We called it Gwags

Youthful arms entwined in the beginnings of love stories, pristine off-campus housing–mansions in comparison to the bare russet bungalows of the town’s original inhabitants. The prevailing scent of suya, kosh and dosh sellers competing for attention … Ice-cream parlours next to business centre’s next to Mai shayi stalls, with backyards of stretched un-tarred paths; best friends to lonely dogs. Government primary schools with hopeful children, congestion, tempers flaring, automobiles racing the sun … laughter, youth, laughter, age. Then those two lanky horses, of one rich Mallam, majestic with grief, unashamed of their peeking rib bones. Scorching noon’s; preludes to damp evenings, Oh lord, Generators…


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