1. The house was shanty like. One room. Not dirty, but litters of a sort. There were mosquito nets leaning on the walls. Buckets. Pots. Pans. I looked around, no TV, no sound, no decoder, no chair. Only this fair, beautiful, innocent day old baby, a sign of something better in this room. I wondered for how long?
2. My conversations with this particular lady was beginning to tend towards friendship. A colleague. I recognised she knew things I did not know in this work space. Though she hides her awareness under the guise of showing me around, I can still sense it. My friendship with her is too heavy for my ego. She is calling. She says my my conversation with someone earlier today was a bit brash. I should not be so direct next time. I wonder for how long we would be friends.
3. The house is empty. Just me. No friends, no appliances. My phones are the only contact to the outside world. Noise from outside weave with my thought. They are planing a christening. I prayed with the Igbo family yesterday. The mother is happy. Yet, I could sense the heavy heart. The baby is a girl. This is her second. She can only hope.
4. I have been standing at the bus stop almost an hour. I’m beginning to feel older. I feel the heat underneath my shirt. The sweat dripping down my body. I feel naked. Vulnerable. Where are all the cabs in Ilorin this afternoon? I hate to wait. I begin to pace. Not pace, but then pacing. I do not know if my anger is directed at the right entity.
5. It is 7:22am. I am at the park along airport rd. I am going to Ibadan. I’m wondering if taking the drivers word is wisdom. He says when I get to Ojoo, I should enter Iwo Road. The cry “Ejo edakun e fun Mi l’owo” interrupts my thought. The boy followed me here. I feeI like somebody interrupted my sleep on a Saturday morning. I want to think in peace. I look in my hand. I give him the thirty naira, so he can leave. And then I remember that verse in the Bible. The story where Christ teaches on prayer. It’s Luke 11.
I wonder, maybe I’m not praying enough.