Apr 2020
Down the street of where I grew up, residents here were quiet and simple and made homes.
One of these homes got transformed.
Rooms with a view, the views not of sky scrapers and greener pastures, it just means whenever you are at the Atelier, they could be in the middle of an exhibition.
I suppose it doesn't stay the same.
New meanings with every visit.
It keeps things interesting, and thus who knows what you will find.
On Thursday games are laid out, we play charades and I squeal with excitement over all the filmic clues.
3, faces makes this plot.
Retro Africa speaks for the movement of black arts and creatives.
Atelier welcomes you to a home outside of a home.
If you connected only through art and are starving for real sustenance, take a walk to the backyard.
That's where we have all been going.
We meet up at the Pavilion where the food is by 6pm,
When the sprinklers are on, I wanted to be closer to the water and smaller sounds so we drifted.
A plastic bench and our feet up, that smell of wet greens as the day fades away.
The type you don't relish but want to steal away.
So we talked, we talked about art.
Questions and meanings and being okay without answers,
Our words didn't drift into the night, I suppose.
I don't know that they did or our voices were carried with the wind.
Our laughter might have, they weren't constant but sturdy.
Thick, no accents but free.
A surprise sequence follows this change as we met the Mrs.
A few minutes later, we were back in the corner.
The Mrs. Goes to lie by her husband on the wet greens the sprinklers had been on, before she joined him.
He said trust me you want to be here,
It made me think, this was a place you wanted to share.
Only in its smallest forms in the smallests bits taking very little.
There are no embellishments this time.
Maybe simple never goes out of style, but before Monday, we were here on Saturday.
That day we drove through the city, cheap drinks from Ceddi and by the cadastral zone we stared through Central Park, cutting across River plate and overlooking the secret Garden where we met again for the first time, Lo almost a year ago to the day.
Like the beginning, before the art and different names and different careers or the general mechanized change which had ensued, which we hoped wasn't over-bearing.
One thing remained.
So I say, " I love Abuja, I wouldnt want to live anywhere else"
She nods in understanding, similar words had left her lips too many times before that day, that hour or in those moments.
Street lights shadows across, and a sense of a beginning.
Our city's charm being one of many things, but on that night, it was the feeling of a kindred spirit.
As one listens, the other affirms,
And what matters might be bigger than the voice which says it, so being able to sit to record a day was like everything else we liked.
(Signed: Aida Oluwagbemiga)
One of these homes got transformed.
Rooms with a view, the views not of sky scrapers and greener pastures, it just means whenever you are at the Atelier, they could be in the middle of an exhibition.
I suppose it doesn't stay the same.
New meanings with every visit.
It keeps things interesting, and thus who knows what you will find.
On Thursday games are laid out, we play charades and I squeal with excitement over all the filmic clues.
3, faces makes this plot.
Retro Africa speaks for the movement of black arts and creatives.
Atelier welcomes you to a home outside of a home.
If you connected only through art and are starving for real sustenance, take a walk to the backyard.
That's where we have all been going.
We meet up at the Pavilion where the food is by 6pm,
When the sprinklers are on, I wanted to be closer to the water and smaller sounds so we drifted.
A plastic bench and our feet up, that smell of wet greens as the day fades away.
The type you don't relish but want to steal away.
So we talked, we talked about art.
Questions and meanings and being okay without answers,
Our words didn't drift into the night, I suppose.
I don't know that they did or our voices were carried with the wind.
Our laughter might have, they weren't constant but sturdy.
Thick, no accents but free.
A surprise sequence follows this change as we met the Mrs.
A few minutes later, we were back in the corner.
The Mrs. Goes to lie by her husband on the wet greens the sprinklers had been on, before she joined him.
He said trust me you want to be here,
It made me think, this was a place you wanted to share.
Only in its smallest forms in the smallests bits taking very little.
There are no embellishments this time.
Maybe simple never goes out of style, but before Monday, we were here on Saturday.
That day we drove through the city, cheap drinks from Ceddi and by the cadastral zone we stared through Central Park, cutting across River plate and overlooking the secret Garden where we met again for the first time, Lo almost a year ago to the day.
Like the beginning, before the art and different names and different careers or the general mechanized change which had ensued, which we hoped wasn't over-bearing.
One thing remained.
So I say, " I love Abuja, I wouldnt want to live anywhere else"
She nods in understanding, similar words had left her lips too many times before that day, that hour or in those moments.
Street lights shadows across, and a sense of a beginning.
Our city's charm being one of many things, but on that night, it was the feeling of a kindred spirit.
As one listens, the other affirms,
And what matters might be bigger than the voice which says it, so being able to sit to record a day was like everything else we liked.
(Signed: Aida Oluwagbemiga)
