The sun today was not just hot — it was a full-blown warning. The kind of heat that dares you to step out and rethink your life decisions. But I was jobless, restless, and too proud to spend another day sleeping away my potential. At least, I thought, let me fix my broken laptop. Maybe it would give me something to hold onto — a little hope.
Dragging my bag and my battered spirit, I squeezed myself into one of those big, ugly yellow Lagos buses. You know them — the ones that smell of sweat, frustration, and dreams deferred. Every time I jump into one, I’m reminded: “Omo, you have to make it in this life o!” If not for anything else, at least for the dignity of air-conditioned rides.
When I got to Ikeja, the bus dropped us near Computer Village, and one elderly man beside me leaned close and said,
“Sister, shine your eyes. If you’re not careful, they can even steal you here.”
I clutched my bag so tightly you would think I was carrying gold bricks.
Computer Village is a world on its own — a human river of buyers, sellers, hustlers, and outright magicians. I pushed through, head high, heart racing, following a friend’s directions to a supposed trusted engineer.
He looked at my laptop, shook his head like a village chief hearing bad news, and declared,
“50k to fix it well. No problem, you go enjoy am.”
Fifty thousand naira. I almost wept on the spot. But I needed the laptop more than my pride, so I paid.
Two weeks later, my dear laptop — the supposed “enjoyment” — refused to display anything again. Blank screen. Dead. No sign of life. I packed it under my arm and dragged myself back to Computer Village.
This time, the story changed.
“Ah, it’s not the screen o. It’s your motherboard. Maybe fluorescent. Maybe something else. Small work — just 15k.”
As the engineer spoke, I felt hot tears sting my eyes. Should I go home? Should I count my losses? But how about the transport fare I just paid to come here?
After rounds of begging, bargaining, and frantic calls to friends, I managed to fix it for 10k. Hope flickered in my chest as I carried my laptop home like a fragile newborn.
When I finally charged it and pressed the power button, guess what?
Blank screen. Darkness. Disappointment.
A laptop that had come on just an hour ago.
In Lagos, sometimes you lose money — and then lose again just to confirm that you lost.
