I almost missed the detty December in Lagos
And December was really detty in Lagos.
I always love to pretend like I’m not going to Lagos until I’m on a flight to Lagos, a decent way to avoid overthinking all the stress that comes with it.
So the week leading up to my Lagos flight was all about this pretending. Then, a day before the flight, reality kicked in.
It’s time for Lagos.
As the forces of karma would have it, I could not find my passport.
I sat down on that white but brown sofa that I’ve been chasing Mimie around to change, closed my eyes, and went into trance mode, retracing everywhere I’ve been and every place I might have taken the passport to since we got back from Greece.
It didn’t take long for it to click. I went to the bank, like two weeks ago. I took it to the bank.
Luckily, the bank movement was very memorable.
I could remember it clearly: I was in the car with documents in a big brown envelope. I’m not sure if my passport was in the envelope or in my pocket, but it must have been in the envelope. I entered the bank, collected a token, the token number was B68, sat at the reception for about two minutes, stood up, and went to the rep’s table. She didn’t need any documents or ID. She just needed me to sign. I signed. I left the bank. I entered the car immediately.
How is it possible that I misplaced my passport within that very brief run?
Confusion set in. There’s fire on the mountain.
Maybe I left it on the counter? Or at the reception? Or maybe the envelope had a hole, and the passport fell through? What if someone stole it? Or worse, what if Desi ate it? After all, the toddler has been eating anything and everything these days.
Now, to make matters complicated, it’s a Saturday, the flight was on Sunday, and the bank wouldn’t open till Monday.
My pretentious self, coupled with my unseriousness, had finally caught up with me, and the flight had to be cancelled.
Mimie was disappointed. But it wasn’t just disappointment; it was that familiar look of “this boy has done it again”. Not long ago, I had put the wrong name on a visa, then some weeks after that, I forgot my backpack on an airplane. At this point, she must keep a mental file labelled “reasons my husband cannot be trusted with documents”.
Innocent Mimie had been packing bags for days, only to be met with a hard shock from her unserious husband.
I searched. And searched. And searched. Then I gave up.
We were able to move the flight to the next available date, which was a week later. At that point, one full week of a potentially detty December was now out of the picture; it was a hard pill to swallow.
“Let me even go to the bank, maybe, by chance, they’ll be open, on a Saturday, for some reason. We never know until we try.” I said to myself.
So… I went to the bank.
Luckily, by some abracadabra magic, I was able to speak to the chief security officer, and he told me, with what appeared like a 98% certainty, that I didn’t leave a passport in that bank. Because if I did, they would inform him, and the bank would have called me. However, I could come back on Monday when the bank opens to reconfirm.
I was devastated.
If I didn’t leave this passport at the bank and it’s not at home, the situation is now even worse. Because I would have to go to the police station to declare it missing, then go to the embassy, then wait for a new passport, then do a new visa, then a new Emirates ID, then... by the time I’m done with all of that, it’ll be a random Thursday in August 2026.
“Let’s search the house one last time”, Mimie said. I was already tired, but I didn’t have the right to say it out loud; after all, I was the idiot who misplaced the passport.
Then, as Mimie was searching, and I was pretending to search, the angels looked down upon my troubled soul and saw how a child of God was suffering, they placed a little hint in Mimie’s memory: the passport might be in one of her bags, because we went somewhere together a day after the bank day, and the passport might have been taken along.
We ran upstairs at full speed. Tore the bag open.
And there it was. My beloved passport.
And for a brief moment, I felt the urge to say to Mimie, “You see, it was your fault all along. The thing was in your bag”, but I’m a wise man who knows how to pick his battles. I kept that thought exactly where it belonged, in my head.
We were luckily able to move the flight back to the original date.
Now, fellas, let’s go to Lagos.
Landing in Lagos was with joy. The fact that we almost didn’t make it added to the excitement of actually making it. Going through the airport on arrival was breezy, unlike before. Haha, nobody even asked me to “drop something” for them. Lagos has changed.
As we drove from the airport through the city, there was this fresh thought: Lagos looks cleaner. More peaceful. In fact, there was no traffic, which I later figured was because it was a Sunday, but still, a win is a win.
From arriving in Lagos to leaving Lagos, which is right now, because I’m typing this 35,000 feet in the sky as I fly out of Lasgidi, everything in between was blurry. Three weeks in Lagos somehow feels like three days or three months, depending on what part of it I’m thinking of.
Lagos is where I got to have more social interactions in a single day than I had all year while I was hiding in my offshore bubble.
Lagos is also the only place where I get to go to unavoidable parties, which were indeed interesting, until I found myself right in the middle of one and suddenly realised I’m not built for crowds. I even bought tickets to Davido and Asake’s show, deceived myself into thinking I would go. I didn’t. But the people who went brought back the gist. Apparently, they were bangers.
Family gathering in Lagos was as chaotic and sweet as ever. There’s always something to piss you off, and a lot more to make you smile. But that’s the beauty of family, you take the chaos with the love.
I kinda lost count of gifts at some point. It wasn't easy remembering who gave me what, and I’m sure someone gave me something, and I forgot to say thanks. But I do appreciate it all, especially that “Breaking Twitter” book that I finished in three days, which so far is the fastest I’ve ever read a book.
I must mention my Lagos signature swag: this fedora hat that Mimie bought at Dragon Mart. I didn’t plan it, but it became my signature move. I just started finding it swaggy to put it on my head when going out. At some point, someone even said, “Ha! As I saw that hat, I knew it was you”. The hat will probably rest now. Or not. Or I can just make it my forever signature. We’ll see.
It’s really difficult to put the Lagos experience in writing. But the most important takeaway is this: despite the fact that I’m not much of an adventurer, I can confidently say, the best place to be in December, is Lagos.