Poem: Liquid Capital
By Majekodunmi Oseriemen Ebhohon
I am sitting at my desk,
sliding a lone, bronze coin across the wood
just to hear the metallic scrape it makes against the varnish.
It is an old coin, featuring the face of a man
who has long ceased to be relevant to anyone’s budget.
I am trying to remember what it felt like
to walk into a shop with a few of these
and emerge with something tangible, like a sausage roll,
instead of just a receipt that looks like a grocery list
but only contains one item.
On the radio, a smooth voice from Abuja explains
that we are currently undergoing a “necessary calibration,”
which is a very elegant way of saying
that a basket of tomatoes now costs the same as a small piece of land.
The voice asks for our patience,
as if patience were something you could boil in a pot
with a bit of pepper and onions.
I look out the window at a stray dog
navigating the drainage line with great focus.
He does not seem to know about the floating currency,
nor does he care about the Gross Domestic Product.
He is simply looking for a discarded biscuit wrapper.
When he finds one, he sniffs it thoroughly,
realizes it contains nothing but the memory of flour,
and lifts his leg against a billboard
that promises us a renewed hope,
giving it the exact amount of liquid capital it deserves.
