Sunset louded an ancient alarm through the breeze. I had just pulled out my laundry as a messy painting and held them around my entire body waiting for the sun behind me to sink into the night. It was an odd time to wash my clothes, mother had this insinuation that clothes left to dry on the line after sundown would be plagued by bad omens. I thought it an anecdote. With the world a spinning mass of ever-changing realities, there was no time to stop and dwell on the past. I liked the thoughts of thinking through Space; galaxies spurting a billion wildfires in one glance, Earth gyrating as a ball of green and blue on a needle fixated by God to the Sun as a cauldron flame-lit.

Few meters away, I saw him. I saw the dream that he dreamt marked by his presence. The old man sat on a plastic white chair, in the same old clothes I saw him in three days before and the other days following. His face was blocked by ornamental plants but I imagined the marks of his youth settle coldly as fierce wrinkles. I imagined him asleep, maybe faraway to where the stars burned and rain pattered and love died and smoke rose. I imagined. He could probably just be in his sleep, in a void, a dark one, empty of thoughts.

I let the tap run water into my clothes and led my hands to squeeze the detergent in. I should have greeted him, I wanted to, I needed to but I was the same being that had contrary thoughts to Ma's "anecdote" and would have loved to let the night swallow "clothes left to dry on the line" but would still panic when it struck 6:30 and laundry was outside.

Stars didn't play here, not in my mind, at least for now. I felt terrible as I hung the dripping clothes and washed grasses off my feet in the running tap and watched the sun pulling down. I have anxieties, I have questions that are silly but still want them answered, I'm small in size, very small, what people have short-termed "smallie" and made laughable. But it was okay to feel anxious, have second thoughts about greeting an old man and wondering if he'd hear you if you screamed or saw you if you waved. It was okay.

I walked on the grasses with my wet feet on wet flip-flops, steps away from Baba who searched with his bleary eyes stained by the rust colour of age try find dreams to dream, on a wall. 

"Nna wuni" I greeted in Hausa language, which translates to good evening

For a moment, the wrinkles became portals to beauty, his lips gave off to pure smile and a thousand stories fluttered in the wind. His teeth were uneven but it straightened my confidence, incomplete but formed a bursting emotion within me. He waved and replied,

"Nna wuni, Nagode sosai" 

"Good evening, thank you very much"

I walked back to my wet clothes still hanging, the sun being a darling and doves escaping from my intruding presence. 

I sensed that he liked my greeting.