If patience were an Olympic sport, Nigerians would sweep the medals—gold, silver, and bronze. Because in this country, queues are legendary. Not your ordinary line-up, mind you, but full-blown sagas worthy of a mini-series.
Take a petrol station, for instance. What should be a straightforward “fill ‘er up” quickly transforms into a labyrinth of alliances, negotiations, and impromptu philosophical debates about life, the universe, and why the fuel pump always seems slower when you’re in a rush.
Here, patience isn’t just a virtue; it’s a survival skill. Tempers flare over the smallest of infractions, only to dissolve seconds later into shared laughter. Queue-jumpers are publicly shamed with the subtle artistry of social pressure, while strangers exchange life hacks, phone numbers, and, sometimes, snacks. By the time you reach the front, you’ve earned more than petrol—you’ve earned stories, friendships, and a slightly elevated sense of humour.
Frustrating? Absolutely. Infuriating? Occasionally. But there’s something almost poetic about the chaos. Queueing in Nigeria isn’t merely about waiting. It’s about resilience, improvisation, and a community spirit that turns even the mundane into an adventure. Who needs theme parks when you’ve got a line at the filling station?
In short, the next time the Olympics need a new sport, they should take a leaf out of the Nigerian playbook: Queueing. It’s high drama, full of strategy, and requires the sort of patience that makes meditation look like child’s play.
