Lagos, Nigeria 2005. The mainland the part of Lagos with blunt decaying houses, noisy streets, traders with scrawny long necks, all battling souls of distinct tribes who live lives of uncertainties quite a few die without entirely recognizing what they are capable of, but they return, as ghosts, roaming the streets to go on the wrestle. Hope like dust rests on their lashes. They barely blink, but when they do, its a swift pat of the lids lest they do not see opportunity pass by. Its the kinky part of town in which just about anything could happen.
I belong to just one of the quite a few spiritual family members of the mainland. Prayers are normally prolonged mornings included with the blood of Jesus and the evenings satisfied exchange of fire- Holy Ghost fireplace- a fire eager to consume, to burn off or so we believed.
Father performs at a submit office environment and mom sells new tomatoes at the market. I go to a college exactly where lessons are stuffed to the edges with children twisting their lips into something close to a smile, wherever a teacher provides an A when you study a new term and not when you use a new phrase correctly in a sentence.
We visit the island at times, when father’s mates invite us to supper, to houses with chandeliers so bright and ceramic plates so clean. Life on the island pricked my curious eyes. Men and women lived enabled life, walked in calculated actions, wore colognes that make you sneeze, handbags had names and had to have names, buildings in all sincerity described a household and the island women, Oh! They all have dimples, these ladies who smile a large amount and say ‘my bad’ when they did a thing wrong- admitting a fault with a smile. Their names audio airless- Shirley, Chloe, Wendy- like names of issues instead than people. They question queries that make me truly feel queasy and I reply with answers that make puzzling lines show up on their foreheads like small, clean ridges. Have you been on a ghost teach just before? Do you use moisturizer at night? Do they educate Spanish in your university? What would you get on your sixteenth birthday? My replies… Never ever head but I often stutter and hope they do not question me if I breathe oxygen.
I notify them a ton about the mainland, about the noisy streets of Isolo, about the possibility of everything happening, about how persons consume indiscriminately not minding the time of the working day. And I had felt in these times of telling, an awakening, a brooding envy for these island girls who failed to know what bleached palm oil appeared like.
So during a Saturday early morning devotion, although father talked about contentment and vainness and stressed the phrase ‘desire’ like he could see driving my soul- like the liquid in my eyes unveiled my aching need to belong to the island women- I experienced blinked and averted my eyes. I began to think of the familiar underbelly of daily life on the mainland.
I am beside father in his new Mazda, in his new vehicle, nodding alongside to the voice of Bob Marley more than the radio
“I imagine I may be a part of the pleasurable~ but I experienced to hit and run~ see I just cannot settle down~ in the kinky aspect of town”.
Father has a new job now that arrived with an formal car and plenty of dollars, he had declared to mom and I final 7 days. We would be going to the island future month. Now I do not know how I sense, what I feel- a mix of ambivalence and meek enjoyment. Father became loaded right away, prayers grew to become brisk. We would be leaving the mainland, the kinky section of town filled with ghosts of diverse tribes who roam the streets with the will not to unite but to survive.
