The Lagos I grew up in sang with a different rhythm. Not the constant, honking chorus of traffic we have today, but the gentle lapping of the lagoon against the sand, a melody that whispered stories of fishermen and traders.
Our backyard faced the water, and I knew every shade of its blue, from the deep sapphire of the clear morning to the shimmering gold at sunset. I was Ejaluku, and the lagoon was my silent companion, as the "fish of the gods."
