If you’ve lived in Lagos for more than a year, you already know the truth. Loud? Yes. Impatient? Definitely. Hot? A little? Deeply asks myself the truth — like come on girl, don’t lie to yourself 😭. The sun doesn’t just shine here; it follows you everywhere, sticks to your clothes, and somehow makes every Lagosian a little cranky before 9 a.m. And no, it’s not just the weather. Lagos has a fever, and we are all participants.
Take a Monday morning. You leave your house at 7 a.m., thinking, “Today, I will be productive. Today, I will get everything done.” Two hours later, you’re still in traffic, sweating like you just ran a marathon, leaning on the window for any hint of breeze. There isn’t one. Your bag sticks to your thigh, horns are blaring, motorbikes are weaving like they’re in a video game, and somewhere behind you, a vendor is trying to sell suya through the bus window. Why did I leave my bed?
This is Lagos. And your mood? Gone. If it had a shape, it would be curled up in a corner somewhere, quietly sobbing.
And then there are the trees — or rather, the few that remain. Shade? Cool spots? Breezes? Those little blessings that make life bearable? Gone. Every new estate, every “modern development,” takes a tree away. And this matters. Trees aren’t just decoration. They cool your mind. They calm your soul. Ever wonder why people go on picnics, sit in parks, or hang under a tree? Why couples hold hands in the shade and suddenly everything feels romantic? Love is sweeter, moods are lighter, and even the simplest village people in love can feel magic under one.
Now? If you want to rest under a tree, you have to pay to enter a park. What God gave us for free… sobs quietly. Concrete replaces green, fences block what used to be public, and the sun roasts everything without mercy. Lagos makes you sweat, and it doesn’t even care if your mood melts along with your shirt.
Lagosians are hot — not just because of the sun, but because life here keeps testing you. Someone cuts into your lane, the bus driver refuses to move at a junction that looks empty, your clothes stick to your back — by the time you arrive, you’re sweaty, cranky, and reconsidering all your life choices.
Walking around Lagos is like watching a comedy show every day. Men balancing crates of water bottles on their heads. Women navigating puddles from yesterday’s rain. Okadas weaving dangerously, smiling like they own the world. And you, pedestrian, praying you make it alive. The sun doesn’t care. It doesn’t care if you’re late, tired, or grumbling. It just shines.
But Lagos is not all suffering. It’s alive. Vibrant, creative, full of energy. Even in traffic, people are selling things, laughing, chatting, surviving. The city teaches patience — whether you like it or not — and appreciation. That tiny tree on a street corner, a hint of breeze, a patch of grass that somehow survived development — those little things become precious.
And the people? Lagosians are amazing in their resilience. We complain about traffic, heat, bad roads, missing trees — but we adapt. Some carry umbrellas for shade. Some sip water like it’s life insurance. Others sit in traffic, chatting with strangers like it’s normal. You realize that those who thrive in Lagos aren’t the richest or smartest. They are the ones who can laugh at chaos, enjoy rare moments of cool, and find joy even when the sun is roasting their patience.
The funny thing is, Lagos can be relentless, yes, but it also teaches resilience. Stuck in a jam for four hours, sun blazing, horns honking — by the end, you have a story, patience you didn’t know existed, and maybe a funny memory of someone trying to sell puff-puff through a bus window moving 0.5 km/h.
Even the weather is part of the joke. Always sunny. Always glaring. You step outside for two minutes and return sweating, wondering why you wore that outfit today. Shade is rare, water is precious, patience becomes a survival tool. Lagos doesn’t forgive laziness — it rewards alertness, adaptability, and the ability to laugh at madness.
But Lagos is not completely cruel. It has moments. A street performer making people laugh. A vendor handing you the perfect puff-puff. Kids playing in the few remaining parks. Couples sitting quietly under trees (the few left), enjoying love without the sun killing their mood. Even amidst chaos, life finds beauty. Lagos is frustrating, yes, but it’s alive. Surviving here gives you strength you won’t get anywhere else.
So, what’s the lesson? Lagos tests your patience, your mood, and your sweat tolerance. But it also shows you how to appreciate small comforts — a tree, a breeze, a patch of grass. The only way to survive — and enjoy — is to laugh at chaos, adapt, and protect your peace. Drink water, carry an umbrella, smile at strangers, and maybe plant a tree on your balcony if you can. Lagos will remain hot, loud, and busy, but you can navigate it like a pro — sarcastic, calm, and alive.
In Lagos, we learn resilience the hard way. Patience, humor, and a love for life’s small joys become survival tools. By the end of the day, after traffic, heat, and chaos, you realize: Lagos may make you angry, sweaty, and tired — but it also makes you alive, human, and very, very Lagosian. And maybe, just maybe, if we start planting more trees and cherishing the few left, the city will cool down — our minds included.