Gon gon gon. 

The town crier woke me up. It was early. Way too early for me to be awake. I thought I was dreaming but the sound grew louder and sharper.

Why would I hear a town crier in Lagos?

Lagos is a city with hope, dreams, validation and endless possibilities, not a village with a town square.

I remember my mom telling me all about town criers growing up. 

She said back in the days, they were found in villages. They’d pretty much go round with drums to alert everyone to converge at the town square whenever the town head or king had important news. 

But I don’t get it. Why is there a town crier in Lagos? In 2025? 

I looked out the window and saw my neighbors outside. I hurriedly dressed and joined them to see what was happening. It was an odd scene. Everyone was shocked as I was. But what was most surprising was how we were being pulled in a direction. It was a strange force pulling us forward.

Something was wrong. Was it a magnetic field? I was out yesterday, and everything seemed normal. I tried running back into my apartment, but it was too late. 

I eventually succumbed and followed everyone else because we didn’t have a choice. 

The sound grew louder as we followed the vortex.

We finally arrived at what I thought was the center of Lagos. Maybe I’m wrong but this place looked like Balogun market, the biggest market in Lagos. 

Anyone who’s been to Balogun market knows how rowdy it is. But on a day when the whole of Lagos was being pulled and summoned by an invisible magnet, the scene was chaotic.  

We all stopped. Something important was happening at the center. I was too far back to see, but I heard people screaming: “Agbaya! The old woman is good for nothing!”

What old woman were they referring to? I found a pole to climb to see what was happening.  

I saw a baby. A newborn whose head was tilted to the side. And there was the old woman. She was forcefully tilting the baby’s head. People tried to stop her, but she was too powerful.  

And the baby was in pain. Now I get why we were summoned here. 

We were there for days. It looked like we were failing the baby who had now stopped crying. The lack of tears signified a loss of hope. That humanity had failed.

On the third day, a woman fought her way through the crowd. She approached the old woman and whispered something in her ear.

Suddenly, the old woman fell. The baby began to cry again as if to announce that its hopes had returned. 

The magnetic field began to dissolve. I found the lady who defeated the old woman and asked what she did. 

She said:

“I told her to remember the Yoruba proverb: Agba ki n w’aloja ki ori omo tuntun wo – an elder should not stand by while a baby’s head is being bent. And when I touched her, I saw her history. She carried scars. Old wounds. Pain. I might be younger than her, but in that moment, I was the elder who needed to straighten her own crooked head.”

It was then I realized the deeper truth.

We must take the time to straighten our own crooked heads before we can watch out for the newborn. Because it is only through healing ourselves can we protect what is new.

I thanked the lady, and as I was about to leave, our eyes locked.

I understood.

A different town crier was coming.

 But this time, I knew what to do.