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‎Every morning, Oshodi wakes me before my alarm ever could. The conductors start their chorus of “Oshodi! Oshodi! Straight Oshodi!” as if the city might forget where it is headed. The engines cough, the horns argue, and the traders weave through the chaos like dancers who learned their steps from survival itself.

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‎At first, the noise overwhelmed me. It felt like the city was shouting at me personally. But over time, I learned to survive it—by turning the noise into rhythm.

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‎I wear my earphones, but I don’t always play music. Sometimes I just let the sounds blend: the shout of a hawker selling gala, the laughter of school kids, the angry brake of a danfo, the prayer of a woman clutching her bag. It becomes a strange Lagos orchestra.

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‎I found a small ritual too. I buy bread from the same woman every day. She calls me “my customer” and smiles even when business is slow. That smile grounds me. It reminds me that Oshodi is not just noise—it’s people, stories, struggles, hustle, life.

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‎When it gets too loud, I focus on my breathing. In… out… like I’m tuning out the chaos and tuning into myself. I imagine Oshodi as a river; I’m not fighting the current, just flowing through.

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‎And honestly? The buzz has become my proof of resilience. If I can survive Oshodi every day, I can survive anything.

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‎Oshodi reminds me that growth is noisy, progress is messy, and survival is a daily choice. If I can find calm in this chaos, I can find clarity anywhere.

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Maybe this resonates with you, ‎what daily noise in your life have you learned or trying to turn into strength?

I wanna hear it in the comments

©toby_joseph