Lagos As A Portrait Of An Ebbing Tide

Lagos As A Portrait Of An Ebbing Tide

 

The canopy of the sun is hoisted in the east and the city like a revving engine

comes to life with traffic — like ammunition, poisoning the air. I walk along the

 

road serenaded by thatched roofs and everything I see seems to beg a question or

two. I watch men spread prayer mats and wash kettles during fajr, each one

 

say a whisper to heaven. A block away, the child in his khaki pants learns to

roll a tire with a stick for the first time and the smile on his face is as if to say;

 

Joy, here I am, I am worthy of you. The morning births noon and order begs to be

restored but on these streets, that’s a foreign word- a lingua the yellow buses in the

 

park-arranged like cocoons of algae do not understand. And before me, school children

tabernacle in an empty kiosk down the street to narrate recitals of earlier events in school

 

Chirping along and scuffing their feet with both acts done in perfect symphony. In the frenzy

Of the afternoon hustle and bustle, traders are seen with sweat trickling down their face like beads.

 

And I do not understand the  Igbo they say, but all I hear from the traders are these words, if one does not

not chew water, he does not know that water has bones––that is to say, that he that has tasted

 

the coals of life will know that it doesn’t  only burn at the tip of the tongue. It is said that

this city doesn’t go to sleep but I hope that one day, it finds rest , I hope that one day, it

 

is finally granted the strength to ascend through grace. 

©Amoye Favour

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