3:49am says my phone as I enquire of it the time
And my eyes trail the man as he strolls, one hand in his fleece pocket and the other dangling, towards my house.
The parked cars across the road partially block him so I am not sure if he is alone or with his dog.
I am sure, this is the same man I saw sometimes last week. A middle-aged lone man walking with a dog in the hours when humans slept.
You also agree it is not a regular sight, right?.
I watch as he approaches. Then sees the tiny white dog beside him.
I silently thank the City Council for the street lights as I peer through the window at him.
“What is your story? why are you awake and out at such timings?”.
My mind hurls the question through the triple-glazed windows, out across the street, into his. But he walks on. Unpausing. Indicating he did not hear me.
Dear Lord, what is going on with this man? Is he alright?
insomnia?
prayer walk?
mental health?
or recently bereaved and cannot sleep?
The dawning day obscures his face. Not even like I can pick him out in daylight. Now, he veers off into the next lane. Away from the street and out of sight
“What am I also doing awake at this time?” I see you side-eye me
“I was standing by a window drinking a hot bowl of Golden Morn”
“Drinking what!”
Golden Morn is a maize-based cereal which I have not stopped drinking for almost twenty years now. Cereals are a weakness I do not plan to overcome. A habit developed in my childhood growing up in Northern Nigeria with a vast array of grains.
You see, you could make any kind of grain into a gruel and with milk into the mix, you are good to go. Especially if you were that child like me who saw eating as a dreary chore.
As a responsible adult, I found a workaround around that relationship — drink it — so I blend everything to either become a smoothie or gruel. In addition to my all-time favourite liquid; aqua.
Yes, so standing by the window, bowl of cereal cradled in hand, I was staring out the street when my eyes caught him.
“Why am I eating at 3am?
“Simply for the fact that I am one of the few self-aware adults who can get away with it”
“self-aware adult who eats while men sleep?”
“Oh please, not now! cut out that fitness and health crap! I can sell you a paid course on Health and Fitness. I am Amara nnaji after all, remember?
“Why was I awake?”
“Because I was awake”
“why?”
“you mean why is this man awake and walking his dog at 3am?”
“No, I mean why are you not asleep at this time?”
“None of your business. Stick with the subject here”
“maybe he could not sleep”
“I thought we already established that”
“What if he is an author whose characters are not cooperating and these pre-dawn walks are his appointment with inspiration?”
“Oh! never thought of it”
By now, I was through the food and as I made to walk off, a movement caught my eyes ahead.
A mobility scooter zapping across from the other street. A man sat in it driving recklessly right in the centre where the streets morph into a Y junction.
I shook my head in awe and walk away.
These privileges of the Western world. Are they even aware of their privileges?
That you can step out of your home at such unholy hours and not have safety concerns?
That you have mobility aids which help you retain a measure of autonomy and ensure a better quality of life than the man across the Atlantic whose mobility depends solely on carers?
As far as mental health goes, it is orgasmic to your brain to know it can access these options. Unlike the other person who can only lie flat on their back in bed and count sheep.