.

And when I see them, I get my regular itch. The one where my brain wishes I had fuel and a car so I could stalk and see who is being paraded like a circus elephant. So at least when I see them, I can stage a run-in, become friends and act like I rub elbows with the elite.

I’m playing the long game here.

But alas, most times when I see these convoys, I’m in a danfo squeezed between the wall and someone that smells funky, with a conductor owing me hundred naira change. I honestly don’t know why they never have hundred naira.

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I saw this convoy, one Monday morning a few months ago.

I was running late, standing at the bus stop and saw police men everywhere. It was quite unusual but it was Monday and olopa are sporadic like that.

I entered a bus after arguing with conductor over how much I would pay and at almost every bus stop, police.

Wahala.

We reached Anthony, people wanted to get down, police said no stopping here. The driver, caught in a stalemate between his customers and the potential seizing of his livelihood, decided to drive to the next bus stop.

I swear the passengers were ready to stone him, and he was shouting that police said he shouldn’t stop there.

I wanted to defend him too but as someone prone to violence who knew she couldn’t handle being yelled at by strangers early in the morning without reasoning how to push them in front of moving trailer, I kept my mouth shut.

Continued moving. Police everywhere. Police more than usual at Oshodi. Pretty sure I’ve counted up to twenty uniformed individuals.

Again, they didn’t let us stop at the usual busstop. The shouting match from people who were leaving started again.

Everywhere the driver wanted to stop, a police person move farther ahead. I’m genuinely confused as to what’s going on. What kind of five minutes madness the police is displaying this time.

Finally we stop, people get down, people are cursing the police. Conductor gets more customers and we’re set to leave.

Except the police didn’t let us leave. They weren’t letting anyone leave.

Then I heard the beacon, the siren and all of a sudden all the pieces clicked.

Of course it’s a convoy.

This convoy was led by a police motorcycle, then a Prado, a few regular cars, a few police cars with men with guns and ended with two motorcycles.

We were only allowed to move after we couldn’t hear the siren again. Then the police people started to disperse.

I remember feeling inexplicable rage. I still wanted to follow but this was overshadowed by my annoyance at the bastard that felt so important to disrupt a Monday morning. I didn’t want to rub elbows, I wanted to stab him.

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I saw another convoy on a Friday evening like two weeks ago.

This time I was in a bus on my way home. I was reading Mile High. It was lightly drizzling and there was traffic.

Then I heard the accursed siren.

It grew closer and closer and I was wondering how it was moving so fast in the traffic.

Then the siren sound was right behind us. Come to find out cars were actually parting for whosoever proud individual this was.

I took notes as this convoy passed.

Like that many vehicles were cutting traffic. I was typing so fast, thinking it had ended, but more cars kept coming.

In my mild irritation, I had never felt the urge to stalk anyone more than I did at that moment. I wished I had a Prado and fuel, so I could pretend to be in their convoy and follow them. I mean I had enough of freewill.

Anyway, they passed and I went back to being that pretentious person reading a hardcopy novel in a bus.

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My third and last convoy story I will tell you today happened last week Tuesday.

I was on my way back from work. Reading The Right Move, frankly not bothered by traffic.

We reached and passed all the usual traffic points. Then got stuck in traffic. A really slow moving one.

Rain had been falling all evening, so I just assumed that maybe an accident or people were just driving really slow.

The first fifteen minutes in the same spot, someone got off to brave the rain.

Another ten, the bus had moved less than ten metres and the rain had reduced to a drizzle, so more people decided to get off and walk. Since I honestly was in no hurry to go home, I kept reading my book

Another thirty, we’re only three people in this previously full bus. It’s past eight pm. I decide, fuck it. I can actually walk home. I have walked longer.

People are racing under the drizzle and I’m taking my time cause I’m of the firm belief that running under the rain really doesn’t change anything.

So I’m walking, eager to see the reason for this traffic.

I see a crowd ahead. So… accident?

I see a car parked horizontally across the lane. So accident.

I see police officials. Definitely accident.

In morbid curiosity, I look for the crush or the body, maybe signs of blood, but I see none.

I ask a member of the crowd what happened.

POLICE STOPPED ALL CARS FOR OVER AN HOUR, WHILE WAITING FOR A CONVOY.

It was like film trick. I have been basically in the same spot for the past hour because a convoy was passing?

Okay. I tried to cross the road since I lived on the other side and the policewoman yelled at me not to cross.

She hadn’t been letting anyone cross for the past few minutes.

Mind you it’s drizzling.

I stand there for over five minutes while she’s screaming at anyone who attempts to cross the road they have painstakingly cleared for whatever important piece of shit to pass freely while the rest of us inconsequential idiots deal with the traffic and aftermath.

After a while, the first sounds of the siren is heard. It gets closer and closer and when I tell you I couldn’t even type this convoy out. It took two fucking minutes for all cars involved to pass. Everytime I thought it was ending, there was more.

I would post the video I took but omo, I am still affiliated with the government.

At the end of the convoy, she still kept us there for another two minutes before most of us decided fuck her and crossed the road.

I was soaking wet when I entered my house.

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That being said, I personally think convoys are unnecessary.

It draws people like moth to flame. The danger you’re trying to avoid, you’re just attracting it instead with the flashy display of wealth.

Get a car, tinted windows and another car with the bodyguards if absolutely necessary, and just drive like a regular person on the road for chrissakes

I am still joking about the stalking (kinda) but what if someone actually goes through with it. The convoy in my opinion puts you in more risk than it protects.

IJGBs I’m talking to most of you cause I can’t even imagine the sensory turmoil you put Isolo, Oshodi and Lekki roads through in December.