Harmattan came this morning to Ibadan. Cold windy body whitening harmattan.
It reminded me of the fear of tanning this time of the year, of people with supernatural powers to walk through the dust and emerge looking like snow, of hiding in boxrooms because looking for water was never a less appealing idea, of cardigans that were shunned other times of the year but suddenly became our body buddies, of the sudden love for vaseline and lip balm because that was the only way to get through the days without looking like a child upon whom was doused calamine lotion, of sleeping off and forgetting prep, then scaling when soldiers came hunting…
Damn! I am grateful for the memories we share. I am even grateful for the jerks of that year. Somehow, we made ourselves strong.
You can blame all this on two different chats of yesterday from people asking questions or just wanting to talk about days in the ‘jungle’. You can also blame it on the dream I had about when I had thought getting out of the jungle was ‘the dream’.
I’m sorry if most of this reads Spanish to you, it’s a love letter coded in a language learnt over 6 years… and that was over a decade ago.
*Goes to the kitchen to get palm oil; because the economy is broke, and everyone knows no one actually stops to ask why your body is shiny*
Have a great Harmattan, people!