Joey’s Chronicles Of A Lagos Aje-Butter: «Why The Scarcity Of Good Samaritans?»

I woke up this morning without an idea of what to write about, boarding a creaky bus from Surulere. Stealing a glance at the driver, I instantly did regret my decision to ‘leap’ before I look, because his eyes bore the colour of blood, like he’d had sex all night while smoking ancient weed from Fela’s shrine.  I crossed myself, saying a prayer and hoping to get to CMS in one piece.

Well, I eventually did make it to CMS without the loss of a limb, and not wanting to live dangerously, I carefully screened commercial vehicles until one came along with a driver that had a striking resemblance to my favourite Deeper Life Uncle.  “this one looks good”, I muttered, and took the jump into it. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with precious air, and slowly let it go. I turned on my browser on my handheld device, and settled in to read Pulse.ng when a sorrowful cry pierced my serenity, and into my heart.

Turns out it was one ill-kept lady, wielding a kid who had saliva dribbling all over. I needed no extra help to decipher that the little one had a medical condition, and needed help. The mother (I suppose she was the mom. I had to believe), kept a sad song going, seeking alms for the child, while sweetening her plea with promises of divine benevolence on her helpers. I did what I could, which was way less than could have saved the kid, and dropped another silent prayer for the kid. Other passengers appeared unmoved, and I couldn’t fathom why, until the lady moved away.

The ensuing conversations really got me thinking. It appears no one was moved. They all passed her off as a fraudster, intent on taking advantage of the child’s impaired ability to enrich her coffers. As much as I didn’t share their view, but I could understand the foundation upon which they’ve built their distrust.

Good Samaritans in Lagos are a dying breed. They’re almost extinct. Reason is because they’ve had their fingers burnt time and again. Lagos is blessed (or should it be a curse?) with an abundance of opportunities to utilize your milk of human kindness. I bet you can’t go a day without seeing a challenged individual, a stranded man, or a hungry teenager reaching out to you. But countless tales have proven that these are con men, out to earn their daily bread off you.

A more annoying one are those special cases of people who have touching stories. Away from the usual ‘I lost my transport fare, or my  wallet disappeared in my sleep”, to the religious ones like “God sent me to rip you  off, or I got a revelation that if you sow a seed, you’ll get a call from Obasanjo today” , down to the guilt-fuelled confusing ones such as ‘My dad has long-throatitis and cerebral jagwintulatitis” or still, the more daring and creative ones ‘If you don’t help me, my daughter’s dog’s father will be killed by terrorists’. Sounds funny, but this is damn real.

For me, I give when I’m led by the ‘spirit’, (whatever that means), but sometimes the spirit still leads me wrong, and I get duped. Time and again I’ve fallen, and time and again I’ve lost a bit of compassion.

It’s unfair, to the Samaritans, and also to the original dying folk in genuine need for alms. Lagos is awash with all sorts, and the goodness in Samaritans keep being eroded by the dupes. With each false alm I give, a part of the goodness in me gets lost, and it’s hard to regain the trust in your kindness when you do lose it. I’m wiser now, and being wise means less charity, but then…

This is Lagos. See you next Tuesday.

Peace and Rosebeds!