The Gallery sat there, overlooking the ocean like a lone traveler taking in the night view of this small coastal suburb.
The gallery sat at the brink of the asphalt road and was pretty to look at
It had people on long drives by the beach road staring in its direction
The ramshackle Trotro buses rolled along and appeared small and bug like against the elegance of the gallery
I thought Trotro rides could range from painful, dehumanizing and risky to carefree, breezy and empowering
And in my unique experience, night rides along the beach road were everything but empowering.
Mosquitos that had the unique ability to permeate the thickest layer of repellant journeyed happily with travelers. They had a destination too I guess.
They’d paid their fare and duly earned their place onboard among legs.
Everything got even more irritating because the Trotro had absolutely no space to wiggle or convulse out of a bite.
This experience on the beach road at rush hour reminded us of a can of sardines.
All we needed was that shitor and gari to complete this delicious experience.
Humidity, spittle, sweat and other stale-I’ve-had-a-long-ass-day-smells transited with us.
The gallery and its unusual location gave that temporary respite that elevated us beyond the Trotro experience. The ocean too and its limitlessness gave that feeling of awe only nature gives.
Rosa Armstrong 