I bought anger with 1,000 naira—
very cheap,
affordable, discounted,
a product with mass distribution.
You can get one near you.

In Lagos, anger has no
NAFDAC number,
no barcode, no expiry date,
because it has public approval.

More common than garri,
its supplier is a ghost.
We have never seen him—or them—
but he or them must be rich.

Both danfo driver and senator
have bought him.
Danfo driver—100 naira,
senator—1 million dollars.

Your status can change the price.
Anger has your size.

In Lekki and VI,
anger wears suit and tie,
with pointed shoes but kolo dey underneath.
A bomb in a colourful wrapped gift.

In Oshodi,
he wears engine-oiled stained
very white t-shirt and torn trousers,
sandals turned palm slippers.

His kolo is evident—
you avoid like fleeing
from the appearance of evil,
or you befriend,
according to the advice of Amos 3:3.

Anger too can tie wrapper—
the wearer tying and untying,
giving you a signal
that she’s ready for fight
anytime, anywhere, anyhow.

When you come into that state
of centre of commerce,
nobody recommends the product.

You just find yourself buying it—
to survive,
to prove a point,
to cheat,
to live,
to breathe,
to demand your right,
to breathe again.
Wrapped in both ugly and dope packaging—
you must buy one.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Oyemike Princewill on Unsplash