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This space is where my thoughts land when they’ve run out of places to hide. It’s part diary, part soapbox, part sanctuary. Expect reflections that challenge norms, stories stitched with memory, and questions without tidy answers. I’m not here to go viral. I’m here to go deep. If you’ve ever felt too curious, too intense, too “much” welcome. You’re in the right corner.

Rain in Lagos

I hear splatters of rain in Lagos.
I hear the unrhythmic splash of cherubs’ tears
sizzling on rooftops
and filling potholes in Iyana Ipaja.

Rain in Lagos.
The hours stay wet and cold with misty air.
The torrent sweeps the Marina walkway clean,
floods the Ebute Meta walkway,
and invades gated houses in Lekki.

Rain in Lagos.
Commuters scamper for shade.
Bus conductors hike fares.
Third Mainland Bridge is gridlocked.
Cars crawl toward their destinations.

Rain in Lagos.
The salt seller hides her bucket.
The sleepy sugar seller counts her losses.
Come rain, come shine,
Lagos lives.
Business moves.

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