Queue

This is for every Nigerian I have stood on a mad long queue with -- in a stuffy airless banking hall, for BVN registration;  under the sun, for some sort of verification or the other; outside a faulty ATM on a humid day.

I know well the grumbling, the shouting, the mosaic of body odour, the insults flying overhead, because we had all been standing for hours and the staff attending to us were acting as though we were doing them a favour; and people kept jumping the queue, like the rest of us standing there had nowhere else to be.

I know well the jokes, the dabbling into politics and philosophy in discussions pertaining to which way Nigeria is going, why our leaders are directionless, why the stealing and looting, why things just don't work.

I remember standing there, feeling lost in all that noise, feeling safe; knowing that I belong here, that I always will, albeit our mayhem, albeit the mess that we have made of ourselves -- this is home.