The person I'm going to describe is Emeka, who delivers parcels in our area of Lagos. I don't know his surname, but I see him so often that it feels strange not to.
He works for a courier company and rides a motorbike with a huge box strapped to the back. He delivers everything from phones and clothes to documents. I work from home three days a week as a graphic designer, and I order printing samples and equipment quite often, so he comes to our street almost every day, usually in the early afternoon. Even when it isn't something for me, he'll sometimes leave a neighbour's parcel with me if they're out, because he knows I'm in.
Over time we've started chatting at the gate. He told me he's studying for a diploma in logistics in the evenings, and that he chose this job partly because it taught him how the whole system works, from warehouses to customers.
I've got a lot of respect for the work he does. Lagos traffic is famously difficult, and in the rainy season some roads in our area flood, so he's often riding through water up to his ankles. He has to deal with people giving him the wrong address and then shouting at him when the parcel's late. Despite that, he's always polite and he double-checks everything, even taking photos of where he leaves a package. I think delivery workers are a bit invisible to most of us; we only notice them when something goes wrong. Getting to know Emeka has made me much more patient when a delivery's delayed, and I always offer him a cold drink on hot days.