I went home to Ibadan for the long weekend. It was a welcome change from fast-paced Lagos. There, life for me is put in “proper perspective”.
All of a sudden, N1500 for a cab anywhere is outrageous, and I’ll be insane to make my hair for 5k. Unlike in Lagos where sometimes it’s as if you are playing with monopoly money, in Ibadan, money knows its true value. Money is rated in terms of congos of rice or garri. As long as it can buy a congo of either, then that amount is not to be trivialized.
IB chilling comprises of hanging out with friends over beers and cheap fish pepper-soup. I honestly don’t know of one bar in Ibadan that serves decent cocktails and where smoothies are not an unknown and unconquered territory. The idea of ordering an appletini is as odd as the response it would generate.
Public transport cabs and buses in Ibadan are the most rickety things ever to move on four wheels. I truly believe that all the vehicles in Nigeria that have more than one foot in the grave are taken to Ibadan to die as cabs. A cousin of mine tells a story that on a certain day in the cab in front of her, a passenger got down, shut the door and all the doors on that cab fell off. She swears it to be true.
I still find it funny that adverts, posters and billboards in Ibadan are done in Yoruba, as long as that product is targeted to general public.
The town that never changes with its throng of ankara-wearing women who still greet “e’nle n’behun” complete with their inherent h-factor has hin “how har you? hi ope to see u soon”
I guess you could say the typical Ibadan person is razz and local but I try to think of it more as they are just more in touch with their roots and mother tongue.
But the most important and fascinating thing about Ibadan, to me, is that is home. Sweet home.