I was called home. Isn’t it funny how we plan and plan but we can never prepare for the unexpected; the curveballs life throws at us. I was planning to visit Lagos, Nigeria in November this year, but here I am (it’s July) on an outbound flight from London Heathrow to Murtala Muhammed Airport. I’m going to bury my beloved grandmama – the last grandparent I have or should I say “had”.
On 27 June 2016, I got a call from my mum that my grandma (her mother) had passed away, aged 89. We had the same birthday and with that came a bond like no other. It’s that bond that called me home in an instant. She was to be buried in Lagos, where she lived and where her beloved husband was buried a whopping 44 years earlier. Yes my grandma lost my grandpa 4 decades ago and never remarried! She loved him so much, I recall her weeping in my living room in London on the 39th anniversary of his death – weeping, like it was fresh, like it was still raw. That kind of love there, that’s timeless. So, 44 years later, I guess she got tired of missing him.
So you have some context as to how I came about discovering Lagos. Now let’s take a look at the fishing village that I stumbled upon during my time there.
– METICULOUSLY MENDING
He’s peacefully mending his livelihood. I wonder where he gets his peace from, how do I tap into it. I sense satisfaction, stillness – focus.
Discovering Lagos: I wanted to expose myself to different stories; different insights.
I wondered about him as soon as I arrived, my interest was peaked but I allowed myself to be distracted by other things. A part of me just wanted to reach out and touch him but I couldn’t intrude. I took solace in my distraction for a while. His wife (who we passed and greeted earlier) jokingly shouts “don’t take pictures of my husband” in Yoruba; her and her friend laugh a hearty laugh. He looks up and smirks as if thinking: this woman will never change, and, like on auto-pilot, he returns to meticulously mending. Unphased.