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Nsukka, it is said, is a land of cold gusty winds, ardent lovers and strong juju; a university town that sat comfortably on the line between forced urbanism and serene ruralism. The town of agbugbu, okpa and echicha and my second home for the four years I was going to study Biochemistry. This was my first time leaving home and our comfortable house in middle-class Achara layout. So like a food enthusiast samples exotic dishes, I took in everything on the journey to this unknown little town on the outskirts of Enugu. I stuck my head out the window as the driver took the hilly, serpentine roads that were peculiar to Nsukka. I smiled as hawkers ambushed our bus like ants flocking around a cube of sugar, shouting their wares at the top of their voices, hoping each increased shout will convince the stolid looking passengers to get off their devices and buy more wares. I watched as the traders conversed with one another, Nsukka Igbo dripping off their tongues with honeyed rapidity. The air even felt different; whereas the air in Enugu metropolis was an uncomfortable blanket, swaddling you in sulfurous heat and disconcerting smells, the air here was cool, balmy and reminiscent of beautiful harmattan mornings. I bought a bunch of bright yellow bananas from a young girl with dreamy eyes and a lisp and out of curiosity, a bunch of morose, pudgy, burgundy bananas an old lady behind me claimed was healthier. I peeled the pudgy fingers tentatively, bit into it slowly and tasted what I came to understand was the soul of Nsukka. Our bus ground to a halt at the same moment Regina Spektor’s voice trailed off inside my earphones. “Are we there yet? Have we reached Nsukka main town?” I asked the old woman behind me who seemed to be an expert in all things Nsukka. “No, nwa m,” she replied hurriedly as she fumbled with her wrapper in preparation to alight the bus. That’s when I heard the excited shouts and animated chatter. Our driver was a few paces away, elbowing his way through a crowd of people that had gathered near a small house. Everyone came down and huddled around the weather-beaten bus, exchanging speculations. I moved away from our group and walked towards the commotion. Voices rose and fell like waves. I peeked through the throng of people before me. Just before the driver pulled me away from the raging crowd, I locked eyes with a small boy. He had the saddest pair of eyes I had ever seen and was holding on to the sinewy calves of an angry man in his late thirties. Back at the car, everyone swarmed the driver, interested to know what was happening. “Magun! And the woman even get pikin!” spat the driver angrily. Everyone went quiet for a while as they imagined the pain the cheating partner and her lover must be in. The pity faded immediately it came and was replaced by acceptance. “They got what they deserved”, muttered a surly looking man in a rumpled shirt and an askew tie. “This is barbaric. What will become the fate of that little boy?” replied a lady “Marriage is sacred. Nsukka people don’t joke with the sanctity of marriage. You can play all you want but when you get married, you have to take your legs inside,” replied the old woman, sadness coloring her voice, “It is what it is.” As the journey continued, I turned the previous events and the Old woman’s words in my mind. I kept seeing the little boy’s eyes in my mind. I could feel his pain and confusion at all happening around him and that quiet knowledge that life was never going to be the same. I felt that way too. I peeled another finger of the burgundy banana and bit into it. It tasted bitter and different from the first. Somehow, just like that little boy, I knew my stay in Nsukka was going to change me in the most fundamental of ways.