Daily writing prompt

Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.

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Let’s be honest, my life in Lagos was a beautiful, chaotic mess. Picture this: every morning, I’d engage in a gladiatorial battle just to get on a danfo bus, dodging elbows, prayers (from the overly religious passenger who somehow always ended up next to me), and the occasional stray Gala snack. Traffic? Forget Google Maps; you needed a psychic and a whole lot of patience to navigate that asphalt jungle. “Go slow” was a national anthem, and “hold up” was a way of life.

And then there were the “area boys.” Now, most were harmless, just trying to hustle. But there was always that one guy with eyes that could pierce steel, demanding “oga, small thing na!” for the privilege of not scratching your already battered car. It was a daily test of your negotiation skills and your ability to look convincingly broke.

My apartment? Let’s just say the soundproofing was courtesy of strategically placed old newspapers, and my wake-up call was usually a chorus of generator engines and the distant hawking of “pure water!” Life was vibrant, yes, but also… a tad stressful. My stress levels were so high, my doctor suggested I start communicating solely through interpretive dance.

Then, Abuja beckoned. A land of (relatively) smooth roads, where traffic jams are considered a mild inconvenience, not a near-death experience. A place where the loudest morning sound is birdsong, not a cacophony of horns. A city where “area boys” are more likely to be polite security guards than entrepreneurial pavement overlords.

The risk? Leaving the familiar chaos, the vibrant (if slightly overwhelming) energy of Lagos, for the perceived “calmness” of Abuja. My Lagosian friends thought I was mad. “Abuja? What even happens there?” they’d ask, their voices laced with a mixture of pity and genuine concern. They envisioned me living in some silent, beige existence, devoid of the “pepper” of Lagos life.

But let me tell you, that move was the best kind of gamble. My blood pressure has plummeted to levels my doctor now considers “suspiciously healthy.” I can drive to work without needing therapy afterwards. And the “alternative routes” in Abuja? They actually exist and, get this, they’re usually free of gridlock! It’s like discovering a secret level in a video game where everything just… flows.

Sure, Abuja might lack the raw, unfiltered energy of Lagos. You might not find a roadside suya spot on every corner that can cure all your ailments. But what I’ve gained is a sense of peace, a better quality of life, and the mental space to actually breathe.

So, was it a risk? Absolutely. Leaving the hustle I knew for the unknown calm felt like stepping off a cliff. But looking back, I realize it wasn’t a fall; it was a graceful glide into a much saner, and dare I say, happier existence. My only regret? Not making the jump sooner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to enjoy a traffic-free drive, listening to birdsong, and contemplating the sheer joy of not having to negotiate my way past a demanding “oga” just to park my car. Abuja amen, indeed.

This event took place before my relocation to the UK 🇬🇧