Recently on the train ride home, after four blissful days of rest and lots of fun hosted by my first love — NYC — it was clear that the fixed smile on my face wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. Another bright indication that my staunch promise to rejoin the land of the living was a good call.
I knew I wanted to be a New Yorker way before I could articulate those strong desires. Growing up as a child of the eighties who devoured the classics of TV and film that helped shape and enrich a memorable era, including Fame, She’s Gotta Have It, Wall Street, etc.— it was inevitable that I would be mesmerized by the vibrancy of a romanticized metropolis.
It also didn’t hurt that my home city of Lagos, the chaotically-inclined former capital of Nigeria before it was replaced with Abuja’s thunderous charm, stealthily groomed my instincts as a natural city girl, who can’t fall asleep to the nagging silence, thumping with foreboding restlessness.
There must be the soundtrack of human activity in the form of underground travel with screeching trains accompanied by the symphony of the streets, constantly overrun by savvy pedestrians expertly maneuvering active scenes, with impatient commuters in haste and the vehicles that are built to rule the concrete jungle.
We didn’t have the luxury of a robust transportation system in Lagos Island, unlike our…
