September 23, 2015
My dear diary,
I was going to write my own gist about the street this week when I was this and I knew that nothing that happened to me this week could be compared to
Something interesting happened on my way to Oshodi this morning. At the park, this rough mean-looking conductor also known as “agbero” in Yoruba was screaming for passengers, his vernacular oscillating between Yoruba and pidgin English.
“Oshod! Oshod!” He shouted angrily as I along with some other passengers scuttled for seats. There was this beautiful young lady who READ MORE