Nigeria is 53 years, and this ajebutter has to celebrate too. I stayed up all night waiting for something special to announce the dawn of the day. Nothing came. I hoped for novel constellations to appear in the sky, forming the word ‘53’. I prayed for a host of green angels to swoop down on us all, or mean screaming aliens to attack us for all our Alomo. But nothing happened. So I slept, woke up, went out the streets of Lagos mainland to witness firsthand, the celebratory mood, and below is what I saw.
Walking into the street, a mean looking Agbero with a big roll of weed, dragged deep from his drug, and seeing me shouted “api indipendeynce, come make we share my igbo”. I smiled patronizingly, and nodded in appreciation. I admit, a part of me want that weed. A tiny, tiny, minute part of me that I’m not exactly ashamed of, wanted to accept the ‘weed-vitation’ and smoke it with abandon and bliss. Pah. I’m not as good as I think.
Moving forward, a street drug peddler, short and dark, bearing a number of powerful lotions, tinctures, talcum, and potions in bright packages, gained on me, with a suspicious smile on his face.
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“Bros how far” he opened up proceedings.
“I’m awesome”, I replied. I’m always awesome, and I’m not apologetic for it. Sue me.
Then he began his sermon on the road. He went on a marketing speech about how his potions are the best things to happen to Africa since colonization. According to the fellow, his medicine can solve a surprisingly wide range of issues ranging from insufficient sex drive to HIV/AIDS. Bored beyond belief, I had to cut him off creatively without hurting his feelings. I care for his medicinal feelings.
“Sir, um, ah, er, today is independence, why don’t you celebrate by giving me one for free?”. Genius, pure genius. That’s what I am.
“Wetin you talk? Na Nigeria buy the medicine for me? Na Nigeria open the business for me? Independence ko, independence ni!” He strode away angrily, mouthing some words I Yoruba. Bad market.
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Smiling, with mischief in my heart, I head back home. The streets are busy as normal. Everybody tuning their hustle-o-metre to Max. A few people went past me spotting the Nigerian colors of Green and White. Patriots. I approve.
Slowly I walk into my street and made the stop at my house. Grabbing my laptop, I press the power button, and as the lights came up on the screen, the only thoughts in my head are…Independence ko, Independence ni.
I begin to write...«Nigeria is 53 years old...»
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