In the warm embrace of 2019, I found myself in Lagos, Nigeria, drawn by the radiant promise of my nephew’s impending wedding. The air was electric with excitement, and the day of the celebration etched itself vividly into the tapestry of my memory. It was a grand 9ja wedding, a joyous affair where nothing could mar the perfection.
But as the sun-drenched days waned, an unforeseen twist unfolded—an absence that would redefine my life’s trajectory. My permit, the fragile document that connected me to my life and work in the UK, had vanished, swallowed by the unforgiving bureaucracy.
What began as a mere inconvenience spiraled into a labyrinth of convoluted paperwork and endless queues. My friends and family had departed, leaving me to wrestle with solitude. The vibrant city of Lagos, a cacophonous symphony of life, seemed to grow quieter with each passing day.
Loneliness, like an uninvited guest, took up residence. In the quiet moments, I pondered the meaning of home. I yearned for the embrace of my wife, the laughter of my children, the camaraderie of friends, and the familiarity of my work.
The routine of three daily showers became both a physical refreshment and a metaphor for cleansing my spirit in the unforgiving heat. In the late afternoon, I embarked on a pilgrimage to Amala Junction, where succulent goat meat awaited, its savory aroma tantalizing my senses. The sizzle and pop of meat on the grill provided a symphony of comfort in the midst of uncertainty.
But within the layers of solitude, I unearthed unexpected treasures. My elderly mother, the matriarch of our family, became my steadfast companion. She tended to me with the tender care of a mother to her newborn, an experience that deepened our bond and kindled a newfound appreciation for the passage of time.
As the days turned to weeks, a transformation unfolded. Nigeria, once a foreign land, revealed its heart. The changing landscape and the whispers of generations past became my companions. The veil of familiarity was lifted, revealing the intricate tapestry of life in this vibrant nation.
Opeakeroro and Late Mum
Then, as if orchestrated by fate, the call came—an announcement that my permit was ready. I leaped for joy, and in the confines of my living room, I performed a triumphant moonwalk. My journey had come full circle.
On my final day in Lagos, I revisited AUDU, the orange seller whose life had become entwined with mine. Equipped with my notepad and pen, I fired questions like arrows, eager to extract the last remnants of a story that had taken root in my heart. AUDU,, initially puzzled by my curiosity, didn’t believe me. I showed him my notepad, and he saw his words, “Se make I cut am?” We both burst into laughter, our mirth echoing amidst the bustling streets.
As I bid farewell to Nigeria, I carried not only my permit but also a treasure trove of memories, each imbued with the profound beauty of the unexpected. My journey had become a testament to the art of embracing life’s unpredictable turns, finding joy in the ordinary, and connecting with others through the timeless medium of storytelling.