When the cassette tape played, I was seldom interested in the lyrics—how likely was a 6-year-old to care? Yet I could feel sorrow, compassion, and sadness in the singer’s voice. I imagined someone hurting her. Was she hit, betrayed, lonely? Her voice held a mystery I wanted to uncover, but she was miles away from me. Since I could not unravel the enigma, I let the thought go. As I grew older, my mother did not grow tired of playing the cassette tape. I could not hide from hearing it either, unless I could afford a roof over my head. One evening, during the holiday and with no homework to attend to, I had to ask her. ‘Mum, who’s this person always sad when they’re singing?’ ‘You mean all this time, you don’t know it’s Dolly Parton? And who told you she’s sad? When you truly express how you feel, it is not always a sad tale, my girl. Do you even know what this song playing is about?’ ‘Yes, ma. It’s her coat of many colours, just like the one Joseph had, right?’ ‘Eh en. Only hers was give...
I was weighing 43 at that time. It was not easy balancing school with work. But I needed money. The money my parents were sending was not covering up my needs. I needed a backup and that was why I took a job at an African restaurant, owned by a Nigerian couple back then in London. Jobs like this were reserved for students or for the undocumented. I could not babysit because the timing would clash with my class hours and that was why I settled with washing plates in this restaurant after classes. I had done this for a week and could notice my fingers fading away but I didn’t mind at all. All I pictured was my monthly pay. The next week; on a Wednesday, after classes I resumed work as usual. I had washed the first round of plates and then I heard the voice of my boss (the wife) saying: “Favour, you will be the one pounding yam from today. It is part of your job description…” That voice echoed in my head and it still does till today. It echoed when I nodded in ag...