Playing squash was for me, a passion. It was also, for several decades, my major source of exercise. Then Covid19 disrupted my rhythm, as it did for so many people. My need to exercise pushed me into walking. It is a solitary sport which suited one of the Covid19 requirements at the time. Now, post Covid19, I find myself still taking a walk most evenings – not mornings and evenings as I did during the pandemic. I enjoy walking now. It is not a passion like squash was and may never be. But I enjoy the cool evening air. Most times, I breathe in deeply as soon as I step out savoring the aroma and sometimes, the taste of the salty ocean breeze as it slaps my face. I enjoy the solitude too, traveling with my rambling thoughts whenever I don’t take the phone with me. I live in a new area so I am advised to be more cautious with phones and belongings. This restrains my desire to explore. Or the time to venture out. So I choose the cautious belt between sunset and dusk. And familiar haunts over new adventures. In my bid to be nondescript, I often avoid sweat wears for faded native attires – though I am emboldened when I see women and expatriates who should be more susceptible to attacks, strut out confidently in sweat wears.

I am therefore often surprised despite my caution and my efforts to blend with the blue collar workers, that I am sometimes singled out for deferential treatments – one even offered land in an area not too far away; another offered an apartment. What has singled me out? Could it be my white hair? Could it be more? I wonder what they know about me or if they know anything. But it’s been mostly differential greetings and occasional requests for financial help. Before I am accused of being paranoid, let me recall a friend’s experience. My friend was blessed to be sired by an entrepreneurial and foresighted man who bought a large swathe of land in a quiet area of Lagos some six, seven decades ago. That area has become a much sought after piece of real estate today. Although much of the land has been sold, the family still retains a sizeable bit. My friend lives there. A reserved, self-effacing man who abhors any form of ostentation, he lives a very quiet, semi-retired life with his wife – his children have long flown the nest. Like me, he enjoys his evening walks. One day, he stopped for a drink and a quick bite at the local eatery. He had barely settled down when he was approached by a man who told him how much he admired his humility and simplicity. This man turned to a total stranger who happened to share the table with them and told him how much property was owned by my friend’s family in the area. Yet, my friend according to him, would walk quietly to the grocery store or wherever, without any airs. Like any well brought up gentleman, my friend said the appropriate appreciative words and left. This friend of mine didn’t think anybody knew his surname let alone his pedigree. It was a wake-up call. He decided from then on, to take his security more seriously.

His experiencee has also been a wake-up call for me. Although I have always tried to fly under the radar, I have been in the public eye as a journalist most of my adult life and I’d hate anybody to point me out at my local church let alone on the street. Part of my security is to take different routes during my walks. Last week, I decided on a long walk to see how the Lagos/Calabar Coastal road was faring – I can report that the pace is frenetic and the progress is impressive. On my way back, a young man asked for transport money. I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to was his moving nearer after I had given him money. He now wanted advice. That got me. I was wary and I tried to move on. As he fell into step, he talked about hurting himself because he was getting to the end of his endurance. His diction was good. His message worrisome. But I was still wary. I was after all, a vulnerable old man far from home. Without any solicitation from me, he continued his story. He had been one of ten people shortlisted for a job as a dispatch rider. Three were needed. He was one of the three chosen. Unfortunately, the company wanted a sort of local government permit that would enable him function as a dispatch rider. He didn’t have it because his former place didn’t need it. He was thereafter turned down. How could he be so near to securing a job and yet so far? How could fate be so cruel? He was too distraught to leave the interviewer. Out of compassion, he was given a week to get the necessary permit or lose the job. That was his predicament when he met me; the reason he wanted to hurt himself. I was anxious to leave him. I was getting nearer my intersection and I didn’t want him near my vicinity. I asked how much he needed and when he told me, I decided to give him. I had my phone and could have effected a transfer but that would be risky. Besides, I needed to think of how much to give. So I told him he would get an alert before the end of the day. I got another shocker. He had used his phone as a collateral to raise a pittance.

My thoughts were crowded as I walked home. I knew it could all be a scam. But what if it wasn’t? How would I live with myself that a young man on the brink of depression was denied help of an amount I could easily forgo? That I had the chance to help someone restore his faith in humanity if not the system and let it slip? On the other hand, it is a measure of the times we live in that every hard-luck story must be taken with a pinch of salt. It was a long walk home.

For the records, I gave him the benefit of doubt and transferred enough money to him. Anonymously of course. I will end by reiterating the need to take youth unemployment very seriously in the country. This guy I talked to was articulate. Too articulate in my opinion to be a dispatch rider. But then, you could say that of many youths on the streets these days.

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