It was just a usual Lagos morning, chaotic, horns blaring like an angry bed singing, noisy, stormy weather like it was about to rain with little drenches which left my socks with some invisible puddles and the smell of freshly baked vanilla breads nearly with oddly rhythmic mingling with exhaust from cars.
My shirt stained from the Akara oil I just had. My phone was on 12% as I was running late.
In a hopeless attempt to breathe, I dipped into a tiny cafe which I have never seen in existence before, so narrow a place squeezed between two dilapidated buildings in Ojuelegba. On the signboard it was written bodily, "Memory Lane."
Just as I walked inside this crumbling building, everything I saw were old-fashioned and vintage styles, vinyls were arranged on the green painted wall. An old man with shaky hands playing the dusty piano with only six keys functioning. And there sat a woman with exact resemblance as my grandmother, her signature head tie, with her Aso Oke Iro and buba, as she sip her coffee with style.
I remained speechless as I froze.
"Move close to me David," she said with her cool voice which is unmatched. I wanted to run but my legs walked towards her as we reconnected.
We talked and reconnected not with words, but laughter, jokes, experience and memories, the name she usually call me, her favourite meal from the kitchen, she reminded me of my worth, places we visited together and why as a child, I loved storytelling.
She asked about my girlfriend, my mum and if I am still in the act of writing. She categorically told me that we only allow heartbreak to break us if only we allow it.
As as she came quickly, I blinked and she was all gone. The almost crumbling cafe was also gone.
I was back on the noisy and chaotic street of Ojuelegba. My sock still slightly covered with mud, shoe strained and shirt smelling of stained Akara oil, but I was there smiling to myself as passer-by brushed past me as I whispered to myself, oh!...
“…what an unbelievable day.”
Thank for reading.
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