The day your sister called you in the middle of the night, she told you on the phone that her husband was about to kill her. You were inside your apartment editing Zalatan’s music video while Oladips’s Ajala Travel was playing from a small Bluetooth speaker near your television. When you checked your phone, it was already 1:00 AM. You could not continue editing the music video. You shut down your Desktop computer immediately and became restless in your apartment. Nobody was there with you; you went outside and turn off your generator.

By the side of your bed in your bedroom, you picked up your phone again when you returned inside and dialed her number but she did not pick up your call. Frustrated, you called again and again and again but she did not pick, not even the WhatsApp messages you sent to her were read. Fear gripped you. You panicked, and paced the whole room, fearfully. That is what you do most times when you are tensed and alone in your apartment. You dialed your Auntie’s number, but she too did not pick up. It was on a Thursday morning; she must have left her phone in the parlour to sleep in the room. That is what she does every Wednesday night to avoid being awakened by her alarm. Usually, she wakes up as early as four in the morning on her market days.

You moved a little faster to the dark corner of your parlour and stayed there for some minutes and then, not knowing what to do next, you ran to your bedroom, slowly, you lay on your bed. You could not sleep. Your heart raced more and more like a hound dog. It kept beating fast, very fast while you thought about your sister and the many blows she must be receiving from her husband. You thought about some of her neighbors she would call, but would they come outside that late hour? She could be beaten to death like Osinachi, that popular gospel artist, who was beaten to death by her husband. Recently, Osinachi’s death has become an eye-opener and a very good example to people when it comes to domestic violence. Your Sister could be killed too by her husband. She could die just like Osinachi and her husband would go free after some days or so. What about her four children? What would they be doing right now? Crying? sleeping? You had thought

When you could not sleep that night, you picked up your phone again from the table you left it, opened your WhatsApp application and scrolled down, and found her name. You hit on the voice note icon and recorded a short voice note and forwarded it to her. You knew she would not listen to it that night but when she does in the morning, if she survives, she would know that you tried but you could not beat the circumstances that surrounded your coming to rescue her by that time of the night, even when you had told her couple of months ago that you would move a mountain for her, she would understand after all. she would.

That night was not the first time he would beat her. He had been beating her from the very first year they got married. First, it was after she gave birth to her first daughter through an operation. She had come back home after three weeks or so and they had issues that made him beat her. She had called you that Sunday morning, crying.

“Ugochukwu had started with his madness” she had said over the phone “and it is either he kills me or I kill him or we both kill each other” “Don’t do anything nasty. I am on my way.” You had told her knowing how stubborn she could be sometimes.

After you dropped the call, you called your Auntie Ngozi, your elder sister, to inform her of the latest development and she promised to join you immediately. When the two of you, you and your Auntie Ngozi, got to her house under the heavy rain, the whole room was in a disarray, with broken glasses here and there; the newborn baby was on the sofa crying while your sister was on a chair with bruises all over her body, weeping. When the husband, Ugochukwu, saw you and your Auntie, he made his way to the door but you pulled him back, angrily.

“Have you lost your manners? Have you no shame?” you have asked him “So, we have become so little that you can’t even notice our presence in the room” “Chizoba, leave him!” your Auntie Ngozi instructed.

“Why should I? he didn’t even recognise your presence in his house. Are you, his mate? Did you see what he did to your sister, our sister?”

“I saw it. He is a shameless man but two people they say do not go mad at the same time.” Your Auntie Ngozi emphasised.

You watched him walk out of the door shamelessly. Your auntie Ngozi told your sister to pack her things and that she would be going home with her. The three of you waited inside. You were angry. You could have fought him if your auntie had given you the go- ahead. You could have shown him that nobody touches your sister and go free but then, you had to obey her instruction as she had commanded you. Your mother had always told you the importance of obeying an instruction from an elderly person.

After the rain had stopped, you helped your sister gather a few of her clothes into a bag while she prepared the baby. Your Auntie had already called a taxi that would convey all of you home. Meanwhile, Ugochukwu was still outside singing out loud. You heard him from the room you were with your sisters. Perhaps he was waiting for you all to leave before he would go inside. When the taxi arrived, you came outside with the bag you have put your sister’s clothes into and met him leaning on the balcony with a bottle of dry gin. You hissed at him and he chuckled.

“Nwoke ga afu ife ibeya furu – a man would see what the other man saw,” he said to you.

You hissed again while he sang more lifting the bottle of his gin to the sky. By now, your Auntie Ngozi and your sister had come outside. Your auntie Ngozi carrying the four weeks old baby and your sister carrying a small bag. While you opened the car door for them, Ugochukwu sang and cursed to nobody in particular. But you knew his song was indirectly pointing accusation fingers at you and your sisters. You stood there a little while feeling very human but swallowed hard again before you entered the car. A few seconds later, the cab driver entered after closing the boot of the car and he zoomed off.

We often forget that before the glory of Sunday, Saturday dragged on in an emptiness that appeared as if it would never come to an end. It wasn’t the pain and sorrow of Friday. it was worst; it was nothing, like most next time or the next day after a tragedy. A few weeks later, Ugochukwu came to beg with his people in your Auntie Ngozi’s house.

Your Brother Kalu came from Yaba because Ugochukwu had called him earlier to beg. When your sister was asked what her intentions were about going back to her husband, she said she was not going back to Ugochukwu’s house anymore. And she meant it. She said the beating was much and she could not cope with it any longer. You supported her decision not to go back to him again. Your Auntie Ngozi hushed you immediately. When your voice became louder on the punishment Ugochukwu had meted on your sister and the pains he had inflicted on her in the past months, your brother Kalu asked you to go outside to allow the elders to talk.

You refused to go. He then dragged you outside and closed the door behind you. He said you were talking too much or rather you were not making any reasonable points. While you were outside, you were still ranting and your brother Kalu came outside consecutively to chase you out but you did not leave. You always came back to the window when he has gone back to the room. When he got tired of chasing you, he allowed you to stay at the window to contribute but this time, you stopped ranting or contributing to whatsoever they were discussing inside. You stood there like a child making shelters out of nothing or like a story too frail to make it to sunrise.

You heard when your Auntie Ngozi told your sister that Ugochukwu would change.

“He would change with time. That is how some men behave. You are the one to bring his head down as a woman. You have to go back to him. He would change” Your Auntie Ngozi had advised her

“I am not going back to him. I am no longer interested in this so-called marriage. He can not be using me as a punching bag every time there is a little issue between us. I am a woman and not his punching bag and I should be seen and treated as such” Your sister had cried out in the presence of all.

“Marriage is not all sweet. Sometimes a thing like this happens and you don’t run away from your home because of a small issue like this, Nne” Ugochukwu’s Uncle had said.

“I know. Yes, I understand but not to the extent of always flushing the toilet for him after he has finished using it. Now, let us forget about him beating me. The thing is, Ugochukwu does not flush the toilet after using it. He will just clean up himself and close the Closet then, leave the damn thing for me to flush for him. Is that not wickedness? For how long would I continue flushing the toilet, washing his clothes, going to pick him up from the gutter whenever he got himself drunk and clean him up and later becomes his punching bag? For how long? Why are you all too blind to see from my side of the story? I can’t do this anymore” Your sister cried.

“I understand you,” Your Auntie Ngozi said.

“You don’t. if you do, you wouldn’t advise that I go back to him.”

You were behind the window waiting for Ugochukwu to apologise to your sister for beating her, but he never did. He sat down there, while others pleaded on his behalf. You told your sister to stay back if Ugochukwu wasn’t going to apologise to her. You promised to take care of her and the baby if that is what she wants. Angrily, your brother Kalu rushed outside with his belt and chased you until you jumped over a fence that demarcates your compound from that of your neighbours. He stood on the other side of the fence and warned you never to return to that window until the visitors had gone but you returned still, ranting like birds looking for a song in tree branches.

It was on a bright Tuesday afternoon; your sister had called you inside the room and enveloped you in her arms. She told you she had to go back to her husband. She said they told her that marriage is endurance. They told her she must be the one to make her marriage work. She would be the one to bring the change she wants in Ugochukwu and she has to go and build her home. You saw the fears in her eyes even though her face was like rain hidden in numb skies, you still saw the fears that those eyes of her carried. You sat there with her, unable to say anything or do a thing. You looked at her baby in the bed and smiled like everything is alright with you. You touched her, called her name, Ijeoma, and smiled again hoping that the Lord’s prayer stays with her forever. You walked out of the room. When you returned some minutes later, she was gone. You brought out your Nokia phone and typed a message and sent it to her:

“As you go back to him, keep the wound, your wound open. As long as it remained unhealed, the infection would burn. It would take time for me to come to see you because of him. But keep the wound open”

Minutes after your message was sent to her, your phone vibrated inside your pocket and when you brought it out, it was her message.

“I am tired of living my life like there is a footnote at the bottom of each day’s page. Like there is a manual for living each day of my life. If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll know that I tried”

“Right now, you are like a girl stuck in a mirror in her lover’s name. Nevertheless, I will pray to God to make your voice a map for chaos to find love. Good luck.” You had texted her back.

Months later, they fought again. This time, she had given birth to another child, a girl she named Chidiuto. When she came back to your Auntie Ngozi’s house with bruises all over her body, you saw that her tooth was gone too. She was crying while telling you what had happened. You felt her story like a gloom being emptied into a river.

You wished there was something you could have done to Ugochukwu differently. You have tried, and told her to quit the marriage but your advice was not working. You had fought Ugochukwu and threatened him several times, yet it was like you poured water on rocky ground. Your friend advised that you arrange boys for him, area boys that would beat him mercilessly but you kicked against it. He was still your sister’s husband, your In-law. If the boys beat him as he had said, it is your sister that would spend her money to treat him. It is your sister that would cater for the family for the weeks before he gets back on his feet. You did not buy into your friend’s idea.

Days later, she returned to him again after everything has been settled. Everyone has a fierce fear of jolting in his joint and so does your sister. She had decided to stay because of her children. Perhaps her coping mechanism will not shatter away with time. She knows about Pain and betrayal all too well because everything around her was made of them and therefore, she has formed a new identity for herself, for everything that has a name that resonates with her and so have you also. You’ve found a direct way to see through everything that your sister is to herself.

Four years later, she had called you in the middle of the night around 1o'clock to tell you that Ugochukwu had started again. You panicked, and paced in your apartment trying so hard to reach her but could not. You waited in your bed until it was morning. You ran down to her house and found her seated on the Sofa, bruises on her face like always, her four children gathered beside her, weeping. You looked around and found out that Ugochukwu wasn’t there, you told her that both of you had to go to Human Rights at Ikotun. Before then, she had made a report to them. You called Ifeanyi, your friend, and told him everything and he said you have to go to Human Rights to make a report and get Ugochukwu arrested. When you got there, you explained everything to the woman in Charge at the Human Rights office and she gave you a lady that would follow you to arrest Ugochukwu at home.

Outside the building, you stopped a tricycle that conveyed the three of you, your sister, the policewoman from the Human Rights, and you, to Governor’s Road where they lived. Ugochukwu was arrested. At the police station, he was asked to sign an undertaken never to lay his hand on your sister again, after the two of them had explained to the people their issues. He signed and the copy of the papers signed was handed over to your sister and, she settled them thereafter and both of you left the place leaving Ugochukwu behind. They detained him until the following day.

When he returned the following day, the two of them became cat and mouse in the house. He was cooking his food separately in the kitchen, while your sister was cooking hers and that of her children, separately. Sometimes after cooking, he would go outside, get himself drunk, and forgets to warm whatsoever he had cooked. He had told your sister how he would kill her. How he would make sure he makes her life miserable and this made your sister learn a new way through the darkness. They were living like that for days without talking to each other but living under the same roof. It was the best bet for your sister and she was coping mechanically.

A few months later, you were in Surulere shooting a music video when your sister’s call came in. When you picked it up, she told you on the phone that Ugochukwu had run away with her four children. She was crying while she was telling you that. You told her to hold on and that you would come home to see her. That day, you did not go home because you could not finish up the scenes of the video. When you finished the next day which was on Sunday, you paid all your crew members and made your way home.

On getting to her house, you did not see her at home. When you called, she told you that she had gone to see her sister-in-law who stays in Jakande Estate. You waited but she did not return on time. It was on Monday evening that you saw her and she told you everything she knew. Her husband had taken those children to Uzuakoli to his mother including her a year-old baby who had just stopped suckling her breast. She said she was told that by her sister-in-law. You found it hard to swallow the spit that had gathered in your throat.

She traveled to Uzuakoli to see her children and to know why Ugochukwu had done what he did after some weeks. They refused her access to see those children. They did not bring the four children for her to see for the one week she stayed in Uzuakoli. When she made it known to them that she was not going to leave Uzuakoli without seeing her children, she was given the small boy to go with without the others. She returned to Lagos with the youngest of them that they gave to her after her effort to see the others was not successful.

This is why marriage always freaks you out. You always wanted to be in the consolation of you have been, since no lover has ever come on your way. Even those that came, you saw no future with them. Perhaps it was the way you had formed your new identity that made many of them give way. Most lonely nights, you had wanted to fuck and no one was close. You were horny. You know you were but you were consumed looking for cities within the breast of dusk where sunflowers do not bloom when the city within you seeks you for the perfection of the beauty of pleasure that lies within it. But you were told that it is a sin to give pleasure to oneself irrespective of how lonely and horny you are. Isolation is a gift and also a curse. This is the miracle that helps one’s interest in oneself, to forget that there are problems in the world waiting to be solved.

Do you remember the drive home alone on one sunny Sunday, you were thinking about your friend, Blessing, who just died. You were thinking about how much you hated death. But as much as you hated death, you hated dying too and even more than you can imagine. There must be something wrong somewhere, something contrary to what the universe you believed in intended, most especially in the way life can appear to be wasted as people transit from this world to another world. And you hated dying because of what it does to the loved ones of he who died. But there is no way you are going to escape it and this is because no situation in our lives happens in a Vacuum, good or bad; that is how this world is wired


Recently, a prophetess told you that everything that is happening to you is from your foundation, your father’s house. You have prayed, fasted, and made many journeys to make sure that you do not end like others but the more you pray, the more things get tougher. In your solitude, where you always reason and search within yourself, you have asked yourself if your foundation was that bad that it could not be cleansed by your prayers or fasting or if your foundation was worst than all other people's who have made it in life?

The last prophetess you visited said you were a great boy.

“Why are you suffering?” she had asked you

You put your face down and tears flowed

“Why are you suffering?” She asked again “I see greatness in you. You have talent. You are blessed in and out. You have a great career as I can see through your palms but why are you suffering: rising and falling?”

“I don’t know why” You had replied

“You must visit your foundation. Fight for yourself. You must not go to any native doctor for any kind of juju because it won’t work for you. Your blessing must come from God. It is only God alone that can bless you.”

“I have tried all I could. I have prayed. I have fasted. I have. But it seems like nothing is happening” you cried

“You are a water child. Aji ebu mmini, that is what the deity you were reincarnated from is called. They made you wander here and there and they plan that you would not marry, you will just come to this world without giving birth until you die.” You looked down, frozen. Your tears streamed more like some water a child pours into a plastic bowl to the ground.

“Fight. Pray. Pray more and more for your salvation. They have already dung shovel into the ground to wait for you. Go and come back when you are ready” She commanded.

You stomped out of the house, angrily. The owner of this life knows that you are not lazy. He knows that every time you walked out of your house, you think of many things and many ways you could be relevant to yourself and society at large. The best gift that your creator gave to you through this life is a reconnection to be the identity that he intended for you from the beginning of things. But you do not understand why you are still where you are, wandering.

You do not wake up mostly in the middle of the night. Most times when you do, you allow yourself to sail through many nights you have stayed alone in the comfort of your one-room apartment in the lonely part of Lagos. That room formed you and it continues to make you. It has witnessed more of your vulnerabilities, complaints, and, tears. There were days you stood naked in the middle of your room and cried out loud, cried your heart out on how things have turned out to be for you. You wanted a change but no change came. You wanted a miracle but miracles were far from you. The fact that Nigeria is bad does not mean you have to beg before you eat. You have stretched yourself into many cities, into many rivers connecting dots and patterns to make a complete puzzle but the moment it gets to the middle, it all begins from the beginning again. You rise today, you fall tomorrow. You earn today, you go hungry tomorrow. It begins with a fight, they told you but you have become tired of fighting for nothing. It begins with love, someone said to you on the altar but you have become tired of looking for someone who would love you just like you are. Besides, prayer points were the silence sleeping between your ribs - a way of dissolving yourself into two.

Oftentimes, you feel utterly isolated, separated from yourself, the world, and others, because of too much -- too much going on in your life, too many mistakes -- too much confusion, too much betrayal from those whom you trusted so much with your secrets, too many doubts about what you can do for yourself and those things you cannot do for yourself, too much death around you. How do you feel, act or answer when you give away everything you know to be good and true, only to get nothing in return? Have you ever had to choose between doing what is right and staying alive? Have you?

You have become too human for your skin, slipping away under the cover of darkness. Much like Adam and Eve leaving the garden of Eden. This human has been hiding for a long time because he was afraid of what they would label him. He was afraid that the air might not be enough for him when almost everyone around him, who are successful has taken theirs and he would not find anything left for him to take. He is afraid of the sky not containing him and his dreams. He is afraid. This boy, the prodigal son of Agwo, has been afraid since day one of his life.

Solace does not only mean you do not hurt yourself; you do but in the comfort of your own will. You calmly hurt yourself and keep it to yourself because nobody has to know. You have no one to explain yourself to. You have nobody to tell your story. Even if you tell them, would they believe you? Even those who said they love you know nothing about you but the only smile you wear each time you come around them. Like your friend, Jeff, you love to smile a lot with him. Whenever he calls and you hear his voice from the other side of the phone says:


You would jump joyfully. You always pretend. You do not want him to know the other side of your life which you have been hiding in solace, in pain; you only want him to know that part you want him to know.

There is every trauma that seeks clarification on why you allow it to torment you, but when you do not have the slightest time left for you to tell it why you allowed it to torment you, you will tell it that if it ever gets to the land of the dead before you, it should leave your father’s footprint so that you could follow it to where your father is.

As a child you don’t know where you live, you just live it. Play around with it. Build little castles and throw stones over the neighbours’ windows and their roofs, joyfully. But as an adult, you begin to interpret the structures, you begin to write down what you see, and you begin to interpret the meaning of what you are looking at in your loneliness. You begin to have meanings for the girl who smiles at you, then, the man who curses his child every morning for not waking up early to prepare for school, and, the mother who goes out every morning and comes back late at night.

Every neighborhood begins with love and memories, you tell yourself most times, even prayers. And visiting cemeteries as an adult and seeing the flowers and weeds fertilised by human bodies once like yours and the stench from rotten bodies underground, brought assuring calmness to you, that someday this pain and sorrow and agony of this world would be gone. For this, you have always hoped.

That same death that ended your father’s misery would come someday for you. That day, the strength in Ladipoe and Buju’s feelings would not allow you to relax your head as long as it no longer gives you the energy to carry on. You would scroll down on Instagram and see Tunde Ednut’s post on how he made billions in just a few days, you would scroll past it because it would no longer interest you. You would read a post shared by Instablog Naija about Boobrisky’s love for Wizkid. You would shout but not too loud because nobody would be there to ask you why you shouted. You would go on and on scrolling until you would see TG Omori’s posts about a new video he just dropped or Dammy Twitch’s or Director K’s or Meji Alabi’s or Clarence Peters’ and stay there for a while before moving on to check other posts by other people you followed on Twitter.

You have always prayed even for what is seeking a way to break you and seal it with a smile but it was not always a happy smile or even a courteous smile. It was that kind of smile people give you when they would like to cry but cannot. This is a chronic world. And you live with a chronic parent in a chronic world, that forget what it feels to be lonely and isolated from everything that the world thinks is right. Many times, they have seen and watched how scared you were to be lonely, yet they left you all alone in the most pathetic manner. Is it not obvious how things worked against you these days?


You are going to die anyway. You know it. The man above knows about it too. You have prayed for many things with loopholes in your heart. And to death, you have told it to come whenever it wants to come. You do not know how to feel praying against death when you know it would come, when it would come. In your country where a flower is just another body withering into itself, she can decide to call on death by hersatf on you any time. Seeing you have always wanted this since you were 15, that you sit outside in front of your house, and think of how it would be to die and go to heaven. You have broken down in tears countless times whenever it seems the years are still long and you were that way until you became who you are now, tensed adult. You have not discovered what changed or what didn't change about your life or rather how you see life these days.

You do not know much about your father. The only thing you know about him was that he married four wives and your mother was the last wife and the wife who gave birth to more children than the other wives. You do not know how to call his name without being irritated either. The only way you have learned to call his name was to remember the children he left behind having his identity. You see, your mother birthed ten Children and one died leaving her with nine. It was, in this case, that you realised that you were once told that your father was beaten by soldiers during the Civil war while he was trying to save your mother from being raped by the Nigerian Soldiers.

Each time you travel to the village, you take your time to count all his children, and many other things he left behind. There are many of them, many children that you do not even know, and many of them who do not know you. There are many you have met just once in your whole life because you all live far from each other and there are others that you do not call or get to ask how they are faring with Life.

What about the grand children? Those are uncountable. Sometimes, when you travel to the village and you see a girl that you love and while you want to approach her, you are always told that she is a relative and you should not do anything funny with her. Do you see? You are an unintended victim of an attack targeted at poverty, so, your father harmed innocent people like you as a result of his private policy decisions. He always thought that having many children could help him hide his weaknesses and this, always make you feel unease with him. You do not want to know him at all.

The house he built before he died is not big enough to accommodate these children scattered here and there. Hence, it was the older children that shared the rooms according to how their mothers were married. The first wife's children were the first to be given rooms of their choice. Then, the children of the second wife, the third, and lastly, your mother's children were left with nothing to get from the family house. What did they do? They were to look for a place to put their heads under a roof each time they travel to the village for Christmas. While they looked for shelter, they also hide away from the lashing tongues of the other wives. This is one of the reasons you hated travelling to your village.

While growing up with an old man as a father, you could not go too close to him because what he did mostly then was to get you upset and then roared and told your mother many things you had done wrong to him. You were indirectly worthless, a nuisance to him. While you were trying to balance your life with the knowledge of having an old man as a father and a young woman as a mother, many things became unnecessarily a burden to you. You forgot there was a better way to be very useful to yourself.

This is your life, a flower, it goes nowhere but the place you send it. Look into yourself and tell yourself that it would be fine someday. Do not overlook the silence in your mother’s eyes because a mother’s silence is the worst form of punishment, for it is left to one’s imagination to conjure up what is in her mind.


John Chizoba Vincent is a filmmaker, Cinematographer, Film Director and Commercial director.. Born and raised in Aba, Abia state, Nigeria. He had his education in Aba and Lagos, respectively. He has thrice been shortlisted {2017, 2018 and 2019} by EGC as one of the Poets who rocks Nigeria. Also, in 2018, BN Blogs nominated him as one of the top five young Nigerian Poets to watch out from Nigeria. In July 2019, his poem was shortlisted on the top 10 finalist for Brigitte Poirson poetry Contest. His short film DISTRACTED was selected in a film festival in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

In 2020, two spoken Word videos he directed: To the girl I love by Seventy-eighth Psalmist and Iyami Osoronga by Gemini Aremo Balogun - won the PoetGist videos of the year in first and second positions respectively.

He was among the top 10 filmmakers and top five video director in 2021 alongside Meji Alabi, NayaEffect, TG Omori, Director K and others on the BlackPride magazine award.

John Chizoba Vincent is the chief Editor of Boys Are Not Stones Initiative. An organization whose major aim is to advocate for the rights of the BoyChild worldwide. He is the CEO and founder of Philmant Universal Inc which houses Philm Republic Pictures, a sister Company, Philmax Books, AfroVisual Review and Philmant Tv. He is also the photography editor for Libretto Magazine.

His writings have appeared in Libretto Magazine, Word Rhythm and Rhymes, MyAceWorld, Inner child Press, Kalahari Review, Tush stories, Tuck magazine, PoemifyPublishers, AfricanWriters, Opinion Nigeria, Premium Times, Poetry Soup, Poem hunter, Voice net, Hello Poetry, Board Speck, NgigaReview, Nanty Green and many others.

His poems and fictions have appeared in anthologies home and abroad including 84 Delicious Bottles of Wine for Wole Soyinka at 84 edited by Onyeka Nwelue and Odega Shawa, Wreaths for a Wayfarer for Pius Adesanmi edited by Nduka Otiono and Uche Umerurike and Arrow of Words for Chinua Achebe edited by Izunna Okafor for Young Nigerian Writers Society.

He is the Author of Hard Times, Good Mama, Letter from Home, and For Boys of Tomorrow.

John Chizoba Vincent lives in Lagos.

John Chizoba Vincent is a film maker, Cinematographer, Video Producer and writer who resides in Lagos, Nigeria.

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