It was not a moment of reminiscences or retrospection. Not even a recall. Just a normal telephone call. Two women were chatting away, with the one sitting not far away from me not really mindful whether anybody heard or not. It was her business; not another man’s business.
But you know, people can really make calls, shouting into the phone as if they are addressing a community. It is our way, speak at the top of our voices and put up a rodomontade performance as a deflection of the pain and weakness we feel inside or some kind of mask against the exhausting circumstances circumscribing our lives.
This very day, this woman seems to be on a cruise discussing life with her friend. Not about the war in Iran or the price of petrol or the concomitant spiral of the price of stable food, but just about life. Are you hearing from the children, the other voice seems to be asking?
Then, the answer. Ah, Obasanjo. He will never see lack in his life. He has made life easy for us and we can communicate with anybody anywhere in the world.
