Gbokoyi was special. She was the deed of the Road, of the filament of conniving gods. Mama teased her, “You are the pretty one Ogun gave passage into my womb.”. . .
Gbokoyi was single… “Her life shall be a tryst with the giver of the Road alone; for the Road alone gave her life,” our village priest told us. And so, the floods of a lonely June became for her slit currents of lecherous spirits. . .

On the roads, she saw them – a hundred abami edas crushing groins on her vision of the miles, rabid in love and greed. On the roads, Gbokoyi was Queen and Slave. . .

One moon, Ghosts from the Beyond came and gave us strange new roads. Long leeches of iron and smoke came and went on them… and so did Gbokoyi. One night, she went and never returned. . .
Mama received a letter tonight – a dropping paper from the Beyond. The rains have begun, and we all gather above the kitchen lantern.
“YESTERDAY, GBOKOYI’S SICK BABY DIED IN A ROAD TRAFFIC”

These nights, her wails from Lagos fight the village hills; and I still hear the floods of June scream Gbokoyi’s name.

Oyin Oludipe 
Oyin is a poet, essayist, and alumnus of Babcock University. He can be reached on olu.oyin@gmail.com

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