The Blind Man Who Awaited My Arrival in His Nigerian Village
Connecting with my dad and meeting “strangers” who knew all about me.
After spending a few days in the bustling city of Lagos, I was ready to leave. Not leave Nigeria, but rather visit a more “tranquil” part of the country. Lagos felt like a video game on veteran-level difficulty. So much going on at once.
Cars and cabs flying inches from your toes. Resilient vendors selling everything from fake Gucci slippers to dried peppers, kissing their teeth to grab your attention. Men dressed in traditional wear try to convince you they have the best exchange rate for Naira cash around. Damaged roads with human-sized potholes and open sewers covered by thin slats of wood you have to jump over like you’re Crash Bandicoot.
A medley of smells. Fried food, spices, and garbage from a pile-up nearby, with a strong undertone of gas. Extreme heat during constant rainy days. You couldn’t distinguish between sweat or rain on your skin.
