Tuesdays in Lagos by Flora Nwakibie
No matter how loud a city claims to be, the sound of gunshots can never be drowned out.
After the fall of Abuja, a wave of violence and uproar radiated through the North and the hills of the South. Sokoto was the second to fall, then Anambra, both sending emigrants swarming the neighbouring states and geopolitical zones.
By mid-September, twelve states had fallen; Lagos closed its borders. The Aso Rock Villa was burnt early this morning, and I was still stuck in traffic.
The man beside me jerked, startled by the sound of a police baton hitting the windowpane he had been leaning on. The policeman outside didn’t seem to notice. He kept barking orders at a bunch of hawkers running around with gala and cold drinks.
No matter how loud a city claims to be, the sound of gunshots can never be drowned out.
Author's summary: A city in chaos amid violence and uproar.