Sharp!

by Hamza Shaibu (Nigeria)

Making a local connection Nigeria

I arrived Ado Awaiye, on one of those hot harmattan afternoons when the last place you wanted to be was out in the dust. The trip from Ilorin had been a particularly rough one, coming only a day after my daring adventure to the tallest waterfall in Nigeria, so I was nursing accumulated fatigue as I alighted the Sienna Sedan that brought me to Ado Awaiye. The date was 11th November, 2018 and I had traveled to see the only suspended lake in Nigeria. Exhausted and irritated by the impossibility of nearly everything due to my inability to communicate In Yoruba, I tried to find my tour guide whose name was given only as Wasiu. Neither he nor the passersby that I tried to get help from spoke any English, so our phone conversation was truly frustrating. We shared a laugh when we discovered we had been across the road from each other the entire quarter-hour it took to locate ourselves but that was to be the only understanding we shared, as due to the language barrier, all communication attempts were fraught with embarrassing moments of awkward gesturing and needless laughter. We were joined by a guy who Wasiu gestured was a friend tagging along. I didn’t think much of this friend at all, not even caring to engage beyond a simple nod of acknowledgement. He probably didn’t speak any English like the rest of them. Why bother? But then what a waste. He was my typical kinda person. Dark, muscular and handsome. Our hike started with both guys in the lead, chatting away in their native Yoruba while I followed closely behind making videos of myself. The hike was short and easy, with no real challenge beyond the initial climb. I saw the suspended lake and took hundreds of pictures not minding the amusement in the faces of my companions as I made a fool of myself in front of an unmanned camera. The need never arose to communicate beyond the usual awkward gestures every time our eyes met, until I laid down by backpack and pulled out my drone. At this point the mystery was too much. They had to know who I was. “Hey! how far?” Wow, English Finally! “I’m fine” I responded, “you speak English?” “Yes!” With just that, the stranger became a valuable resource. Although the hour that followed was more interrogation than conversation, I enjoyed every second of it because finally, I was communicating with someone. By the end of our tour, my new friend had learnt everything about me. But the only information I got was his name. Sharp! Seriously? Wakanda name is that? “When we get home, please listen to what my family calls me, call me that.” Sorry “We?” “Yes. I don’t know your plans, but if you come home with me there are places I want to show you before you leave”. My plan was to see the suspended lake, and continue to Ibadan where I had a host waiting, but Sharp! wasn’t having any of that. Two hours later, I was having lunch at his mother’s restaurant, and at sunset I was cozying up in my corner of his single room. I didn’t ask for his real name. Everybody called him Sharp! In the three days we spent together, Sharp! took me places, hyped me beyond my actual worth and gained me access to otherwise prohibited places. I entered shrines, consulted oracles, partook in dance displays and even crashed a party at nearby Iluwa where somehow, he got the invited artist to add a line of praise for me to his song. The day came when I had to leave, and sharp! Made no effort to conceal his sadness. We had become such good friends that our separation was hard. By the time we got to the bus station, Sharp was crying uncontrollably. The bus took 15 minutes to arrive. More than enough time for the most emotional farewell ever. He hugged me like a mother sending her son off to war and left. The passengers were puzzled to see grown men so emotionally engaged but the moment really was too emotional. I cried the entire journey to Ibadan.