Musings from Toronto

Volume One?

When I was a teenager, I used to go to the apartment of a retired major, now late, to pick up old newspapers and magazines. What eventually happened to the newspapers and magazines is a story for another day, but on the pages of those newspapers and magazines, I met (some I would later meet in person) people and characters that I connected with through their articles and looked forward to reading the next edition.

The likes of Tunde Fagbenle, Pius Adesanmi of blessed memory, Ebenezer Babatope, Reuben Abati, etc., were men I looked forward to reading their articles back then. And it was on the pages of those newspapers that I read Casmir Igbokwe’s Musings from Cardiff. Good old days when there was limited contents about the UK or the abroad. And all we could do was imagine what the Queen’s country looked like or how it worked when we read such articles.

Back then, I would literally visualise myself in the stories or scenarios Casmir described, and maybe say what folks say these days. “God help me, don’t let me die in Ikorodu Ikotun”. Well, maybe not exactly, but since I was identifying as the writer, I imagined myself writing my musings too. I am in Toronto with my family for a few weeks, and here I am doing this not just for the culture, but also because which Alhaji goes to Mecca without talking about how tall the rooster is? Well, not my Alhaji. If you didn’t get the joke in my last sentence, forget about it.

So my musings from Toronto.

The Cold can Kill

When people say cold can kill, trust me, it is not a figure of speech. Infact cold kills faster than heat. So the next time you complain about Lagos heat, remember that cold kills faster than heat. Well, not to sound hypocritical, you could actually protect yourself from cold, but imagine yourself in Lagos heat without electricity and your neighbour’s I better pass my neigbour generator blasting away at 2 AM. God help you.

I have had two close shaves with this death cold. On the first occasion, I wanted to get something at a convenience store on the ground floor of the same building I was in. They didn’t have the particular item, so the storekeeper suggested I could get it at the Walmart store across the road. I foolishly decided to take a quick walk across the road. By the time I got to Walmart, my fingers were numb, and my skin was cold and pale. On the second occasion, we went to a basketball game and had to walk a long distance to reach the Uber. The last time I felt the way I did when we eventually got into the warm ride was when I heard my Dad’s voice in my hostel two days after no one showed up to pick me up during a break in school, after enduring a harrowing term in the boarding house. I felt like someone just literally saved my life.

Thankfully, the weather is getting better and, in infact, has been great for the past few days. I stepped out of my apartment yesterday wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, and it was not bad. God be praised!

Time is Money

Ever heard of the saying “Time is Money”? The past few weeks have taught me respect for time in a different way. I respect time, but down here, it is different. Back home, “I’m on my way” could mean I’m still in the shower. Here, “I’m on my way” means I’ve left my house, Google Map is running, and I’ve calculated traffic to the minute. Canadians don’t play with time. Appointments start at 2:00 PM, not 2:15 PM Nigerian time.

The first awakening I got was when I ordered food on Uber Eats, and by the time I made my way through the stairs to the front of the house, the driveway was empty. I panicked for a moment because I was very hungry, until I saw that the dude had dropped the food by the door and vanished into thin air within a minute. I had also seen a delivery guy slide a package to the door while using the second hand to take a picture. These days, I don’t even bother trying to meet the person delivering the order. I just pick it up at the door before I break my teeth running through my tight basement stairs.

The time factor also comes into play when booking rides. In Lagos, you book rides when you are about to get into the shower, then you start making plenty of calls, turn left, turn right, take the estate code and all that nonsense. By the way, my estate back at home had better relax because I wonder what it is we are protecting. Down here, your Uber driver will wait exactly 5 minutes before that cancellation fee hits.

There is a limit to “bigmanism”

I was torn between saying there is no big man in Toronto and what I eventually used. I choose to say there is a limit because I want to believe there are uber-rich folks who can afford to live like kings, but in general, everyone MUST DIY. Infact, DIY is King.

Two days after we got here, I messaged my Airbnb host to ask if he could send someone down to help clean up the apartment and do some laundry. Within a minute, he was at my door, explaining how easy it is to use the vacuum cleaner and sweeper, and even to do the laundry. Then he said, “If you insist on getting someone, you would be looking at $120 to $150 per visit.” Guess who is now using the vacuum, doing the dishes and doing everything himself? Yours truly. 😁 We were going to get a nanny, but when I heard things like paying $30 to $40 per hour for a 12 - 24 hour shift, I immediately remembered that babysitting is actually not a big deal.

Then, while the people are very friendly, I believe they see it as intrusive when they touch your bags or belongings. So when you get off an Uber, you have to find a way to help yourself if you have stuff in the trunk. The Uber driver would gladly watch you while you get yourself sorted.

There is Sanity on the Roads

There is sanity on the roads because people obey traffic laws to the letter. On the way to our apartment from the airport, the driver was driving beside a haulage truck for a long time. I felt uncomfortable after a few seconds because I couldn’t imagine myself driving beside a Dangote truck in Lagos for a long strecth. But here was someone driving beside a truck with belief and confidence that no one would move mad.

Infact, the first time I noticed someone drive differently was a Somali man. I know where he is from because I asked him after he had looked at me and said, “my brother, we just did it the African way” with a grin on his face. And for a minute, I didn’t know how to respond. Maybe to say “no bro, this is not the African way”. But then won’t I be deceiving myself, or rather ourselves? So I just chuckled.

Wrapping this up, Toronto is beautiful. The roads are clean, wide and safe. The road network is also impressive, to say the least.

I could go on and on about my musings, but I have to pause here, for time is money and chores are waiting. Hopefully, I will do a sequel dedicated to the infrastructure, greenery, and beauty. The rooster here is very tall. And very cold. But it crows on time.

See you on the next one.