Molue Series

 Have you ever entered the Lagos yellow trotter commonly called 'molue'? Have you ever experienced the commotion surrounding it? Have you ever been a victim of the dark clouds of gas from its exhaust pipe? Have you ever had a face-down with a conductor or his arrogant driver? Then you certainly know how I felt after standing at a bus-stop for about an hour in the cold evening. What I witnessed was just too much for me to take in in an hour and so I had to resort to my pen and dedicate a poem to the powerhouse of Lagos. Enjoy:


Let's Stop This Menace!



Black stripes on a yellow body

Pride of the black man's street

Lion of the streets of Judah

Master of the streets of Lagos.

Heralds of deaths,

Messengers of the devil.

Sent from heaven above

As a blessing to none below.

An affordable alternative

To the BRT

Yea, an affordable route

To the road walked by the dead.

Carrying on her back

More passengers than necessary

Tilting loftily on the tracks

Two tires in the air.

Oblivious to government officials

After a dose of 'something for the boys'

Second to none

The unchallenged master of the road.

Daily involved in street battle

Horning and honking with sincere insanity

Aided by the rhythmic composition

Of the man hanging by the door.

Tightly-packed like a tin of sardine

Sticky sweat and aromatic aroma.

Face close-by to my neighbour's armpit

Spitting fire with the help of close-up.

At every corner we swerve,

Left-right, right-left

Swinging and swaying steadily

To tune of the Lagos jams.

You know what it is,

Black and yellow, black and yellow.

It is none other than

The infamously famous commuter box.

"MOLUE"

After reading this poem, I'm sure you felt my pain. I sincerely accept your condolences...