Everytime I come home, I vow not to return to Lagos. Nature has accomplished what gunshots couldn’t. The bats, chased away by the rain, have been replaced by birds that can actually sing. Sad they didn’t come early enough to save the mangoes. In vain I try to be as contemplative in Oshodi as I am walking the lush lawns of home. I stared at a purple splatter on the sidewalk for about a minute, wondering what bat shat such beauty. We used to time our evening walks to avoid the fecal rain of the flying rats. Maybe it is just ink, I thought. I’m looking for that place where my soul can sing.
Featured Image via flickr by Micolo J