The rainy season in Nigeria isn’t just about water pouring from the sky, it’s a whole reality show. From the moment the dark clouds gather, you already know wahala is loading. Streets come alive with drama, and everyone suddenly becomes a contestant in the “Survivor: Rain Edition.”
First on the list is how bus fares suddenly decide to start competing with the dollar. A route that usually gulps N300 on a normal day will magically jump to N1500 once the rain starts. Conductors don’t even flinch. They’ll boldly shout the new price with chest, and if you dare complain, they’ll size you up and fire back with, “Madam if you no get, come down. Next!” Meanwhile, you’re left there clutching your wet bag, questioning why you didn’t just trek.
Speaking of trekking, the roads themselves are another episode. You’ll be carefully navigating tiny dry spots, trying not to step into murky water, only for one Danfo driver to come out of nowhere and splash you from head to toe. Just like that, your fine white shirt turns to a muddy tie-dye masterpiece. The driver? He’s probably laughing and changing gears already.
And who remembers the mighty kekes and buses that transform into mini aquariums during this season? Enter one on a rainy day and you’ll find yourself dodging droplets from the roof like you’re playing a game of “rain whack-a-mole.” The windows are never fully functional, so water still manages to sneak in, leaving you cold and wet while the conductor hangs out like rain is massaging his face.
Let’s not ignore the notorious Lagos floods that specialise in swallowing slippers. One minute you’re strutting like a big girl, the next minute your leg feels unusually light, your slippers don float comot. Now you’re hopping around like a flamingo, chasing it down a flooded street, praying it doesn’t disappear forever.
Fashion also gets an upgrade during the rainy season. You’ll see men rolling up their trousers to their knees, women hitching up gowns and tiptoeing like ballerinas. Everywhere becomes a catwalk of carefully orchestrated steps to avoid the next big puddle. Meanwhile, umbrellas are out here embarrassing people left and right. Small breeze and your umbrella will turn inside out like one confused satellite dish, leaving you wrestling it in the middle of the road while rain soaks you generously.
Then there’s the ever-daring okada rider who insists he can maneuver any flood. “Oga climb, no worry, I sabi this water well.” Next thing, both of you are in the gutter, soaked and angry, sharing silent looks of regret.
Even car owners aren’t spared. You’ll see them begging mall security, “Abeg make I park here small, I go come commot soon.” Nobody wants to park on the street only to come back and find their car looking like it just survived a boat cruise.
Finally, you get home thinking the worst is over, only to discover your clothes have become permanent residents on the line. Three days later, your jeans are still damp, smelling like neglected mop. But guess what? We still move. Nigerians will turn it into content, laugh about it online, and prepare for the next downpour.
Because at the end of the day, if there’s one thing the rainy season teaches us, it’s resilience — and how to hold your slippers tight.
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