When the cassette tape played, I was seldom interested in the lyrics—how likely was a 6-year-old to care? Yet I could feel sorrow, compassion, and sadness in the singer’s voice. I imagined someone hurting her. Was she hit, betrayed, lonely? Her voice held a mystery I wanted to uncover, but she was miles away from me. Since I could not unravel the enigma, I let the thought go. As I grew older, my mother did not grow tired of playing the cassette tape. I could not hide from hearing it either, unless I could afford a roof over my head. One evening, during the holiday and with no homework to attend to, I had to ask her. ‘Mum, who’s this person always sad when they’re singing?’ ‘You mean all this time, you don’t know it’s Dolly Parton? And who told you she’s sad? When you truly express how you feel, it is not always a sad tale, my girl. Do you even know what this song playing is about?’ ‘Yes, ma. It’s her coat of many colours, just like the one Joseph had, right?’ ‘Eh en. Only hers was give...
“Driver you no sabi anything. Abeg give me space make I show you how to beat this yeye traffic wey be like wetin winch dey invoke to life.” That black uniform, that desperate voice making us question what the law stood for these days, was part of us Lagosians returning home from our various hard-knock lives, on a Friday evening, 7:00 pm. From Obalende to Yaba we prayed for a free passage since Lagos signed a con tract with “go slow.” It is not the only thing slow about us. The Police become your friend when all odds are against the populace. They can even break the law to make you safe. Isn’t it ironic? The Police become your friend when it rains and they need shelter in your store or your vehicle or your shack. The police were more than a friend to us when we found ourselves positioned in a single spot for an hour. Traffic became our common enemy. Passengers cursed, drivers lamented: “petrol wen pesin buy today now go finish today.” Radios w...