This is a throwback!
What do you see?

What do you see?
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
My anti-coronavirus Esu.
I produced this Esu object and hung it in front of my door.
My house is marked safe.
When their Agent of Death is passing by, it sees the Esu object.
Esu, the gatekeeper, informs the Agent of Death that “He doesn’t live here. He lives on the other street.”
The secondary school rusticated me for being part of a riot that the students organized and carried out with meticulous sagacity.
Flabbergasted, I traveled to Ile Ife where we lived, from Oyo, where I schooled.
My father was amused that they rusticated me.
“Did you really participate in the riot?” my father asked.
“I did not,” I answered.
“My he—he—he=aler at the psychi-psychi-atric hos—hos—hos–pital made me sw-sw-sw-ear never to have a con—con—con—con—con-fron-front-tation again with Miiiiiiiiisster Ru—ru-rufus,” Obaseki was whispering to me, from under the table. “Says he-he-he will bring me back back in.”
“It’s okay, Obaseki,” I said. “You come out and sit here at the table. I will go and see what’s happening.”
“Don’t, don’t, don’t leave me, Mo-Mo-Moyo,” Obaseki pleaded. “Please- plea-se-stay-stay-stay-don’t—don’t go….”
“It’s alright, Obaseki,” I assured him. “Whatever the matter is, we will get to the very bottom of it today. This is really ridiculous!”
This young journalist called Sowore.
He reminds me of another journalist called Dele Giwa.
And another journalist called Ken Saro-Wiwa.
Do you know what happens to journalists like them?
I have traveled to New York, Los Angeles, Berlin, London, Toronto, Sofia, Beijing, Paris, Athens, Rome, Tokyo and Kyoto.
I have been to several other cities of the West and the East.
Let me bring you something I observed from my travels:
The natives of these places don’t speak Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Twi, Zulu or any language form Africa.