The day I bade farewell, I returned home.
Driving out of the city of Lagos, along oshodi express road, I could see it steaming hot, she poured the stew on it, all I could do was imagine my self consuming Iya Wasila’s rice and stew.

Smokes from weed and cigarettes nudging on the window.

I boarded a bus back home where group of people not ostracizing the females, passing the blunt while the rich amongst them had one for themselves each.

They would hold a feast in Iya Ayishat’s shop during the evenings, rolling weed and the young boys linger around to patronize them.

When we got to Ojota, hawkers running from one car to another placed me on an episode of people hustling for daily bread. The puff puff sellers brought the taste of the Ghana buns. At least we don’t have to board a plane to Ghana to eat their buns.

Barely twenty minutes away from the latter, the sound of shaku shaku music took the soft rhythm of memories by Maroon 5 reminded me of the late night bars and restaurants.

Then we passed a beautiful spa just like the one in shopping malls.
the barbecue sellers? It took the aroma of the environ like the tasty fried chicken. The only difference is the taste which i didn’t get know(oh why do we have to spend much money when it’s here?).

In Lagos no one goes hungry, one can easily get mama Togo’s beans for 50 naira or even rice and stew for a hundred Naira.

Can I just see the children rolling tyres again?

Can I see them rolling in dirty water and rolling tires on panties?

Well maybe when I’m back I’ll check for all those.

But for now I bid goodbye to Lagos.




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