There are days when I remind myself that calmness is the way.
There are days I remind myself that poetry is my language, and that I can never, even if I try, escape solitude.
Living outside of home in the busy city of Lagos and hitching bus rides from the mainland to the island daily has left little to imagine, literary-wise.
I haven’t been motivated to document, I haven’t been inclined to create.
But I did travel home for a short while, and I enjoyed the familiarity of my family’s language, the shared laughter, the exquisite family altar.
Reading good poetry and writing in the space of my travel home, I was conscious of the fact that I’m slowly finding my way back to the heart of literature.
My love for law is unquestionable, but you can well question my love for a hectic and pensive life.
While I’ll love to practice, I would also love to dictate my hours. To study my bible, comparing translations with translations and journalling my findings. In the midst of which I’ll like to roll on the ground in worship. And no, Saturdays only won’t cut it.
While I’ll love to exercise my legal skills and contribute to the world of finance, I can tell you without a fee that I’ll like to read Wole Soyinka and Tiwalade and follow Rudy Francisco again. I’ll love to hold the pages of a book with a child and read to them, unrushed. I’ll love to imagine, and to create.
Law, literature. Where do you intersect? Where do you come alive?
But erhm…the part of that intense literature appears to suit the year 2020 better, or what do fellow students of the Nigerian law school say?
What do you think?
Love from this end,