Traveling Across Lagos During the Violent #EndSars Protests. Addendum 1.

This post is one in a Series. A list of all of the posts in this Series can be accessed here.

I am at Victoria Island.

I just walked past a number of soldiers. One of them gave me a thumbs up as I walked by, I’m not quite sure why.

I keep walking. There are more soldiers ahead.

Now, I am aware that the fact one of the soldiers gave me an unexplained thumbs up does not mean the other soldiers are going to be as nice. The fact they are all wearing the same uniform does not mean they think alike. They might not even like each other— much less a third-party.

I keep walking.

Hey! You! Where you dey go!!??

I think I wince a little at the suddenness of the bellow. I turn around to figure out where it’s coming from.

It’s a soldier. It’s a soldier standing in the grass.

I knew it. I knew that thumbs up was too good to be true. Now I’m being welcomed back into unwelcoming reality.

He wants to know where I’m going. I mouth something about my motorbike. Sprockets are worn, the bike is important for transportation, etc etc. I reach into my bag to show him the worn sprockets. At some point he nods and lets me go.

I keep walking.

I am walking down Akin Adesola street. I recently walked by a restaurant that reminded me of an aborted meeting with a business partner: From what I heard, he was a gambling prodigy- exceptional at making bets on soccer games. I provided some capital to fund his gambling. I employed some of my data science skills to analyze his gambling history and proffer suggestions aimed to improve his betting strategy. Ah, I had such exciting visions for what we could accomplish together.

It’s been a year since then. I have not received any profits. There is no tangible news on the whereabouts of the capital. In fact he even still obtained some more money from me with a web of flagrant shameless lies.

Ah, this life. I shouldn’t be stressing myself right now. I shouldn’t be walking about during these violent protests. Right now I’m supposed to be chilling and swimming in a resplendent pool of gambling profits, worrying about what to do with all of the excess funds available to me.

Nonsense guy.

I had to delete his contact details from my mobile phone. Just coming across his name while scrolling through my contacts, always spoilt my mood.

I keep walking.

There is this very imposing, impressively white building by the right side of the road. I think it’s the headquarters of some oil company. “Nestoil“, or something like that.

I feel like the building grew out of nowhere. A while ago, I spent about a month living in a nearby hotel here on Victoria Island. I was on vacation- I needed some time to recover after some immensely traumatic experiences I suffered a number of months prior. I walked along this road a number of times. I never saw this building.


The building is so white though- wow. Hm, I think I need to walk by the front gate to get some inspiration this afternoon.


It’s considerably hilarious really, how an arbitrary sequence of Latin characters can all of a sudden, come to be imbued with meaning and prestigious significance.

“Nestoil” to me, is usually just supposed to be a random concatenation of alphabets. Maybe it would make me think about “Nest” and “Oil”, and think about “A nest of oil”, as a metaphor and possibly wonder if it’s a very good one.

Right now however, looking at this awe-inspiring, dazzlingly white building with “Nestoil” written on it, immediately makes me give the word substantial regard.

There is a pickup truck approaching. There are arms waving wildly outside the window, and pointing. The arms are clothed in military uniforms.

Wait, wait wait. I think these arms are pointing at me.

The truck gets closer. Some heads and faces are now visible.


One of the soldiers is asking me what my business is, in the area. It is a rhetorical question. He is telling me to get the fuck out, or else.

All of a sudden I realize I am the only non-military human being on this road, as far as the eye can see.

Jesus Christ I’m in trouble. I am in trouble, Jesus. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here, like right now. Nestoil and their interesting building and their inspiration can wait till another day. I need to get the hell out of this place, Jesus Christ.

I turn around and begin to walk briskly towards Falomo.

I am walking by a roadblock. It is being manned by a soldier. He is doing something on his phone. He doesn’t seem to be aware of me as I pass by.

Hm, will this one be friendly? Or will he be hostile? Should I greet him Good Afternoon? Should I —-


I keep moving.

This post is one in a Series. A list of all of the posts in this Series can be accessed here.