woke up to a sky full of clouds that looked like they were judging my life choices. the temp was 30.98 but it felt like 35.31 because the air was trying to scrub your face off. this is lagos, baby. 1768728398 wasn’t a date, it was the number on the receipt from that street food cart i screamed into.

quick answers

q: is this place worth visiting?
a: only if you want to learn how to negotiate prices without looking guilty. the food is wild, the heat is real, but the traffic will test your mental fortitude.

q: is it expensive?
a: depends. if you’re in the mainland, maybe. if you’re in ikoyi? forget it. a meal at a proper place costs half your bank balance.

q: who would hate it here?
a: people who can’t handle 62% humidity and the idea that ‘quiet’ is a myth. also, anyone who expects Lagos to be orderly.

q: best time to visit?
a: before 8am or after 8pm. the in-between hours are a fire drill of buses, honking, and people sweating in ways you can’t describe.

last week i paid 1,200 naira for a cab that smelled like old motor oil. the driver yelled at me for asking for ac. it worked. the swampiness saved me.

another time, i hopped on a rideshare app and a guy in a cap pulled over. he said, ‘this isn’t registered,’ like it was my fault. i paid anyway. turns out, it’s the same bike that dropped off a passenger in ikoyi the night before. digital nomads here? you’ll need a therapist.

there’s a yelp page where someone wrote, ‘i regret nothing’ after getting stuck in a riot. that’s not a review, that’s a warning. istanbul would be safer, but where’s the fun?

i saw a sign that said ‘no foreigners allowed after 6pm.’ i asked a local, and they laughed. ‘you just look lost,’ they said. that’s how this city works. you don’t ask, you feel.

best coffee? the place with the line that loops outside. it’s not about the beans, it’s about surviving the chaos of people who think espresso is a medical emergency.

the map here? i’m not sure. the google thing just shows a patch of sea and a random building that might or might not be lagos. don’t trust it. trust your nose. if it smells like fish and regret, you’re probably close.

someone told me the locals here haggle with their eyes. it’s true. i tried buying a plant and kept looking away. they kept lowering the price until i gave up. lesson: never trust a human in Lagos.

cheap eats? street food. ask for ‘local’ and they’ll give you something that looks like it came from a dumpster but tastes like a party. that’s the vibe. you don’t eat, you experience.

safety? it’s not a red dot on a map. it’s a shrug. some areas are fine, others are a question mark. if you’re white or tourism-worthy, you’ll be fine. if not? well, that’s another story.

repeated insights: this city doesn’t apologize for being loud, hot, or existence. the heat here doesn’t just make you sweat-it makes you question your life choices. also, nothing here is half-assed. if it’s not 100%, it’s not here.

i heard a story about a tourist who paid 50,000 naira for a meal and was told it was a ‘special offer.’ turns out, it was the owner’s way of testing if he’d leave a tip. ask for ‘cheap’ and suddenly the menu doubles. it’s a riddle, not a price tag.

the tour guide said, ‘this city is like a can of soda-you open it, and it explodes.’ i didn’t know if that was metaphor or literal. probably both.

photos? i took three blurry shots of a guy selling tandurs. one had a cat. another had a dog. the third? just the gun. the cat is now my wallpaper.

next day, tried a yoga instructor. she was in a gym with a fan that broke mid-session. we did downward dog while the room heated up to 40c. it was spiritual. i’espoir i never do that again, but also… maybe.

lagos is a place where the ai tries harder than you to parse the rain

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