Finding Joy in a Lagos Market

I stepped into her store in Ìsàlẹ̀ Èkó, a district in Lagos with a name that literally translates to the “depths of Lagos.” The small store was likely no larger than an 8 feet by 10 feet kiosk, walls lined with necklaces and bracelets made up of beads and stones of all colors and shapes. On the back wall were stacks of purses, clutches, and handbags made of the best leather likely sourced from northern Nigeria that would be the envy of any western “luxury” fashion brand. The store smelled of roasted groundnuts and the wafting deliciousness of roasting plantain and corn probably carried downwind from another kiosk deep within the dense markets of Ìsàlẹ̀ Èkó.

“Good afternoon,” I said. “I am looking for a gift for my mother-in-law.”

“Nne!” she responded as she shifted her weight on the small stool she was perched on. “How are you, my dear?”

“I am well, we thank God.” I responded. I loved how she called me Nne. I smiled. “Can I see that handbag in the back, please?”

“Patience!” She called out to a young girl hanging a string of coral beads on the wall. “Bring that brown handbag down for my sister here to see. Bring the forest green one as well.”

“My dear,” she said as she turned back to me. “It is very nice of you to buy something for your mother-in-law. May God bless you.” Then as if to confirm a theory that was already building in her head, she asked, “Where are you from?”

“I’m Yoruba but my husband is from Ibusa and my mother-in-law is from Ubuluku.”

“Ehhhhhhh!” She clapped excitedly. “I didn’t know you’re our wife ooooo! Ehn en! Our brother is taking good care of you! Wonderful!” She said as she eyed me up and down with a mischievous yet warm grin on her face.

“Patience!!” She called out to her assistance with a certain increased vigor and urgency as she proceeded to get up from her stool, her agile movements defying what I assumed was her elderly age. “Patience!!!” she called out again a little more… impatiently… “Abeg, bring the new bags all the way in the back that just arrived yesterday for our wife o!!!”

I later learned that she was from Asaba, a city in Igbo land less than 10 miles from Ibusa where my father-in-law was born and raised. This was in 2023, my first time back to Nigeria in 23 years. There in that tiny store, in between the picking up of this and the putting down of that, we connected. And while I shopped, she laced price-haggling with prayers for my husband, lined shopping bags with well wishes for my parents-in-law, and chanted blessings over my children. I walked away from that encounter full, seen and with such a strong sense of belonging.

Fast forward to last week - I was back in Nigeria with the family. The kids’ first time in Nigeria, but more on that later. This time I was in Lekki Arts Market where I met Alice, a small-framed woman with the most infectious smile and a gigantic business savvy. I was purchasing some àdìrẹ dresses for casual wear as I prepared for our trip back to the States. As I asked Alice to pull styles from her rack, I realized we were engaging in that dance - me trying to decide which of the styles pulled I would settle on and purchase, her trying to sell me other stuff with that infectious charm. I haggled, she pushed back, I fake-threatened to leave and go to another store if she didn’t lower the prices I suspected were inflated in response to my American accent. She laughed and said I wouldn’t dare as she pulled new styles from the back of the store. She was right. We cackled and did this dance that felt ceremonial. This haggling that is one of thousands that make up the sounds, the hum of Lagos markets. And a joyous dance it was. Pure, organic, and a reveling in our shared humanity. One I could see was bringing us both so much joy and delight.

When it was time to go as heavy rain drops hit the tin roofs of the market shacks, I was reminded of my exchange in 2023 at the Ìsàlẹ̀ Èkó market, and I realized I had missed this. And I recognized I don’t have these types of spontaneous organic exchanges with random strangers at home in the US. Why is that?

In today’s world of technology and an app for everything, have we sacrificed such organic, spontaneous engagements with strangers in our quest for convenience and efficiency? Have we instacarted, uberate, and amazon-primed our way into isolation and disconnection? Do we miss moments of organic connection when standing in line for our coffee because our heads are buried in our phones? Do we even stand in line for coffee anymore? I am certainly guilty of all of the above. And as a working mom of three, I use all these apps and more for convenience and time-management, and I am not interested in giving them up at this time. However, maybe there is some balancing I can play with?

Recently, I participated in a panel where we discussed networking and mentoring, and one of the pieces of advice I gave the students in attendance was the importance of authenticity and being yourself. I have learned over the years that living as your most authentic self, like anything you intend to be good at, takes practice. It takes engaging and connecting with others on a frequent basis to get comfortable with presenting your true self to the world. And once you become comfortable in that, it can be truly liberating and bring you so much joy.

So today, in the name of balance and continuous practice, on this here Sunday, I will put on one of my àdìrẹ dresses from Alice’s store and I will head down to the local farmer’s market. I will pick up this and put down that. I will smell the fresh flowers and pick up a bunch or two for my home. And in between the countless tastings of crackers and brie, I will ask for the best recipe for the half dozen peaches I will purchase. I will ask where the farmer is from and what her favorite fruit to grow is. It will be a different kind of dance, yes, but I am hopeful it will bring me the same type of joy.