Part II · InfiniteFuji music, Afrobeat and Afropop blare through carnival sized speakers. New Years Eve approches in the tangled market on Lagos Island. The drum of a thousand generators drift deep dark diesel fumes through the dry heat. Okadas weave and kekes contest for the narrowest tracks of road. Mobile tailors clap their scissors for work. Bundles carried on the heads of young and old, an underrated skill. A mu’adhin calls adhan from the mosque’s minaret. Men line for their daily prayers.
Sweat beads drain through the channels of the distinctive tribal scars. Red skinned bleached faces stare through pale green eyes, another scar of sorts. Faces from all areas of the young Nation reside within the confines of the market's sprawling streets. A testament to the ethnic tapestry that is this city, a testament to the cultural mosaic that is this nation. The noise, the commotion, the shouting, the bartering. The market continues infinitely.
With a glancing look and a confident stride she meandered effortlessly through the crowds like leaves in the wind. Neck poised and head steady she carried not just food but the weight of responsibility on her young head. She's already great and if given the opportunity, her future self could take on anything. If!