Farewell to ‘full tank’

With the new price of fuel, I find myself missing the days when I used to fill my car tank to the brim just for the fun of it. Now, I’m satisfied with just a few litres in there to get me through the day. And nothing could be more symbolic of the new adjustments Nigerians are making daily just to live a normal life. Some have actually parked the other cars they have. Now, that one is a good thing. Why should any sane person own two to five cars at the same time? Are you a car dealer? A friend of mine has recently come to down to earth literally: He no longer drives his monstrous SUV that used to make him feel above the rest of us.
He is now back to his good old, long suffering Honda, with a smaller tank to fill. He even appears more humble now and less haughty. Suddenly, bigmanism is not vogue anymore. People are prepared to cut cost, scale down and pad their lifestyles. Personally, I have actually thought of permanently switching to public transportation as a fitting tribute to the hard times but there is none. The cabs are a private affair and the drivers have learnt how to charge high. In Abuja, taxis used to be the cheapest means of getting around. A sympathetic cab man could settle for two hundred naira or so to get you to the side of town.
The least they now take is five hundred naira per drop. We have joined the league of expensive cities like Lagos Island and Port Harcourt. I tried the taxi option for two days and realised it’s better I get half a tank or a quarter tank and move around in my jalopy. But you know, we have to be trying out all sorts of modules in combatting this austerity. I even took a bus ride too recently and felt the pains “ordinary” Nigerians feel each day. First, a cruel and rude conductor shoos you to a seat and commands you to sit properly, as if he is an usher in church. You are, in most cases, forced to sit with complete strangers with bad breath.
The guy I sat beside had his ear phones on and was singing along some loud Nigerian rap song (the very ones I detest) oblivious of the discomfort he was causing me. The bus made over seven stops on its way to Berger. Profit was the issue for both the driver and his conductor, as they did brisk accounting, discussed their next strategy, and stared balefully at us, as if we had committed a crime, joining their bus – all of this as the driver tore away in an unsafe speed limit. Disembarking was also rash, as the conductor practically barked that everyone got down. He almost issued a threat on any defaulter. You got the sense that haste and more funds were the rule of the game. I suddenly realise that you only use this means of transport as a last resort.
After a day of bussing, I decided it was not such a great idea. In some other climes where real public transportation exists, you really don’t need a car. Many Nigerians, who travel abroad (when the fast and pray and get a visa!) are content to take buses or trains. Big men even get to work with bicycle. Here only tired old men in the farms use bicycles. Or else, young athletic men prance about town with them. It is then sports and not transport. In New Delhi, India, I noticed that keke Napep was a veritable means of transportation by all classes of people. Young people going to school or on a date will flag those things down and cheerily hop into them.
No hassle. They fondly call them Tuktuk. I’m sure many young Nigerians would look both ways furtively first before jumping into the kekes. A sister adorned in her Brazilian here and shimmering in her Mary Kay make up would not be found in the back of the lowly keke. She would rather strain herself and take an exorbitant taxi just to maintain what in Nigeria we love to call “levels”. And to maintain “levels”, in Abuja, the kekes have been stopped from running round the beautiful city centre where the last of Nigeria’s big men live. The kekes are daily shown new routes out of town and many people still turn up their noses at them.
Okada, of course, went many years ago. They too are now confined to Abuja’s backyards where, mercifully, I live. It’s all about levels. Nigerians can’t stand the sight of poverty. We are not known to be reticent or economical. An integral part of the Nigerian dream is to own cars, live in a big house and effortlessly make more wads of naira. But hard times are upon us now and we may have to move away from that delusionary lifestyle.
We just can’t keep up with the Kardishians anymore. I’m thus using this medium to plead with my fellow Nigerians to embrace austerity and the hard life and change their ways by force. Many are already learning the new codes already without promptings (after all, says a pidgin proverb, dem no dey tell blind man say rain dey fall).
My good friend, Amos, told me how he shocked a certain female friend of his last week. He met this lady and wanted to take her out for lunch. A gentleman that he is, he asked her to name where they could go have it. She said it would be at Traffic in Wuse.  Now, Abuja is littered with such exotic (expensive) names selling, wait for this, eba, moimoi, rice and other Nigerian dishes. Why a place selling pounded yam, pepper soup should be called Traffic beats me. There is also 805 – another exotic name in the food business. Personally, I go to the Eagle Square near the Federal Secretariat or one inside joint my driver once showed me.
At Eagle Square, a food stall, boasting all the dishes in Nigeria is on display. All you need do is find a stall and fill your guts with a chilled bottle of coke. For peanuts. The fresh air, the crowd, the aroma and the noise is also a bonus, as you munch away. Who wants to eat in a noiseless room, with some cold, lifeless waiters, staring menacingly?
Anyway, Amos got wary and asked his date how much a plate costs at the place. This is very important: The need to know. Gone are the days you just agree to a date, go somewhere and pay through your nose without complaining. These days, you ask questions.
If friends are coming over, ask how many they are. If they are going to drink, how many bottles. When hanging out, before ordering for drinks or food, ask questions. Who is picking the bills? Would it be a joint effort? When the relatives are coming, ask questions. How many days are they spending? Are they by any chance coming with their foods? Who is paying for their transport? Ask questions! Thank God Amos asked.
A plate of Traffic rice would cause seven thousand naira he was informed. A plate?  Well, that is like half the new price of a sack of rice in the market, people. Let me declare that anyone who pays that kind of money for a plate of rice anywhere in Nigeria (traffic or hold up, I don’t care) should be included in the list of looters. My friend almost ended the affair there. But he still offered to take her to our beloved Eagle Square – a suggestion she also promptly declined.
And that was that! The moral of the story is that we are in really tough times. Well, not everyone is feeling the pinch. But when you are unemployed like me or you get a little in terms of income, you may have to start adjusting. There is nothing to be ashamed about. Personally, still on adjustments, no more air transport for me.
Travelling by road is even some form of adventure: You get to take pictures of the very poignant, poetic Nigerian landscapes. No need to fly. If you have a morning appointment, leave a day ahead and arrive the next morning, straight to your appointment and leave again. This is great wisdom from above.