Maybe Nigeria is a pockmarked face of potholes

Gluttonous politicians and charlatans

Who disguise themselves as everything

From the man who came to visit his absent uncle

to the pastor bouncing up and down the pulpit spouting greek

 

Maybe Nigeria is the two young men

Who set me free from my laptop and BB

Or the policeman who didn’t even look interested

as he took my statement

 

Maybe its my former manager who could not understand

Why a liberated phone would hinder me from calling

To say i would be late to the branch that day

Maybe Nigeria is is the flooded street every single rainy season

Maybe its the blackout and its voice is the gurgle and rattle of

the generator and the mosquitoes that wait outside

Gisting as the she sheltox wears off

Maybe Nigeria is all of the above

And if so then it is also roasted corn

And a soft shard of coconut flesh

It is the first calabash of palmwine

Ranging with sweetness and foaming

At being drawn from its source

 

It is suya and pepper with onion and cabbage

Wrapped in newspaper

Masa optional

With a drink and a sweet talk

It is thanksgiving on sunday and dancing

To drims that drive into your heart

 

It is the girl who looks divine like Osun

Although she might be Igbo and her smile

Makes you feel like the Emir of Kano

It is hearing your name balanced

Perfectly on the lips of somebody you didnt know yesterday

 

Maybe Nigeria is simply a way of life

Maybe it is an acquired taste

Maybe Nigeria is a song

Whose melody can still suprise you

Just when you start to feel you have heard it all before

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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