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An Extra Note On The Naira Note.
After Chiamaka Nwangwu. I wish I could capture the heart of Oshodi market, of the sweat & creased brows bore by hundreds of heads waiting for mint currency. The flustered security men, worn out from condoning the legs that have so long stood on their grounds. I wish I could capture the worried look of the father returning home through the blackout of Ayo-ola street, thoughts on the six large mouths that'll greet him in disappointment; no big black nylon to snatch from daddy tonight no balls of akara to munch. I wish I could capture the tied face of the Nigerian single-mother as she unties the hem of her wrapper, how would she explain it; 'children, there'll be no supper tonight'? I wish I could capture the frustrated look on the lonely bachelor, the boiled anger & cooked frustration that fills his stomach as he leaves the ATM, resigning to another long night of eating in the dream. I wish I could capture the amber-coloured face of the youth corper, scurrying the road, on wet khaki & drenched t-shirt; debit card in hand & determination on his face, desperate for 2k that'll last him for the weekend. I wish I could access the four walls of Access bank, of the angry faces ready to pull down the edifice into shreds. The stripped woman screaming fire & curses, breasts dangling like loosed pendants, minds made up to do the undoable. I wish I could capture the hungry face of a roommate sitting at the corner, trying to reconcile his food timetable with his country. heart, lost in his tomorrow— monday: free period / tuesday: 2 oranges / wednesday: garri & beans... I wish I could capture the livid expressions of students retiring to the hostels amidst the dim-lighted campus routes, the bitterness in their hearts & uncertainty of a new day Thoughts about POS attendants, the big gods who now rule the world.