Let's Remain Strangers

…So he walks up to where she sits,

He smiles and request he sits with her,

She wonders his motives, as she eats her meal,

She is sitting on a table by the wall,

She agrees and wriggles inward towards the wall,

                He looks like a nice guy-She thinks

He wriggles in, and sits by the edge.

He asks for her name and she replies,

He makes a joke about her fingers,

She thinks the joke is funny,

She couldn’t resist,

She smiles in response to his comment,

She lets go of her guard and encourages him to speak more,

They speak for hours and explore topics of mutual interest,

Her smile was captivating,

His sense of humour was intoxicating.

Their conversation dig deep into personal issues,

She feels she is letting go,

She feels she is opening up too much,

She feels they are getting too comfortable,

She looks at his face and wonders if she would see this face forever.

Her mind goes to work …

They talk about forever and ever..is that really possible?
How would you look at me when all is said and done?
When you figure the formula behind me?
Would I need to constantly re-invent myself to get your attention?

Your eyes are blank,

Without words,
Nothing.
I am looking deep in and wondering, what could you be trying to say?
Would you appreciate my deepest needs?
Would you understand I need encouragement?

I really don’t want to get hurt,

One encounter of James is enough for a lifetime,
And this blank stare takes me back to that moment,
He told me he loved me (but I don’t remember: did he say he would stay?)
I remember our last days together,
I would desire he stared at me the way he once did, like I moved his world,
I would hope he would hold my hands in public,
Or write me love letters; you know that mushy stuff.

I remember when we strolled together in the rain,
He said something profound, justifying the walk,
About how the human body is 70% water,
About how we need to synchronize our internal waters with the rhythm of the rain,
Because that’s what makes us truly one.
“White gowns and religious houses were coined up by men. 
What unites is rhythm; Rhythm of our waters”.
Nkechi thought I was mad when I showed up at her door dripping wet and smiling,
But there is only so much words can express.

Back to the blank stare.
“There is more to this than your eyes can decipher” was his reason.
“I always had words and expressions bottled in; the problem was expressing it” he continued.
“But what about our rhythm; but James, I still feel that rhythm?”
“Water, flows darling and my water flowed away...”
He left my life, no reasons given, never to return.

I shouldn’t be thinking of this,
I bind such evil thoughts from my mind,
This guy seems different,
Maybe he is the ONE.

 “Let all conversations & interaction be superficial” was a thought.
“ (But he sounds so sweet and I want to tell him more)”.
 “Hold up girl, you have to play it safe. Lets follow the Cosmopolitan 12 step guide to falling in love”.
“(But what if the guide is wrong?)”.
“It can’t be. It was written by Cosmopolitan”.
“(So does it mean I cannot take care of myself, does it mean I require the advice of some writers miles away to know what to do?)”
“What about your experience with James?”
“(James was a one-off. Let me let this guy into my life. I can take care of myself).
“If you can take care of yourself, would you be having a conversation with yourself?”
“(hmmmmm.....)”.

          

The waiter brings the bill and puts it on the table,

Almost immediately, she asks if she could be excused,

He rises to let her out and looks at her,

She looks at him and smiles,

As she moves to the toilet, her body brushes past his and he wonders if he would feel her  this close every night, forever.

His mind goes to work...

If I give in to you, can you handle my history?
Would you stay knowing I have baggage like, memories of my ex?
I still remember how she used her index finger to trace lines across my face…
I still remember her black underwear…
I still remember how she sleepwalks to the fridge…
I still remember her eyes...
Mariam, we had secrets, and defined the world based on it.

These secrets have evolved into strongholds buried deep within me,
Shaping my world view and how I interact with all around me.
 Sometimes they show up at awkward moment;
Like when you spoke about your desire to learn music, I had a flashback:
My mind drifted to when I met her little sister who loved Mariah Carey and I did a small comparison;
“what are the similarities between you and my Mariam?
What are the differences?”

That is me. 
It will take you a lifetime to discover all that lies underneath,
to appreciate all the experiences of mine and those of my peers,
all the various permutations & synthesizing of thoughts and how they shaped my version of reality…
I am young man with a young heart who has met and loved,
Many don’t understand my motives,
As a man, it is about the experience and the thrills of the journey.

I have no desires for hurt- to hurt others or be hurt,
But my greatest clamour is for a moment in time when I would share ALL with her,
That bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh,
That one with whom I totally connect.

And I thought it would be Mariam,
I told her all and she swallowed my words,
 I shared my deepest fear,
And in moments of strife, she used my words as weapons,
Exposing me and letting all know I am weak.

Let us remain strangers…
Let us draw from what we already know and from experiences we have had in life to build our assumptions of one another,
It will save us the stress of real discovery,
A process that requires deep emotional haggle;
One that requires the personal touch, exposing habits,
In that process we might encounter our greatest fear,
I might hurt you or you might hurt me.

We could satisfy our lustful desire,
And we could even stay together for years,
We could go on to see the world together,
We could establish a connection but it would be superficial,
There would be territories we would not explore,
Our relationship would have boundaries, invisible to all our physical senses,
We would  fully open up and reveal all except that one thing that truly makes us who we are.

She strolls back to her seat and he stands up to leave.
“I had a nice evening” He says as he pays the waiter off.

‘Me too” was her response.

“We should do this another time” He says.

“Yes, we should".
“What about...tonight?”

They both smile.

Guy-Man-no-dey-come-Last finishing College, Igando, Lagos State

Do you have a good upbringing? Are you well trained & well schooled? Do you live in Lagos (or intend to live in Lagos State)?

If your answer is “Yes” to all the above questions, my response is “Really”? Reason why I asked that question is because settling into Lagos would be a major challenge for you.

But help is here!! Guy-Man-no-dey-come-Last finishing College, Igando, Lagos State is where you want to be.

Since time immemorial, living in Lagos has never been for the faint hearted. Researchers have stumbled upon documents of Lagosian using false bottoms in barrels of palm oil for sale to the white-man, as far back as the 15^th Century. Can you imagine what these people would have evolved to? The modern Lagosian is a madman!!

And that is where we come in. We assist you adjust to the Lagos scene. Be you a professional, a medical practitioner, an okada driver, a bus driver, a government official, a law enforcement agent and even a religious leader.

We have experts from all over the world trained in the act of irresponsible behaviours from some of the most unliveable cities in the world. From Harare, Dhaka, and even Baghdad, seasoned specialists are available to provide you with case studies and 1^st hand examples of tactics you can adopt to ensure your adjustment to living in Lagos is seamless.  

Our facilities are well equipped with state of the art gadgets capable of providing simulation of life in Lagos. After four to sixteen weeks of extensive training, you will learn how to:

1. Deal with police officer;
2. Earn a living doing nothing;
3. Show off an attitude that can piss your customers off;
4. Jump queues;
5. How to fart in public (without making a sound);
6. The best way to shakara (special courses on telling them “do know who I am”);
7. Brag (even when there is nothing to brag about);
8. Silence you conscience and do what benefits you (and only you).

We also conduct specialized training for professionals to include:

1. Effectively collect bribe (for law enforcement agents: we teach all the secrets things they don’t teach you in training school. Like how to collect eguje and make the “accused” think you are doing your job);
2.  Inflate prices (and use strange accents to backup the reasons for the exorbitant prices);
3. Bad time keeping (for artisans, we go further in perfecting the art cheating your clients well with fake parts and substandard goods);
4. Public transportation- the art of being an okada man, conductor and a danfo driver- [Due to the sensitivity of this sector, we also have voice coaching centres for the conductors and reckless driving techniques (for okada men and bus drivers)];
5. Health is wealth, indeed (Providing health with no compassion).

And a many more other trainings bound to make you perfectly Anyhow, thereby fit for Lagos.

Here is a comment from one of our satisfied customers:

“Hello all, My name is Peter Busayo-McPhillips. I am 39 years old. My secondary education was at Atlantic Hall, Lagos State, A-levels in Eton College, after which I attended the prestigious St Andrews University, United Kingdom and completed a Bachelor of Arts degree in the Classic. I come from a family of distinguished lawyers & professors.

After twenty years living in the United Kingdom and  France, I had to move back to Nigeria to join my sibling control the family's business (we mange a chain of hotel in 
Lagos, Port Harcourt & Abuja). 
It was tough integrating into the chaotic Nigerian system. People took advantage of my good behaviour and ethics. Not until I came to the Guy- man- no- dey- come- Last Finishing College Lagos.

Now I know how to shout “your father” in traffic.
I once bashed a danfo driver, gave him a slap and even screamed “do you know who I am” (when I was the one at fault). 
I now know how to stylishly switch on my hazard lights  & join the convoy of siren vehicles (to beat the traffic) . 
And even though I am married, I still provide Aristo services to two girls currently in the University.

Whilst living the United Kingdom, my dream was to change Nigeria. I hoped for the day Nigeria would rise to its rightful position as the Giant of Africa. That is no longer the case. All the money I make, is going towards the house I am building in Bishop’s Avenue- London. I support all the politicians (even when I am sure they don’t have a clue what they are doing) as long as they give me deals. I owe my employees six month wages. But who cares; it is all about the money for me!

Thank you Guy-man-no-dey- come-Last Finishing College Lagos; for saving my life”.

So there you have it.

Next time you meet a friends based abroad intending on relocating,  anytime you visit those butter children who attend those private (sort of boarding school) Universities who just got a job on the Island and wants your advice, when you encounter someone who wants to move to Lagos from other states within Nigeria, but hasn’t got a clue of how messed up this city is, spread the word:

“With Guy-man-no-dey-come-Last Finishing College, YOU CAN’T COME LAST IN LAGOS”.

Guy-man-no-dey-come-Last Finish College -Eko oni baje o!

Encounter with an Okada Rider

LOOKING FOR AN OKADA

“Okada...!! Kofo?”
“ Oga na N200”.

“From here to Kofo ke? Bro!! Na N100 I go pay”

“Oga , no way. Na N150 last. Dem dey catch okada for Ozumba. Na Adeola Odeku I go pass”

“I beg take N100”

Okada drives off, slowly…

“Oya wait.  I beg drive soffery”

“No wahala” was the response followed by the strong smell of palm-wine in his breath.

ON THE OKADA
Me to myself: “I had no choice; I couldn’t continue waiting at this time of the night for another bus. That naked mad man holding his winky sitting over there didn’t look extra friendly. He might decide he wants to touch my clothes”

Okada man to himself “oh boy, after I drop this man, I go buy palmwine from Nwanchukwu …..”

 Me to myself: “which sort of okada is this? There is almost no where for me to put my leg on. God I hope to I get there in one piece”

Okada man to himself “Dat Nwachukwu sef. Him papa. Why that guy no want give person jara. Na from that girl I go buy from next. Precious. The problem be say Precious own no de catch person sef. But e be like say she like prick. Okon give am sef…”

  Me to myself: “There is no substitute for this madness. See how he rides, doesn’t this guy understand brakes. Gosh man! I hope this guy doesn’t get to hit anything. This is preposterous. God I hate my boss. Always putting me under unnecessary pressure. This country is too hectic. Next time, late or no late, I will use my car”

Okada man to himself “Oh boy that girl must sabi do. See her yansh. That one shacks go finish man. I fit give am belle sef” He smiled to himself.

“Bros, se you hold change”

“Oga how much?”

“Na N1000”

“Oga I no get change oh!”

Okada man to himself “E good say I don hide all my change. All these aje butter boys. Im no go wan drag change with me. That N1,000. I fit get room for Gordon side, Precious, your orobo go precious today…”

Me to myself: “No way I am giving this drunkard more than the N150 we agreed for. Does he know how  hard I worked to get this money? This country is filled with quacks, who all they know how to do is ask and ask and ask”

“WE NEED CHANGE OH”

“Okada, park for there, under that tree”

“Oga, my money”

“Na only N1,000, I get, I no get change oh”

“Oga, you go forget the change oh! I dey run, you wan spoil my business. Abi, you wan give me the money make I go find change?”

“No way. You sabi person for here?  Na my area be this. Make I ask person for change”

“Bro" I say to the security man  "I beg you get change? I suppose pay this okada man N150 and na N1000 I get”

Security man to himself: “Idiot. Na when im need person, he go remember. Since I join this office e never give me nothing. He go dem waka dey go like say na im papa work. God go punish am. Make I give am N650. E fit kuruma forget balance, give me”

“Na only N650 I get, sir. You go take?”

 “Na! Ma worry mo so gbo?. Thank you”

Me to myself: “Obviously an undercutting ploy. Boy I can smell you from a mile. I see the way you look at me from a distance, giving me your “I_go_ school_ too” look and try to speak good English, and at the same time messing up your  tenses. Oga. Sorry, you_ just_ can’t_chop_me, sir. Not today”.

“Samuel" I say to the hawker who sells DVD just outside my office " I beg, you get change for N1,000?”

“Chai, I no get oh. I just give person all my small small change”.

DVD man to himself “this boy wey no too dey buy DVD. Na only 3 DVD he don buy out of which he return one say e no clear. All these people sef. Chai. Dem no wan lose N1”.

“Oga, please give me money make I dey go now” groans the okada man.

THE END OF OUR RELATIONSHIP

“Mallam, sanu. I beg, you get change?”.

“Yes, I get”.

Mallam to himself: “When this man go buy this im instant coffee? Na im dey buy pass before? Before na nice guy. E no dey complain about the N5 I dey put on top.”

Mallam gives me the change.

“Thank you”

“E don tey when you come greet your boy. I get am for coffee, plenty plenty”

“Na the diet wey I dey on. My doctor talk say make I no dey drink too much coffee”

Me to myself: “Rip off sucker. This thing goes for N25 in other places. I can get it for N20 if I buy in bulk.  See your hungry head, selling it for N30”

“That one good ooo! Make you greet madam for me”

Mallam to himself: “which kind diet, with this kind big belle.Bros,  I see when you dey buy digestive everyday from Goodies”

“Oga I wan dey go, I beg my money oh!”

I hand over the N150 to the okada rider. Put it in his pocket and rode away, bringing an end to our brief encounter/relationship.

What was good about #Occupy_Nigeria

It appears to all that the #OccupyNigeria was a failure. But I dont think so. 
What sticks to memory was how Nigerians at the last minute were boxed into a corner by people incapable of representing them; people who constantly swayed the rule of law to directions that best suited them.

But I don’t think we failed. I think Jan 2012 gave us the opportunity to see that underneath it all, we are one Nigeria. For years, we had been divided along our ethnic and cultural line. And by our division we were held hostage by our leaders who continually fuelled it, to benefit from the chaos; which they have.

In all honesty, I am not yet hopeful in the power of our electorate to deliver the candidate we desire in 2015; NO. We still have a long way to go.

But what I am confident about is the birth of a new Nigerian who will not sell his birthright for a morsel of meat. A breed of men and women who (for the first time in our history) are breaking the shackles and bondages put in place by culture and religion; a new breed of Nigerians who boldly question the status quo in a quest to understand their reality.

We might not see a free Nigeria in our lifetime. But as we dare, we steer up the consciousness of our oppressors to feel that we matter and create the opportunity for change, even if it is by the hands of our children.

One day, it might be next week, it might be in ten years’ time, a time like this time will come when Nigeria will be ready for freedom.
#it_is_men_that_dare_to_question_that_change_the_world.

Call to all writers...

The African renaissance will be the product of writers. It will be our thoughts that will shape the revolution we seek. 

The labourious process of documenting every aspects of our daily lives will provide us the opportunity to put our reality in perspective and empower our readers to make decisions that would change the destiny of our continents.

The future we write for might not emerge in our lifetime; it might take centuries for the communal mindset to evolve to a position when it can begin to harness the thought birth today. But one thing is certain; it is out there. The arsernal is available for our offsprings to harness and change their reality.

A call to all writers: write. People might mock you, saying you are writing trash. But take heart with this knowledge; The power to change this land is in your hands.
#waiting_for_when_our_words_become_d_ammunition.

To commence a new year..

I don't think wishing anyone stuck in the Nigerian grind a "Happy New Year" would mean anything more than cliche phrase that sounds right to say at the beginning of the year. Our leaders didn't intend for it to start out happy and I fear this will probably be the toughest year in Nigerian's history. 

There is lot to be concerned about; when the take-home salary can't take most home; when the leade

r lacks the right charisma and makes questionable decisions; when the leader impose austere measure while they live in plenty, you know something is not quite right.
I think the best wish anyone can give/or be given this year is a closer walk with thy creator (who ever you assume He is).
And to take pleasure in Tai Solarin's famous quote "May your days be rough"... because by it, we might attain enlightenment.

So as we savour our twilight moments between 2011 & 2012, I wish you a richer walk with your creator.

Awa Naa (je eniyan) [We Too (Are somebody)]…

Madam Risi buka (“mama” as she is fondly called) is in a corner on Adio Street, just around New garage, an area in Bariga. The Buka is located at a short distance from the local government council, right opposite Prince Akinlaja Newspaper stand. Her shop is known to open Mondays to Saturdays from 4:30am to 12:00am and Sundays from 2 pm to 10pm. 

She has a strict routine which all her 12 employees have to live by. The day starts with a 30 minutes devotion during which they all have to recite Psalm 23, sing praises, and give testimonies. After the devotion, the shop opens for business with Rashidat frying the fish, akara and dodo just outside the door of the buka to entice its customers.

Mama’s buka is one of the most popular buka around the Bariga axis. Located in an uncompleted building, many are surprised at how the buka stands the envy of all the restaurant owners around, even Bimpe’s “Brotherly food” that is opposite the Apostolic Church at Jagunmolu Street. Bimpe’s husband, who works for Skye Bank, invested a lot to make her restaurant amazing and giving it all the perks of a modern buka. It felt new, and always had that smell of lavender. The sitting area, furnished with white plastic chairs can also boast of  three standing fans and table mats. All her employees wore blue and white uniforms. Bimpe’s shop was usually full during the church’s convention. It is only during that period that her restaurant has considerable traffic. For the rest of the year, the restaurant was empty and usually stayed the attraction of only Bariga’s “high-end” earners: drivers who work in one of the Oil Companies on the Island/white men, church owners and the children of big landlords. The common earners would troop into the simpler structure and enjoy the company of mama. 

Mama’s buka has two sections both with un-cemented floor. The main section, which covers over three quarters of the floor space, is sparsely furnished with six wooden benches and tables for customers. On each table was a plastic white bowl and blue stripped kettles for washing hands. The other section partitioned by a small wall with a narrow entrance was the make shift kitchen. As plumbing had not started the kitchen traffic (to include receiving water from the hawker’s wheel-barrows or disposal of waste) was done through the extremely odd looking 62 x 72 inches window overlooking the back of the house. Right next to this section, you will find the exit and a seat for the makeshift cashier. Next to the main entrance you see a small seat and wooden box (which doubles as a both table and cash box) for the cashier.

Mama is one woman who has aged so well. You can tell the obvious signs of beauty in her face, but her eyes tell stories of one who has done a lot of pondering. 
She has had to ponder on burning the candle at both ends to send Risi to Primary and Secondary School up to Osun State polytechnic, where Risi is to study Marketing;
Her thoughts are sometimes lost wondering which action to take against Risi’s irresponsible uncle Remi, who always seem to come up with some of the most outrageous money making scheme to get money out of her;
Sometimes she cannot help but worry about conniving employees, witty artisans and crafty sellers who seem to strive more to outsmart her rather than do the job they were employed to do;
 But most of the time, her thoughts are in her native home, her place of birth, where she spent the first 25 years of her life.

Never the less, she is a still a beautiful woman. Her hair is thick and in signature cornrows, usually wrapped in Ankara scarf. Her buba sits well, but the bottom of her iro is never proportionate in length due to mama’s old fashioned method of storing money. Her money is always stored within the bulge formed by the layers of her iro around the waist. For her fiftieth birthday, Risi bought mama a waist pouch. “Mama, you so gats to upgrade” she says in her “American” (thanks to DSTV) accent. Mama’s response to her was “omo mi, aso yi lo ran e lo si ile-iwe, bosi wu mi maa fi se iyawo fun e" (“My child, this cloth that sent you to secondary school, and if it pleases me I will celebrate your wedding in it”).

After the rush from 5:30am to 7:00am, mama leaves the buka, under the care of either one of her most senior employee, Famous or Bose and then off she goes to the market. She makes every effort to get back before 12:00pm and return to her post as the cashier. In the buka, it is around this time the day ripens; then the commuters arrive from the east trying to avoid the chaos of Oshodi,  and the people who work in the Bariga axis, the drivers, bricklayers, and the bus drivers all have one place destination; “Awa Naa” [which translates to mean “We too”].

Who named the buka “Awa Naa”? 

As the story goes, the name to her buka “Awa Naa” was a result of a move by the spirit during its dedication. It was held according to her Christian religious rites. These rites dictate that a pastor blesses anything you have, names it (based on the name you decide to give) and dedicates it to God. After which there is a small celebration with feasting. But the story of the name “Awa Naa” actually started before the dedication; it started when mama (whose real name is Toke Ajisafe) came to Lagos State. 

Toke is lady from Aba Adi, a small town not too far from Osogbo in Osun State. She was the daughter of Late Chief Akin Ajisafe. He like his father was a cocoa farmer, who, due to longstanding deals with the chocolate making companies like Cadbury, had made a lot of money which he used to purchase his chieftaincy title, married three wives and had sixteen children. 

Everyone thought she was a princess due to her naturally sweet smile, the complicated plaits on her hair, and the red beads she always wore. During the annual Osun-Osogbo festival along the River Osun, she always does the “mystical dance of the sacred forest”. It was during one of the festival celebration that she met Risi’s father (who she never married) while he was still a driver for some multinational company. He brought some oyinbo men for the festival.

Daleko Orisa, (Risi”s father) is an Ibadan man who told her all about Lagos. He spoke about the wide roads, the big buildings and the fashion style. As he had lived in Osogbo before, he frequently brought tourists from Lagos interested in visiting the attractions around their region. This brought him to their town frequently. Toke lost herself to this mysterious and charismatic man who spoke with the air of one that has seen the world. 

She got pregnant with Risi when she was 25 years old. It was upon receiving the news from her mother that her father vowed to publicly disown her as his daughter, a statement that led her to flee and run to Lagos. That was the last time she ever saw her father alive; she was present at his funeral.

She moved in with Daleko to his “face-me-I-face-you” apartment in Ebute-Metta. A year after the birth of Risi, the joint income they earned was able to afford them a self-contained apartment in Bariga where she lives till date.

For a long time after moving to Lagos, Toke could not get a job or a decent means of livelihood as she had no significant formal education or vocational skill. So she sold akara and fried yam. Daleko was out of town most of the time, leaving just enough money for her to cater for herself and the growing needs of Risi. She used some of the money he gave her to purchase a bigger “agbada” frying pan, spoon, and a big jerry can of vegetable oil. Because of her good nature, the mallams that hawked on her street became her friend. She used this friendship to purchase yam on credit. As business grew, she started visiting the market to buy beans and cooking condiment. With the money they made, she and Daleko were able to maintain a pretty simple home for themselves.

But alas, disaster struck. Daleko, became a tanker driver for an Independent petroleum marketer. He lost his life in a tanker fire incident along the Benin-Ore express way. Risi was only 3 years old. With the N500,000 received as compensation for the loss of her husband along with support from her few friends, she started a small poultry on the single plot of land in Bariga that belonged to Daleko, which was a stone throw from where she lived. The poultry expanded, but her efforts towards expansion reduced when Risi resumed secondary school. She decided to close shop shortly after a major incident in Risi’s final year. An outbreak of “lorun-lorun” (head twisting) disease killed almost all the chickens. Mama, worn down by the stress of managing the poultry and supporting her daughter in secondary school counted her losses and sold off what was left of the poultry. She added to the proceeds, her fifteen years saving ‘ajo’ money, and chose to invest in what she loves doing best, cooking.

The buka started as a simple shed made out of what used to be the poultry. It had mama doing all the main cooking, assisted by two workers. Mama’s “jara” (extra) and liveliness made her the talk of Bariga bus stop. Not long afterwards, the shed became too small for the boom forcing her to create the structure she has today. She still dreams of the day when her buka will compete with the Mr Biggs Village Kitchen in Bariga and the class of Mama Cass.

The small ceremony held on the ground of the buka hosted her church pastor, some of her friends and about a handful of customers. Mama had never been good with English. Risi had spent the day coaching mama on her speech and an agreed name for the buka “Manna of life”.

The dedication ceremony for the buka began with the pastor giving a short sermon to extol the virtues of mama. He later called on mama to give a short speech and the name of the Buka for him to bless. 
Mama upon hearing the speech was filled with flash-backs and thoughts raced through her mind “Se emi naa ni? Emi ni Oluwa ranti ? Oluwa e ma se o” (“Is this me? Is it me that God remembered? God thank you.”)
As these thoughts filled her mind, she was lost for words and became tearful and overwhelmed with emotion. What rolled out of a tearful Toke’s lips was the Yoruba song “♪Awa naa re Oluwa , Awa naa re Oluwa..a wa dupe ore atodun modun….♫”. 
She hummed the song on and on, crying all through, with her daughter holding her. The pastor, who had seen Toke through all her struggles, was visibly touched and so was the crowd.

The atmosphere became laden with mixed emotions. It was as if her words spoke of them, all strangers in a harsh Lagos, lacking the right social structure and struggling to make ends meet;
They were all present in that gathering; bus conductors, okada-riders, bricklayers, shoe-shiners and traffic hawkers;
These are people who the formal economy barely remembers, so they turn to the comforting arms of religion for solace;
These are people so pushed by families, hopes and expectation of a better tomorrow. The song couldn’t say it better….“WE TOO…. are somebody”

That was how mama’s buka got the name “Awa Naa”.