What a Night!
Many things happen in the marketplace. It is here flotsams make their home. It is here the homeless make rest. It is also here that foreigners speak Yoruba and Pidgin on video. When you see homeless citizens eating cheerful in the night’s cover. You see why not everybody can gather the paper of this world and turn rich.
The marketplace is scattered with dirt left over from the day. During the day, it is where mad people breathe and talk. That is why many times the madness of this world is not found in dead places.
I am just coming interstate, people always coming and going. I am seating in a bus, and even the electrical from here fills my nostrils.
There is a night buzz in the marketplace, and in the not empty market stalls, simpering sounds call home, but soon it will be dead silent, the day is coming.
Too many things happen in the marketplace, the one at Oshodi is no different. There are homes there and different colours also. Many people are suffering, homeless in this country while the mother government leads us up the garden path, wants us to backslap them.