Dear Diary,
I think Nigerians are allergic to straight lines. Not geometric lines, just queues.
There is something about seeing people standing neatly, one behind another that awakens an irresistible urge in some of us to… improve the arrangement. You know the scene…Everybody has been standing there, some for ten minutes, some for thirty, and some are already questioning every decision that led them to that particular queue.
Then, out of nowhere, someone appears, not sweating, not apologizing, not looking confused but… determined. They walk confidently toward the front as though the queue is merely a suggestion. If challenged, they don’t even panic as they have responses prepared.
“I’m just asking somebody something.”
“I’m with him.”
“I was here before.”
“They know me.”
“I’m not joining the queue.”
At first, I thought this was just one of those harmless Nigerian habits, the kind we laugh about and the kind that makes foreigners raise one eyebrow while we pretend nothing unusual has happened.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this isn’t really about queues, as queues are simply where our values become visible.
A queue is one of the few places where everybody is temporarily equal. It doesn’t matter whether you arrived in a Bentley or on a bicycle, whether you’re rich or struggling…The queue has only one rule…
Who came first?
Beautiful.
Simple.
Fair.
Perhaps that is exactly why some people struggle with it because queues refuse to recognize status. The queue doesn’t care who your father is, it doesn’t care that you know the manager and it doesn’t care that you’re in a hurry. The queue quietly whispers, “Wait your turn.” Surprisly, those three words can be deeply offensive.
Now, before we continue, let me confess something. I am not writing this from the mountain of perfection. I have also looked at a very long queue and thought, “There must be another way.” The difference is that my “another way” usually involves leaving altogether, not becoming an amateur escape artist.
So this is not me judging, this is me observing because I genuinely wonder what happens in our minds.
Why does waiting feel like failure?
Why do we treat patience as punishment?
Why do we assume rules exist for other people?
Perhaps it starts much earlier than we think.
Perhaps we grow up watching people “find connections.”
Perhaps we watch adults skip procedures because they know somebody.
Perhaps we quietly learn that the smartest person isn’t the one who follows the system, it’s the one who beats it, and after enough years, queue-jumping no longer feels dishonest. It feels… clever and almost admirable. Someone even whispers, “Omo, na sharp guy.”
Sharp, interesting word. I wonder when integrity stopped being considered sharp because here’s the thing…Every time someone jumps a queue, they aren’t just saving themselves five minutes, they’re borrowing time from everyone else.
If twenty people are waiting and one person cuts in, nineteen people have just been told, “Your time matters less than mine.” That is quite a statement, especially for something as ordinary as buying fuel, collecting documents, boarding a bus, or paying at the supermarket.
The funny part is that the same Nigerians who become frustrated when someone cuts in front of them often become incredibly creative when it’s their turn to cut someone else. That, injustice is terrible…until it benefits us. Then it becomes strategy. Human beings are really fascinating.
But let me ask another question. What exactly are we running to?
Seriously, what emergency is so urgent that it requires dismantling the basic concept of first come, first served? Sometimes we spend fifteen minutes trying to avoid waiting for five, that mathematics has never made sense to me.
Then there are the unofficial queue consultants, you know them. They arrive and immediately begin interviewing everyone.
“Who is the last person?”
“I just want to ask one question.”
“I won’t take time.”
“Abeg, help me hold my place.”
Before long, one person has somehow become six people. It is almost an art form and the rest of us stand there, watching democracy collapse one excuse at a time.
What fascinates me most is how different many Nigerians become when they travel.
Have you noticed?
The same person who cannot stay in a queue for five minutes in Lagos suddenly develops extraordinary patience in London. The woman who would have squeezed herself into the front at home now quietly waits her turn in Toronto. The man who believed traffic lights were merely decorative objects suddenly stops faithfully at every red light in Berlin.
So clearly…We know how. We absolutely know how, which means the issue is not ability, the issue is culture or perhaps expectation. We behave differently when we believe the system will protect fairness, and maybe that’s the deeper lesson.
People are more willing to respect rules when they believe everyone else will too. That is how trust is built. One person obeys, then another, then another, until eventually, good behaviour becomes normal.
But the opposite is also true. One person cuts the queue, another copies, a third joins and soon, there is no queue anymore, just organized confusion. Sound familiar?
Sometimes I think Nigeria’s biggest problems don’t always begin in government offices, sometimes they begin in supermarket queues, at bus stops, at ATMs, at filling stations, at boarding gates and in the tiny moments where nobody is watching.
Citizenship is not only about voting every four years, it is about the hundreds of invisible decisions we make every single day.
Do I return the shopping trolley?
Do I throw my bottle into the bin?
Do I obey the traffic light when nobody is around?
Do I wait my turn?
These things seem insignificant until millions of people make the same insignificant choices, then suddenly they become culture.
Perhaps that’s why queues matter, not because standing in line is enjoyable (trust me, it isn’t), but because a queue is one of civilization’s simplest promises. It says, “I acknowledge that your time has value too.”
What a beautiful thing.
Imagine if we treated more aspects of life that way.
Imagine if we respected people’s opportunities the way we should respect their place in line.
Imagine if we stopped believing that every advantage must come at someone else’s expense.
Imagine if patience became strength instead of weakness.
Perhaps we would discover that orderly societies are not built only by good leaders, they are built by ordinary people doing ordinary things…like standing where they are supposed to stand.
And Diary…can we ever learn that waiting our turn is not losing…
Ria
Read the next rant here: Dear Nigerian Men, Who Are You Performing For?