Lagos is not for the faint-hearted. It’s for warriors. Survivors. People who can endure anything. People like me—except this time, Lagos truly finished me.

Step 1: The “Premium Lagos” Package

Picture this: It’s Tuesday, and I’ve just nailed an interview for the kind of job that would finally stop my mom from praying “God, provide for my son” every Sunday. My drip? Immaculate. Shoes polished, shirt crisp—I was exuding main-character energy.

Then Lagos rain showed up. Not the romantic drizzle you see in Nollywood. Oh no. This was “build an ark” level rain.

But I wasn’t fazed. I whipped out my phone, ordered an Uber, and told myself, “Today, nothing can ruin my shine.” Famous last words.

goofed gif

Step 2: The Shortcut That Cut Too Deep

My Uber arrived 40 minutes late, looking like it had just survived a war. The driver? An unbothered uncle bumping Burna Boy, chewing gum like he owned the road.

“Oga, we go pass shortcut,” he announced with the confidence of a man who knew the streets of Lagos better than Google Maps.

Spoiler alert: He didn’t.

The road? Muddy. The car? Stalled. My spirit? Shattered.

As I stepped out to help push, disaster struck: my trousers ripped open. Not a little tear—this was a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction. Now, I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, showcasing my neon-green boxers with “Level Up” boldly written across the back. Oh, the irony.

Step 3: Locked Out of My Own Tragedy

So there I was, wet, humiliated, and exposed to every okada rider zooming by like they were late for a Fast and Furious audition. But wait—there’s more.

I realized my phone was locked inside the Uber. Yes, the car I had just been pushing like a stranded mechanic. My driver? Unbothered. This man had the audacity to say, “Oga, maybe na village people.”

At this point, I started questioning all my life choices.

Step 4: TikTok Chronicles Begin

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my Uber driver decided to start recording the drama. Yes, this man brought out his phone and said, “Let me post this one for TikTok. This one go blow!”

And blow, it did.

God abeg gif

Within minutes, he had me reenacting my humiliation like we were shooting a Nollywood blockbuster. “Act like you’re pushing again,” he instructed. Me? In my ripped trousers? I complied. My dignity was already in the gutter—might as well commit.

Step 5: The Final Scene

After what felt like an eternity, the car started again. We finally got to my destination, a compound full of nosy neighbors and screaming children. As I limped out of the car, one of my aunts spotted me.

“Ah-ah, what happened to you? Why are your boxers outside?”

Ladies and gentlemen, this was the moment my soul left my body.

Before I could even explain, the family WhatsApp group was buzzing. “See what Lagos is doing to our son!” one message read, accompanied by a screenshot of my TikTok debut.

The Twist You Didn’t See Coming

The TikTok video? It blew up. Two million views in three days. The comments? Savage.

  • “This is why I don’t use shortcuts.”
  • “Village people don get internet o.”
  • “Level up boxers but your life is leveling down.”

But here’s the real plot twist: My interviewer saw the TikTok and messaged me. “You showed resilience under pressure,” he said. “Come in for the final interview.”

And just like that, my boxers became a symbol of perseverance.

When Lagos hands you rain, mud, and humiliation, make content. Who knows? Your worst day might just be your ticket to virality.

As for me, I got the job. But I also got a new nickname in my family WhatsApp group: TikTok Boxer Boy.

Categorized in:

Uncategorized