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Until recently I’d not been a great fan of national football although living a stone throw away from the national stadium, unlike now seizing the opportunity to watch England play against other nations. But I can reminisce my first England match against my estranged nation of origin. That game was spectacular to prepare me for a future trip. From that U.K match experience, I knew what to expect to watch the game in Lagos, not a deja-vous experience, however, I had never expected such a turnout. It appeared as if all the houses had emptied into the street. Millions of people the youth, middle-aged, elderly and people with disabilities lined the streets and roads of Lagos; it was national support at its best. Growing up in Wembley, I had never witnessed this level of love from English fans for their national team. They filled the road with streams of cars, yellow overloaded buses and little bodies squeezed through the congested traffic as they sold bananas, cut oranges, and water to anyone who had their window open. The pavements were heaving with bodies back to back with some being carried shoulder-high; they waited, sang, danced and celebrated before the match began. It was an atmosphere of a Caribbean carnival without the floats or any screen for spectators to watch, yet people waited happily. As we disembarked the bus, there was a great jostle, the guide and security held back the surge of the crowd. The people closed in and hovered around in hope as if the crew of whites was missionaries ready to re-save Africa and empty their wallets. Some men swarmed in on us, they were mostly touting. Two of them were more persistent and broke through the security cordon. One of them, who from his faded kaftan and the colourful embroidery kufi cap, I could tell was from the north, shoved his tray of paraphernalia in my ribs and flashed orange stained teeth smile at me. “Madam, see fine things o, any colour sha,” he waved a batch of folded white handkerchiefs in my face. I shook my head and as we huddled together and escorted away, still insistent on any sale he then called after me saying that he could change Naira at a good rate. “Abeg, I give you good price na!” In a short while, we were in the stadium. The elite of Nigeria could easily afford their tickets, whilst most of the nation’s population apparently still struggled to survive on less than a dollar a day. No matter how deep they worshipped football, they gave their support by cheering on the streets instead as they couldn’t afford to spend their hustled earnings on a privy match. Inside the stadium, the young ladies sported designer clothes, and the men donned their casual club collections. Trendy and carefree they were the new nation of youth to experience the democratic rule. With a winning victory, against South Africa, the party had just begun, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting back to the hotel in the Lagos traffic soon. It’s one of the best ways to see most citizens’ outdoors (other than going to faith places of worship), and to see for yourself that “Nigerians can be the happiest people on earth”.