Abuja, 2023

nontransparentthings 016

abuja, 2023

Now, as I recall, I arrived at Jabi on this day, 7th July 2023, in a commercial keke. I had been at a few places and this was my last stop for the day, as a friend, Soonest Nathaniel, asked to see me — it had been a long time — before I left the city again, since I was only visiting. He, too, was planning to leave the country in a few days, for a writers fellowship in the US. The thought of having to be away from home for a few months may have informed this request to meet up with me for a hangout; to see one last familiar face. Since he lived in Jabi, but however was still at work and we could only see later in the day, I decided to head to the Jabi Lake Mall.

When it begins to rain while you’re in a taxi, you expect the weather to respect you at your stop. This didn’t happen. And by the time I arrived, it was pelting liquid manna. I was wearing a white T-shirt under a black velvet jacket and matching trousers. There was nowhere to hide from the rain as I left the keke. I ran up the paved passage that led to Silverbird cinema and stood with others so close to its walls, to be sheltered anyhow. But we were all getting drenched.

On the cemented floor, the water crashed and splashed, gathered into quick pools and flowed away.

Behind me, I gazed, once or twice, never really studying the posters of movies and animation characters on the tall glass doors of the cinema. And gradually, as the rain could not possibly hold us hostage forever, there was a break in its assault. It was approaching evening; the sun permanently returned behind the still cloudy, post-rain sky. Drizzling still, and I already wet, I began to find my way to a spot where I could wait for Nathaniel. I expect I’d have a good picturesque memory of that day, especially as I made my way around and through the mall’s complex, but I do not. And this, I believe, is simply because of the sheer gargantuan capitalist fright I was thrown into as I walked through the belly of the mall, the huge pillars rising up to 30 metres high, and the shops and their see-through glasses and their brand names in calligraphy and logos, and light (so much light) illuminating the assortment of life itself in them.

Behind the mall was the Jabi lake, and running along its waterfront are a number of mostly bars and relaxation spots. I could have chosen to sit anywhere as I browsed one shop, then the next, until I walked into this bar where I took this photograph. The surface of the lake was covered in algae, and the water didn’t look very attractive to me as I had hoped. No wonder I hadn’t read a single poem about it by Abuja poets. Maybe it inspired nothing, or it was just an expensive side of the city they do not often visit.

I bought a Guinness for an inflated price, of course. And then I opened Telegram and started chatting or doing other phone stuff.

About an hour later, Nathaniel messaged. I told him where I was and he came by. From talking briefly, we knew we’d leave the place to explore where beer wasn’t served with too much niceness, where one could order for a beer as you overhear a stranger talking to another stranger about life, or the city, sweet stories you could never pay for. So we hopped into a keke and rode around for some minutes and found the bar section of a hotel. There was an open mic live music performance with a standby keyboardist. We found seats and settled into the moneyed and beer ambience.

Some artists performed their original scores; others freestyled or sang covers. A guy did a cappella of Fela’s “Confusion Break Bone,” whose recording I still have; such a gift: “With this confusion wey e dey / Police dey inside well, army dey inside well / Who go come solve this confusion?” How present. A different singer with veteran airs asks the keyboardist for particular keys as he sings, switching them song after song, so arrestingly, singing old Igbo highlife tunes which heightened a joie de vivre in the air. I had two more Guinness with grilled catfish. A fine night. And to make it more beautiful, another singer did a cover of Sunny Neji’s “Tolotolo.” We all sang along, where I made a short video, my eyes glinting with inebriation.++

Read the last entry of the #nontransparentthings photography writing series here. For an introduction to the series, read it here. Since Fela comes up in this short nonfiction above, I think it is only right that I recommend something about him: here is a wonderful interview of the Afrobeat legend by Keziah Jones in 1996.