What goes through your mind as you take in the streets of the motherland from the back of a stuffy cab?
What thoughts haunt your mind as you journey to the white sand beaches of your ancestral home?
Do you remember that this land was the cradle of creation, the Garden from which all cultures and civilizations of man burst forth into bloom?
Do you see Adam’s tiny descendants, naked and shameless just as before the Fall, as they chase each other up and down the dusty sidewalk?
Does their water run like they do?
Can you see the merchants lining the streets on both sides?
Can you hear them stamp and shout as they peddle their wares?
Is it possible not to feel the electricity radiating from the vibrant people of this city?
Is it ironic that they spend half the day without it?
When will their government, equal parts corruption and incompetence, finally bring them the stability they deserve?
When will your cab finally reach the coast?
How many children just a few years younger than you do you pass on the way, watching them beg for a few hundred Naira?
What is the price of a loaf of bread in Lagos?
Does it cross your mind that their circumstances could so easily have been your own?
Or does your daydream of snapping pictures on the beach consign you to a blissful oblivion, an ocean away from the problems of your people?