THE INGRATE

Hakeem Agbelesola,
Igbenews Realist Storyteller

Published April 08, 2025

In the vibrant city of Agege—once a modest suburb, now a sprawling hub stretching from Orile Agege to Abule Egba, Mangoro, and beyond—lived Bisi, a woman whose love for her husband, Kayode, once burned bright. Agege today is a marvel of progress. The towering bridge from former Governor Akinwunmi Ambode’s tenure still eases the traffic that once snarled its roads, while Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu and Lagos State Speaker Honorable Mudashiru Obasa have pushed the city further—tarring every street from Orile Agege’s tight corners to Abule Egba’s busy stretches and Mangoro’s bustling lanes. A sleek train station now connects Agege to the wider Lagos, a symbol of their joint vision. This is the New Agege, modern and thriving. Yet, amid this transformation, Kayode’s story proves that progress doesn’t always reach the heart.

Kayode worked with the Road Union at a garage in Ikoyi, collecting daily tickets from commuters navigating Lagos’s chaotic streets. It wasn’t a goldmine, but it paid enough to support Bisi and their two children, Tunde and Amina, in their modest Agege apartment. Bisi, with her gentle warmth and tireless spirit, adored him. She ran a small trade near the Agege train station, selling smoked fish and garri, dreaming of a steady life. But Kayode’s devotion faded. He began staying away from home, claiming the journey from Ikoyi to Agege was too costly. “I’ll sleep at the garage till the weekend,” he’d tell her. “The transport fare is too much.” Bisi believed him, her love masking her suspicions. She’d sit by the window, gazing at the lights of Ambode’s bridge, fretting over his safety in Ikoyi’s rough-and-tumble world, unaware that Kayode was spending his nights with Funke, his side chick, in a shack near the Ikoyi garage.

Funke was bold and demanding, a stark contrast to Bisi’s quiet endurance. Kayode lavished her with trinkets and airtime, draining the money meant for his family. When Bisi asked about household funds, he’d snap, “There’s no money!” She stretched her earnings thin, mending Tunde’s frayed uniform and patching Amina’s sandals, while Agege blossomed around her. Sanwo-Olu and Obasa’s leadership had turned every muddy tossing into smooth tar—Orile Agege, Abule Egba, Mangoro—all gleaming with new life. The train station buzzed with commuters, and the bridge stood as a lifeline, yet Kayode remained tethered to his old ways.

One humid afternoon, as Bisi fanned her stall near Mangoro, her friend Mama Ngozi pulled her aside. “Bisi, Kayode isn’t sleeping at that Ikoyi garage—he’s with another woman. Go tell his boss!” Her pulse racing, Bisi tied her wrapper, crossed the Ambode bridge, and stormed the Ikoyi garage. There, she met Alhaji Musa, Kayode’s boss, a weathered man who knew the score. Hearing her tale, he frowned, summoned Kayode, and tore into him. “You’ve got a good wife in Agege, and you’re wasting her? Apologize and change!” Kayode muttered a hollow sorry, but Bisi saw the deceit in his averted gaze.

He lingered at home briefly, walking Agege’s tarred streets with Bisi and the kids, the train’s hum in the background. But Funke’s calls kept coming, slicing through the air like a blade. Bisi pleaded for him to stop, but he wouldn’t yield. Then fate intervened: Alhaji Musa’s tenure ended, a new election swept him out, and Kayode lost his spot at the Ikoyi garage. With no ticket money, he floundered. Bisi, clinging to hope, called her brother Segun in Canada. “Help him, please,” she begged. Segun sent funds, and a korope bus rolled into Agege for Kayode—a chance to ride the city’s modern wave.

At first, he drove passengers along the tarred roads from Orile Agege to Abule Egba, the bridge a constant landmark on his trips to Ikoyi. But his old habits resurfaced. Rent piled up, threatening their Agege home despite the city’s shine. The landlord served a quit notice, and Bisi urged Kayode to act. He brushed her off. Fed up, she packed their belongings—two mattresses, a dented pot, a sack of clothes—and rented a room elsewhere in Agege, keeping her new address hidden. The city’s progress—Sanwo-Olu and Obasa’s gift—carried her forward.

Kayode returned from Ikoyi to an empty Agege apartment. Funke, tired of his broke promises, had kicked him out. Bisi’s mother, sharp as ever, tricked him into surrendering the korope, claiming it was “for safekeeping.” Stripped bare, Kayode called Bisi, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry, my love. I was wrong.” But Bisi, settled in her new life, ignored him. He roamed Agege’s tarred streets—past Orile Agege, Mangoro, Abule Egba—searching for her, but she’d slipped away.

Today, Agege stands proud under Sanwo-Olu and Obasa’s touch: tarred roads stretch from Orile Agege to beyond, the train station thrives, Ambode’s bridge endures, and development lifts every corner. Kayode, though, remains a shadow of the past, a man who couldn’t match the city’s rise—or the woman who once loved him. Bisi flourishes with her children, proof that in the New Agege, resilience outshines ingratitude