Lagos, a City Without Pedestrian Crossings

STAMFORD, Conn. - Nov. 23, 2025 - PRLog -- The two men had been walking only a short while before stopping along the walkway in front of the Sheraton Hotel in Ikeja, Lagos. Their goal was simple enough: cross the dual carriageway of Mobolaji Bank Anthony Way and continue toward a nearby international hospital. A low concrete divider separated the lanes, and if they could just get to the other side, their journey would continue smoothly.

Twenty minutes slid by with no sign of cooperation from the universe. Cars, vans, trucks, kekes, and motorcycles flew past in a constant stream—some speeding, some weaving, some behaving as if auditioning for an action movie. The men raised their palms, signaling the drivers with polite desperation. Not a single vehicle slowed. Lagos traffic does not negotiate.

The men, both in their mid-sixties, shared similar warm orange complexions but moved very differently. The shorter one wore sturdy rubber slippers and walked with the quick steps of someone born for Lagos' fast life. His taller companion, however, moved stiffly, hampered by active hemorrhoid pain and legs that had sworn loyalty to laziness.

"What kind of traffic is this?" the taller man asked, shifting uncomfortably. "How long are we supposed to wait? Not one car has even pretended to stop."

The shorter man shrugged. "My brother, drivers here believe stopping for pedestrians is taboo. Someone might honk, insult them, or even throw something."

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Then—finally—a small break. A woman in a black Toyota Highlander slowed down, apparently more interested in adjusting her makeup than the road. The short man saw his chance and dashed into the street. Halfway across, he realized his companion hadn't followed. As he turned to retreat, the Highlander's left headlamp grazed his left buttock, sending him tumbling forward and landing a yard from the Sheraton security post.

The gateman, who had been observing from behind a glass window, hurried out. Dressed in a brown uniform with yellow embroidery, he looked both concerned and eager not to inherit any liability.

"I saw everything," he declared. "That woman nearly finished you! Where are you people going?"

"To the international hospital," the taller man said, pointing across the road.

The gateman shook his head. "Don't cross here. Go down toward Union Bank and try from there. Drivers respect bank customers more than hotel guests."

Leaning closer, he added, "This is Lagos. Everybody—young, old, sick, healthy—must move fast. If you can't run, at least be ready to jump."

A new batch of hotel guests arrived, ending the conversation. The two men resumed walking down Mobolaji Bank Anthony Way, hoping that near Union Bank, the legendary river of Lagos traffic might part just long enough for them to cross.