I met him on Christmas day. One of those cold Harmattan days that has a certain sting and pleasantness about it. The kind of day that makes you believe that everything can be right with the world. The kind of weather that Femi Kuti sang about in his song, and one that also makes you wish you were doing what he sang about in the song, though not exactly in the way he prescribed.
It was another Christmas spent in the city. The city almost always becomes a ghost town during this period. It happens almost dramatically; first, there is a lot of frenetic and frantic activity, and then you go to sleep and wake up, and it’s like, “Where did everybody go?” You could do a drag race on the streets if you wanted to. The point of all this is that spending Christmas in the city is a boring affair. And in the days before social media became more widespread, it could be a real struggle just trying to get through the day without screaming out in frustration.
Christmas had become routine for me, the meal with all the trimmings, the cake, drinks, time with family… Yeah, so what else is new? I wanted more. Femi Kuti sort of knew what. Excitement! So I got up and left the house just to walk around in the street. Anything but spending another minute feeling like I was being consumed by a deep, dark void hovering above my head.
So there I was, walking on the road, and all of a sudden this guy on a motorcycle stopped by me and said, “Hi, how are you?” Continue reading