Ifẹ Eko II
The hour is 6am, the air is heavy with morning dew and the sky is painted a syrupy blue
The stars outside sing a sweet lullaby
But the streets already thrum with life.
Everywhere you look there are more and more people pouring out of their homes.
Suit clad torsos swagger back and forth as they weave through stagnant traffic
Right next to animated dress shirts bartering the price of an okada ride
Business casual dresses swerve past the bend in their cars
While dozing school uniforms are packed into buses to begin the journey to school.
Next to them are dozens of commercial buses
With their conductors flitting in and out of the growing crowd
They shout the next bus stop in an offbeat rhythm,
Syncing with the sound of car horns
Dodging stray okadas, never missing a beat
The tune continues
It stops for no one
Lagos is the song that keeps on singing
And Surulere is her voice
If you listen closely, you will hear thousands of melodies
Sounds that melt into the mosaic of life
By the time it is midday, a million people have walked these streets
At least a thousand cars have driven by.
The music settles into a steady hum:
A symphony of generators, engines and the chatter of the working class.
Ademide has always loved the sounds of this city
She walks with purpose, head straight up
Bounce in her step so everyone knows not to stop her,
She is on a mission that only one place can fulfill.
A turn down this street, a stride across the road
Walk past the roundabout till you see the red gate.
There you will find a small lady who serves more than smiles.
In her little shop, she makes the best Amala and ewewdu for miles
And Ademide only has an hour lunch break to finish it all.
She settles in with dozens of other working professionals
Soon her fingertips cut through a serving of amala and roll it with expertise
It is dipped in the soup and in then her mouth before you would even have a chance to start a conversation.
No one is talking but their hands move in steady rhythm
Amala, ewedu, mouth
Amala, ewedu, mouth
Amala, ewedu, mouth
The tune continues
It stops for no one
Lagos is the song that keeps on singing
And Surulere is her voice
If you listen closely, you will hear thousands of melodies
Sounds that melt into the mosaic of life
By 4pm the frenzy picks up again, but only in reverse.
The once suit-clad torsos, have slacked their ties.
They move slowly, drained from a day’s work
Along side them are sweat stained dress shirts, irritable and tired.
The roads are jam-packed so the business casuals’ dresses press on their car horns in cacophony
Thinking only of finally getting home,
In one mind with the school uniforms that pour out of buses
And bump into frenzied traffic conductors.
The conductors wave their arms in every direction but the right one
So the traffic worsens and worsens and worsens
Down the road there is a fight brewing
A seller does not have change for the drunk young man trying to buy another beer
His veins tell a story of anger as they bulge from his neck
Dozens of people are gathered to watch and their excited voices mix into one
The tune continues
It stops for no one
Lagos is the song that keeps on singing
And Surulere is her voice
If you listen closely, you will hear thousands of melodies
Sounds that melt into the mosaic of life
Ademide is used to this by now
So she pays no mind to the fighting as she waits for Tobe
Soon he is at her bus stop and the taste of shyness is sweet in the air
This will be the third time that they meet in Surulere
Between their busy schedules they have managed to steal a few hours.
They eat and talk and laugh,
And they don’t notice when the stars begin to hum
So that by the time they look up it is already dark.
As he walks her home, he takes her hand
And warmth blossoms from his touch
The city that never sleeps is finally still
But only in this capsule that they have created for themselves
She looks at him, bathed in moonlight
And smiles the same smile that planted hibiscus in his chest
The moment is almost perfect
He whispers an airy I love you
And she comes undone.