Lagos is so large a city that my trip to see friends near the centre of town on Friday has to involve an overnight stay. I am out in Ogun State- still a part of Lagos but in an entirely different state- staying with a friend in a rambling house that has not seen a clear-out since about the early 80s. Crazy floral carpet, years of dust underneath it, hides funky 1970s orange tiles and when the generator is on, beautiful glass chandeliers glow in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The house is set on a compound almost entirely filled with aloe vera plants.





I've been afraid of dogs ever since I was chased by some Dobermans in Japan. Even when I'm not scared of them, I've got it into my head that I don't like them. I am staying in a house with eight dogs, and there's not a thing I can do about it.

Patch doesn't like me. He thinks I will steal his prize pineapple, and in the morning he nips my toes when I am outside watching the sun come up, hoping that a little morning cool air will take away the heat that has built up inside me over night. Those quiet hours between waking and when the generator comes on at nine, are silent and beautiful.

The evening brings the same quiet, and that golden sun which mellows everything it touches. I have become quiet fond of Jessica, a ridgeback, who is lumbering and large but inoffensive. The bench I was sitting on, crumbling like everything else in the compound, cast a shadow on her soft fur and for a moment I thought she too looked very beautiful.