As someone with Aphantasia, visualizing stories has always been a challenge. This painting is going to hopefully be part of a series where I aim to capture the essence of chapters and stories I've read (Mostly from African literature). In this piece, I've recreated a scene from a book that left a lasting impression. It's my way of bridging the gap between words and images, connecting with the narratives that have moved me.
EXCERPT:
"Because doubt arrives like a cool breeze, Thomas went to the market on Christmas Eve, specifically to roam. He'd decided he was going to see Uncle closer to New Year's. Thomas would have called his uncle to spew out his angry thoughts to him directly if it weren't for his home training, but instead he just thought to himself: It's a lie, everything Uncle told me is a lie. And it felt like a small victory for him, this new ability to unlock himself from Uncle's faith and author his own unbelief.
But he couldn't stop thinking about those stories.
They followed him everywhere, adding weight to his shadow and dragging him down. Still, they couldn't be real. None of these things made sense. How could someone's body part get stolen? And if it was so pos-sible, why was it not happening in other countries?
How could a destiny be swapped or overridden?
How could people just disappear?
Exactly.
“At the market, the air was tight with joy. Live chickens flapped around in a woman's left hand as her right hand held her baby; a bag of rice on someone's head as they breezed by on the back of an Okada; towers of tinned tomatoes; a woman's ring glistening on a hill of garri; a man smoking a cigarette with one hand on his hip; two men gossiping in fake designer clothes; people beating down prices.
("Madam abeg now. Reduce your price for Jesus. You never watch Passion of Christ? Na Christmas time be dis o. Hour of grace.") Everybody was facing their life. He couldn't imagine any of them having the time.
Thomas roamed around the market with his phone in hand, his body on him and him inside it”. [1]
He was waiting for someone to do something dramatic steal his phone, steal his penis-—but nothing happened. He was testing something, daring whatever force was in charge of misfortunes: If someone stole his part, then he'd believe the stories. All of them. But for now? Everything was nonsense to him. Nigerians and their theatrics. Same people who would later claim that snakes ate eight million naira. Or that witches sometimes turn into birds. Or that one baby was born in a white nylon bag, and another with a rosary around their neck."
[1] Eloghosa Osunde, Vagabonds: THOMAS. (New York: Riverhead books,2022), 31-32.
