He talks Nkrumah, post-colonial dreams – we are still colonised! – honouring our ancestors, our traditions, without them who are we? He spoke of his lamenting generation, then, in shock, asks me what I am doing.
I pull up on the hard shoulder, indicators blinking.
It has been six years, I remind him, and this is what you tell me. We haven’t seen each other over a year and you forget to mention love.
Because the battles I endure are bigger than your so-called love. He replies, annoyed.