Returning home from work on a humid evening in 2016, I asked my children their thoughts about visiting America. They took their gaze away from the TV, searched my eyes for seriousness, smiled doubtfully and returned their gaze to the TV, exhibiting an air of ‘we have outgrown your pranks, this old man’. America ko, Africa ni .
“OK, guys,” I said deadpan, “We’re going to the US Embassy next week.” That should break the ice, so I thought, as I watched their faces light up suddenly, all speaking about the same time. A voice said, “Let’s go there, Baba T!” Another, whose legs couldn’t reach the pedals of a car, said, “I’ll drive all of you to Lagos.
” Yet another said, “I will issue all of you visas, you don’t need to go to the embassy.” Laughter. Voices.
“You all don’t need visas to America when I’ll fly the plane,” a voice said. They all laughed at their father. How many children does this man have, you must be wondering.
Don’t wander too far; destined is the head that picks the choicest meat from the pot – orí la fí ń mú eran lawo. Shoot your shot at the orange tree – none, one, two or more oranges may drop. I shot my shot and more than one orange dropped into my arms.
I’m not an eku eda , the proliferating house rat. My wife and I wanted two, God multiplied the two. Anyway, I admit children are gifts from God, lest any man should boast about his testosterone.
So, to Lagos we went from Osogbo, spending the night at grand.