The saxophones of danfo buses blow the golden hour.
Oil lamp spirits, those carbonaceous traders in the heaven inches above,
stop the muck’s advance into the moon, or dwindling sun. The sweat of their effort
mists the scene below: holy mongers split fish for five thousand
dinners; Whot decks of commerce shuffle the stray child or satchel loose.
Hawkers chainlink the down-paid satchet economy:
some toothpaste and ice water, some milk and cocoa powder, some tomato paste,
some oil to fry sugar and rice―cup rations in a broth simmering for upheaval
beyond the pan edge. Let it burn. And let the morning audit the cinders.
© Tolu Oloruntoba
Notes
An old draft that I feel I have finally completed. It is based on an early-2000s memory of Sango night market in Ibadan. This video on YouTube (from about 3 years ago) is the only one I was able to find that shows some of the market at night. It unfortunately does not show the trading spots abutting the road, the palm oil glow of lanterns, lamps, and brake lights, the reflections off rain-slick stalls, and swimming through human traffic so thick that your muddy feet sometimes did not touch the ground. I didn’t expect to feel so nostalgic watching videos of Ibadan, but I guess 9 years away can feel heavy sometimes.
Powerful imageries. Of commerce, urban survival, the simmering broth of impending revolution, of the place where the sacred and profane meet, the hope of a new morning, etc.