You know what people?! I saw something on the Third Mainland Bridge few days ago I think I should share with you. I am sure many of you will agree with me that Federal Road Maintenance Agency (FERMA) mysteriously resurfaced when nearly everyone thought they were dead.
At least, for those people who passed through the Third Mainland Bridge last Wednesday, they will share my surprise.
What were they doing on the long bridge, you may ask? Well, I can tell you authoritatively that they were repairing the potholes on the bridge, after several accidents had occurred on the road. Since it’s becoming difficult for them to build new roads, it should be convenient for them to patch the potholes on our roads!
Well, this could call for some kind of excitement because I must confess that it’s been two years now since I have seen FERMA signpost on any road. I can recall that some years ago, road construction signs were commonplace. There was effort then to fix bad roads and it was also a time when the roads in places like Oshodi experienced a facelift.
FERMA has become faceless in the minds of most Nigerians such that no one seems to know the name of the minister in charge of roads? Dear readers, can you help? I need to consult Ikechukwu Eze, our Features Editor here. You can’t blame me, you see, because we have ministers who are inactive.
When Ogunlewe was the minister of works and housing, we all knew him. Oby Ezekwesili, Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala were names Nigerians got to know through the offices they held as ministers. They were very active, hence their presence in people’s consciousness.
Presently, I’m sure not many people can name the ministers of finance, petroleum, agriculture, power and steel, among others. The very few ones who are currently visible are: Dora Akunyili, Sam Egwu, Ojo Maduekwe, ministers of information, education and foreign affairs, respectively.
In fact, this was a test many of us failed one day in the newsroom when our deputy editor, Charles Ike-Okoh asked one afternoon. No one could say the names of the ministers he asked for. The answer to this is not far fetched, as the ministers have not been doing much to make a mark in the minds of Nigerians, newsmen inclusive.
Now, back to FERMA and the bad roads in the country. Journeying on Lagos/Ibadan Expressway is no longer a jolly one, even going through some federal roads within the Lagos metropolis can really be an excruciating task. The long stretch of road between the old toll gate and Iwo Road in Ibadan is in a horrible state. It’s really sad that such road still existed in a country where there is a minister for works and housing! Perhaps, he does not travel on some of these roads because if he does, he would have been forced to do something about them. A day journey is enough to leave him with back pains, or a disjointed hip to know how much it affects the health of those who travel through them almost on a daily basis.
For long, Nigerians have bore this suffering in silence, as we daily contend with most of the bad roads across the Lagos metropolis that had become increasingly dangerous and unsafe over the years. Now, we no longer think our silence is golden as we have resorted to speaking out loudly about our plight.
Likewise, Lagosians are worrying over the continued neglect of the roads, especially those who ply the Iyana-Ipaja-Oshodi, Iyana-Ipaja-Ikotun routes, which are in dire need of total rehabilitation. They lament that the poor state of the roads, marked by wide potholes, has brought untold hardship to road users just as precious man hours are lost on daily basis journeying through these roads in traffic logjam.
The claim by the state government has always been that most of the roads are under the authority of the Federal Government, that is, those considered as federal roads. The Federal Government should therefore be responsive to the yearnings of the masses and rise up to the occasion by fixing the roads in the general interest of the public.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The rain traveller
On the morning of last Wednesday, I was in a hurry to get to the office. I peeped out of my window to do a mini weather forecast since the Island had been overtaken by flood in the last two days. I could see in the distance from where I stood on the terrace that the clouds were gathering, a sign it would be a rainy morning.
I hurriedly carried my handbag and laptop with the hope of beating the coming rain. Alas, I was wrong, before I descended the stairs, it had started drizzling. Defying the trickling rain, I trudged on. I had to get to the office early to wrap up the production for the magazine, Business Life.
On a day like this, taking the car to the office was an option. Driving to the office on a rainy day in Lagos ? Uhn, uhn, tufia-kwa, nba! It’s not a feat I would dare to try! And true to my prediction, a heavy downpour began shortly after I got to Eko Hotel roundabout. The cabs I tried to wave down said emphatic “no” even before I could tell them my destination. For them, Festac was a no-go area because of the rain. And so, my last resort was to get on a danfo.
By the time I got to CMS, the rain was pouring in torrent and the ever busy CMS bridge was deserted, there were only three buses parked on the far right of the bridge. I got on one them heading towards Mile 2, with my umbrella dripping water. Other passengers and I, who were in the bus before me had to wait for the bus to get filled.
The bus driver was shouting at the top of his voice and also making signal with his fingers to the few passengers who walked by in the rain, his destination. His voice, which had become hoarse, was drowned by the sound of the rain. After waiting for some minutes, a young man with ransack fastened on his back was soaked to his pant by the October rain.
He took a seat next to a woman who was not soaked. The uneasiness on the woman’s face was too glaring, as she was trying to avoid getting wet. She moved close to the bus panel in a bid to leave an ample space between herself and the wet man. She was wrong, by the time the fourth person sat down (who was equally drenched), she had to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the wet man.
As the heat in the bus became unbearable, I could not help but pray the bus moves on time, as the windows were shut. There was no fresh air in spite of the cold weather. Eventually, the engine roared to life as the bus got filled; and we embarked on our journey to Mile 2. After journeying for a few metres, we ran into a traffic gridlock on Apongbon Bridge . There was an accident involving three BRT buses and a car. We were in the traffic for hours.
Such an occurrence is not uncommon whenever it rains in Lagos . As if that was not enough, our bus broke down at the foot of a bridge. As the driver tried to revive the engine after several attempts, the engine came back to life. We have not moved a few yards when it broke down again, right in the middle of the highway. This time, the engine failed to respond and we all became impatient with the man’s fruitless attempts to kick start the bus.
We got off the bus to stand on the sidewalk. Several vehicles sped past, splashing water on us. I held on tight to my umbrella which was at the risk of being blown away by the strong wind. We were all at our wits end, as there was no hope of getting another bus. The rain was pouring heavily and it was unfortunate that it was at this its intensity increased.
Suddenly, an empty bus appeared from nowhere with the conductor shouting its destination, Mile 2. Excitedly, we jumped on board. We were completely overtaken by water as we approached Point Road , and saw several vehicles stuck in the flood. Commuters who could not get on any commercial vehicle made their journey on foot. With their trousers rolled up, they waded through the dirty brownish water. Discarded bottles of water, old shoes, and all kinds of nylon floated in the pool. It was horrible!
The journey for most drivers became the survival of the fittest; vehicles without good engines were nowhere. Apapa was free of traffic, but too flooded. It was pitiable how people had to swim their way out of the huge water unmindful of what was underneath. The potholes were deep. They fell into them and with determination and courage they moved on. As workers have to get to work, it was no joke at all. Any one who passed through Apapa last Wednesday would understand how much Lagosians are suffering.
As I write this, some of my colleagues are just getting to the office at 7.30 p.m. They had been in traffic. It was a horrible day. In unison, we cry for good drainage system, good roads so that when it rains, we all won’t have to suffer as travellers in the rain!
I hurriedly carried my handbag and laptop with the hope of beating the coming rain. Alas, I was wrong, before I descended the stairs, it had started drizzling. Defying the trickling rain, I trudged on. I had to get to the office early to wrap up the production for the magazine, Business Life.
On a day like this, taking the car to the office was an option. Driving to the office on a rainy day in Lagos ? Uhn, uhn, tufia-kwa, nba! It’s not a feat I would dare to try! And true to my prediction, a heavy downpour began shortly after I got to Eko Hotel roundabout. The cabs I tried to wave down said emphatic “no” even before I could tell them my destination. For them, Festac was a no-go area because of the rain. And so, my last resort was to get on a danfo.
By the time I got to CMS, the rain was pouring in torrent and the ever busy CMS bridge was deserted, there were only three buses parked on the far right of the bridge. I got on one them heading towards Mile 2, with my umbrella dripping water. Other passengers and I, who were in the bus before me had to wait for the bus to get filled.
The bus driver was shouting at the top of his voice and also making signal with his fingers to the few passengers who walked by in the rain, his destination. His voice, which had become hoarse, was drowned by the sound of the rain. After waiting for some minutes, a young man with ransack fastened on his back was soaked to his pant by the October rain.
He took a seat next to a woman who was not soaked. The uneasiness on the woman’s face was too glaring, as she was trying to avoid getting wet. She moved close to the bus panel in a bid to leave an ample space between herself and the wet man. She was wrong, by the time the fourth person sat down (who was equally drenched), she had to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the wet man.
As the heat in the bus became unbearable, I could not help but pray the bus moves on time, as the windows were shut. There was no fresh air in spite of the cold weather. Eventually, the engine roared to life as the bus got filled; and we embarked on our journey to Mile 2. After journeying for a few metres, we ran into a traffic gridlock on Apongbon Bridge . There was an accident involving three BRT buses and a car. We were in the traffic for hours.
Such an occurrence is not uncommon whenever it rains in Lagos . As if that was not enough, our bus broke down at the foot of a bridge. As the driver tried to revive the engine after several attempts, the engine came back to life. We have not moved a few yards when it broke down again, right in the middle of the highway. This time, the engine failed to respond and we all became impatient with the man’s fruitless attempts to kick start the bus.
We got off the bus to stand on the sidewalk. Several vehicles sped past, splashing water on us. I held on tight to my umbrella which was at the risk of being blown away by the strong wind. We were all at our wits end, as there was no hope of getting another bus. The rain was pouring heavily and it was unfortunate that it was at this its intensity increased.
Suddenly, an empty bus appeared from nowhere with the conductor shouting its destination, Mile 2. Excitedly, we jumped on board. We were completely overtaken by water as we approached Point Road , and saw several vehicles stuck in the flood. Commuters who could not get on any commercial vehicle made their journey on foot. With their trousers rolled up, they waded through the dirty brownish water. Discarded bottles of water, old shoes, and all kinds of nylon floated in the pool. It was horrible!
The journey for most drivers became the survival of the fittest; vehicles without good engines were nowhere. Apapa was free of traffic, but too flooded. It was pitiable how people had to swim their way out of the huge water unmindful of what was underneath. The potholes were deep. They fell into them and with determination and courage they moved on. As workers have to get to work, it was no joke at all. Any one who passed through Apapa last Wednesday would understand how much Lagosians are suffering.
As I write this, some of my colleagues are just getting to the office at 7.30 p.m. They had been in traffic. It was a horrible day. In unison, we cry for good drainage system, good roads so that when it rains, we all won’t have to suffer as travellers in the rain!
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