The long road home: How 30-minute journey became midnight ordeal

For commuters along the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway, the journey home can quickly become a battle against time, traffic and uncertainty. What should have been a short trip can stretch deep into the night, testing patience, draining resources and raising fears about getting home safely. In this diary, FOLASHADE OBISANYA recounts how an ordinary journey after work became a four-and-a-half-hour ordeal she would not forget in a hurry

The Lagos-Ibadan Expressway has in recent weeks become a test of patience for commuters, with recurring gridlock turning ordinarily short journeys into hours-long ordeals. For many workers who rely on the highway to get home after a long day, the traffic is not just about wasted hours and fuel; it can mean getting stranded late at night, missing connections and worrying about how to safely complete the final leg of the journey.

It was against this backdrop that an ordinary journey home for me recently turned into a four-and-a-half-hour ordeal.

After closing from work penultimate Wednesday at about 7:20 pm, I was still chit-chatting with my colleagues, thinking it would be another normal closing day for me.

I had no idea that getting home that evening would become an experience I would not forget in a hurry.

On getting to The PUNCH bus stop on the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway in Ogun State, I found no available buses. Whenever one arrived, it either wasn’t heading to Mowe, my destination, or the driver refused to take passengers going that way because of the heavy traffic around the Deeper Christian Life Ministry headquarters, caused by the ongoing pedestrian bridge construction along the expressway.

I waited at the bus stop for about 40 minutes. Fortunately, I was not alone. Three of my colleagues were also there, leaving the four of us stranded at the bus stop.

We had all just closed from work, but instead of the usual rush to catch a bus home, we stood by watching buses come and go. Some passengers squeezed into already packed vehicles, while others stood by the roadside, waiting for their turn. The evening was gradually getting darker, and with every passing minute, getting home seemed increasingly uncertain.

Moyin, one of my colleagues, also remembered the frustration of that moment. According to her, the traffic was so bad that she could not find a bus to take her to her destination after work.

One of us eventually suggested that we crossed to the other side of the expressway, hoping that buses coming from Lagos would be willing to take us towards Mowe.

By then, it was already 8pm. I was scared and fidgety, but I crossed the expressway in the hope of finally finding a bus home.

Buses passed by, but they were either already full or not heading towards our destination. As we continued waiting by the roadside, one of my colleagues suddenly told me that her mother was driving through the area and asked if I would like to join them. I gladly accepted.

While we waited, however, thoughts of returning to the office and sleeping there began to cross my mind. It was my first time being out and waiting for a bus at such a late hour, and I could feel the anxiety taking over. My hands were shaky, my voice trembled whenever I spoke, and I found myself becoming increasingly conscious of almost everyone passing around us.

Moyin described that part of the evening as particularly stressful because it was already dark when we had to cross the road in search of transportation.

“It was already at night, which made the situation more stressful because we had to be extra careful while crossing the road and waiting for a vehicle,” she said.

Then, at about 8:15 p.m., a Toyota Sienna drove towards us. It was my colleague’s mother.

I was relieved to finally get into the vehicle. For the first time since leaving work, I felt like I was actually on my way home. The four of us settled into the vehicle, grateful that we had found a way out of the uncertainty at the bus stop.

I remember thinking that the worst was over and that, at least, I would soon be home.

I was wrong.

About five minutes into the journey, the traffic began. At first, I assumed it was the usual go-slow, perhaps one that would last for an hour at most. But the traffic soon became much worse.

I tried to reassure myself that it was just one of those days when the expressway experienced a slight traffic build-up. But the vehicles barely moved.

Trailers honked continuously, drivers shouted at one another, and the aggressive driving around us only heightened my anxiety. I became so nervous that I started playing games on my phone just to distract myself.

Outside the window, the road seemed to have transformed into a long stretch of red brake lights. Vehicles were packed closely together, with little room between one car and the next. The constant sound of horns filled the air, sometimes drowning out whatever conversation was going on inside our vehicle.

Every few metres, we moved forward, only to stop again.

The Sienna was no longer simply conveying us home; it had become our temporary shelter from the chaos outside.

By 10pm, I was still far from home. At that point, I was close to tears. I had never been out that late before, and one question kept running through my mind: “How will I get home this night?”

Different “what ifs” began racing through my mind.

What was supposed to be a 30-minute journey had already stretched into a two-hour ordeal, and I thought that was probably the worst of it.

I did not know that I had only experienced half of what was ahead.

The journey continued slowly. We moved a little, stopped again and remained stuck for what seemed like an eternity. Every now and then, I asked my colleagues where we were, trying to keep track of our progress.

There was something unsettling about not knowing exactly how long we would remain there. The traffic had become a waiting game. You watched the vehicles ahead, hoping they would begin to move, only to see the line remain almost stationary. Minutes turned into hours, while the night grew deeper around us.

Leke, another colleague in the vehicle that evening, described the experience as his first major traffic ordeal.

“What would have been a 30-45mins journey turned to 5hours. I never imagined myself leaving work and getting home the next day, I entered my house 12:40am,” he said.

For him, the journey did not simply end when he eventually got home. The exhaustion followed him into the next day.

“I was so stressed, it affected me when I woke up. I know that the government and the contractors are trying to work on the bridge at Deeper Life Church, but I believe that they should open the road when the work is done, then open it again in the morning,” he said.

Leke said the experience had left him with only one conclusion: “This is going to be my first traffic experience, and all I can say is never again oo. It’s really terrible. I had headache that night.”

Inside the Sienna, I could relate to every word. None of us had planned to spend several hours on a journey that ordinarily should have taken about 30 minutes. Yet, there we were, watching the time move while the road barely did.

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Four people, one long journey

Feranmi, whose mother was driving us, also described the journey as horrible. From the back seat, the same road that should have taken us home quickly seemed endless.

“It was horrible. Spending three to four hours on my journey of 30 minutes, it was so unnecessary,” she said.

For her, however, the frustration went beyond the hours lost on the road. There was also the cost of being stuck in traffic.

“The fact that it is time-wasting. Fuel was being wasted as well. My mom bought fuel and on getting home the light was on already,” she said.

She described the experience as particularly draining for people living in Mowe and communities farther along the expressway.

“It was really bad. Especially for people living at Mowe or further.”

Her comment made me think about what the traffic means for people who make that journey every day. For someone travelling a relatively short distance, losing three or four hours on the road is exhausting enough. For those living much farther along the expressway, the journey can stretch even longer, leaving them with little time to rest before another day begins.

When we finally made it through the worst part of the traffic, I felt as though a huge load had been lifted off my chest. I was happy and relieved, but not completely. It was already after 11 p.m., and I still had to figure out how to get home from my bus stop.

Normally, I would board a commercial motorcycle from my bus stop to my house. But at that hour, there were no bikes available.

I had already called my father and asked him to meet me at the bus stop so we could walk home together.

The relief of leaving the traffic behind was quickly replaced by another worry. I knew that getting out of the Sienna would not mean the end of my journey. The traffic had pushed my trip deep into the night, when the roads were quieter and the usual means of transportation were becoming scarce.

We eventually reached my stop at about 11:30 p.m., but the ordeal was not over.

As I got down from the vehicle, I noticed people partying around the area. The smell of Indian hemp, cigarette smoke and alcohol filled the air, almost choking me. I immediately picked up my pace.

It was already 11:35pm., and I was walking so fast that I was almost running. My hands were still trembling, and my feet felt cold.

I held my bag tightly against me and turned on my phone’s torchlight, making sure I could see the road ahead.

The road I normally would not think twice about walking through suddenly looked different. The darkness made everything around me appear unfamiliar. Sounds from the roadside seemed louder, and every person I saw made me instinctively tighten my grip on my bag.

About a minute into my walk, I saw my father.

The relief I felt at that moment was indescribable.

We walked home together safely, and I finally got home at exactly 11:50pm.

A journey to remember

What was supposed to be an ordinary 30-minute journey home had turned into a four-and-a-half-hour ordeal.

The journey began with me casually chatting with colleagues after work and ended with me walking home late at night, clutching my bag tightly and grateful simply to have made it home safely.

Moyin said the experience left her frustrated, tired and worried about her safety, especially after spending the whole day at work.

“After spending the whole day at work, the last thing I expected was to spend so much time trying to find transportation home,” she said.

She believes something needs to be done to ease the traffic and make transportation safer and more accessible for commuters.

“There should also be better measures to ensure that commuters can safely get buses and other means of transportation at night. No one should have to go through such stress just to get home after a long day at work.”

Her words stayed with me.

Perhaps that was what made the experience different from an ordinary bad traffic day. It was not just about sitting in a vehicle for hours.

It was about the uncertainty of not knowing when I would get home, the fear of being stranded at night, the fuel wasted in traffic, the exhaustion that followed the journey and the anxiety of having to complete the final stretch on foot.

That evening, four colleagues entered a Toyota Sienna hoping it would simply take us home. Instead, the vehicle became a small room on wheels where we watched the night grow older through the windscreen.

At 7:20pm., home felt like it was only 30 minutes away.

By 10pm., it felt impossibly far.

By 11:30pm., I was out of the car, walking through the night with my phone torchlight in one hand and my bag held tightly in the other.

And at 11:50pm., when I finally stepped into my house, the traffic no longer mattered as much as the relief of finally being home.

I had left work expecting nothing more than an ordinary journey back home.

Instead, the road gave me four and a half hours I would rather not repeat.

That night, I learnt that on a busy expressway, home can be only 30 minutes away on the map and still feel like a whole night away when the road refuses to let you go.