Growing up in Lagos, there is a certain tune that will forever be linked to ice cream in my mind, ice cream and nescafe. It’s a latin pop tune that makes you want to dance even when your feet are iroko roots in centuries old mud.
Continued from Husband Wanted – 1
She watched them from the window, stomach churning, as her wild heartbeat made her faintly afraid she was about to have a heart attack. If only she would be so lucky, a heart attack would get her out of this farce.
It was hard to count the number of men who turned up for this joke that had gotten far out of hand. Were there a hundred men out there? Two hundred? Three hundred Spartan warriors seeking a wife? She covered her face with her hands and exhaled. Continue reading →
She knew he was the one at her door by his whistling, it was almost romantic how he would wait until he finished the first verse of Strong Thing before he knocked and it was silly that she waited until he knocked before she opened the door. He would stand there, big eyes, shiny head from his ever zealous barber and a soft smile that always made her walk into his arms for a hug, right there on the corridor.
He was quiet, he would flop on the floor beside her mattress and ask how she was. She would recite the minutest details of her day because he liked to hear everything, and it wasn’t idle chatter to him, he remembered everything. She would rub his head as she spoke, and he chuckled intermittently. Continue reading →
It started with a friend request on Facebook.
It was one of his names that prompted her to click on the confirm button. It was the name of a love she had lost, buried in an unmarked grave in eastern Nigeria, it was the name of another love in the present, steady and crazy. It felt custom built mostly but sometimes it felt like living beside a dragon. It was also the name of a love that could be hers in the future if she dared, but she was a coward where her heart was concerned, and that might never change.
So we walked past the empty house, a woman and her husband had lived there once but they’re dead now, both of them. I told my mother about the woman and her soursop tree and her promise to send some to my brothers and I, when they ripened.
There are days you will never forget.
Those days are not always the grand adventures that bring rivers of adrenaline and a pounding in your ears, echoing your rapidly beating heart. Sometimes it’s a quiet day, a peaceful morning with your belly full of food.
I was chatting with a very dear friend about being in Benin-city and living here instead of that congested Lagos and I told him about working here for a while before sneaking out at dawn back to Lagos to another job. As I recounted the experience to Odogwu, I realized how much I had forgotten about the turbulence of that time. Continue reading →