Travelogue: Revisiting the ghosts of my childhood

The trip called to me. It had been more than a decade since my last visit to my mother’s village and from what I heard, the town I knew was no more. I didn’t rise at the first cockcrow, as my grandfather would have done. Awake, I counted the seconds between cockcrows — a chain of sound that encompasses the hills. Lagos, the city I now call home, has long decapitated the providers of this morning symphony for tasty fried chicken and jollof rice. In Lagos the stars that light the sky above these hills are but faint, shadowed by a million light bulbs. Here, modernity has also taken root, but not as firmly as in the cities. Every day in the city is filled with the thought of when I can return to taste air that seems fresher and water, sweeter. And when I travel home I deal with a paradox, the draw of my mother’s hometown seem as strong as that of my father’s. Obeagu, my maternal hometown, is one of the towns that make up Awgu Local Government Area of Enugu state. It is a proud town and

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