“Alright, Justice, Benoni, as we discussed. WTFooty’s all about the wildest football moments in the past week— insane red cards, VAR disasters, managers losing their shit. We need you two bringin’ that chaotic energy, yeah? Keep it raw, keep it funny, but don’t go too far off-script. We’ve got a tight 20-minute slot.”

“Oh, shebi you know me. I’m bringing heat now! Benoni, you say wetin?”

“Haha, as my people will say… Haibo! Let’s see what’s in that script!”

The Perspective studio was abuzz with pre-production energy for a new show, WTFooty. Justice and Benoni, who had been assigned to host the show, busily flipped through a script, checking out some of the wild football moments listed. Sahjara and Benoy stood next to them, pointing out the show’s direction near the set. 

In the control room, separated by a glass panel, Donald sat at a console, staring at a monitor while Ines sat beside him, tweaking a highlight reel. Absentmindedly adjusting a slider on the console, his face was clouded with sadness. Sure, the crew had done their best to lift his spirits. And joining in Ines’ birthday celebration had been the perfect distraction. It wasn’t enough to fully rid him of the hurt that he still felt over Amara’s sudden breakup with him; the sting was still fully present.

Ines, hard at work, briefly glanced over and noticed his glum demeanor. She paused her editing and swiveled her chair to face him. “Hey, Donnie, you alright, mate? Still looking like someone nicked your favorite Spurs kit. Still hurting over the breakup?”

Donald sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, Ines, it’s been a few days, but… it’s still rough, innit? She’s blocked me everywhere—phone, X, all of it. I was thinking about going to see her, try and talk it out, but… I dunno, I’m reconsiderin’ now. Feels pointless.”

Ines nodded, rubbing his arm. “You’re smart to rethink that, Donnie. Look, the way she ended it—over the phone, no explanation, then blocking you? That’s cold. And cruel. In my opinion, either she gave up on the relationship even though she wanted to commit, or… real talk, she had you as a backup all along and moved on. Either way, that’s a hurtful way to do it. You don’t deserve that.”

Donald stared at the monitor, his voice low. “Yeah, you’re right. Just… stings, y’know? I keep wondering who she’s with now. Who’s the dickhead she decided to run off with. I swear down, if I see that arsehole, I’m just gonna–” 

He stopped as he clenched his jaw, the rancor toward the unknown person clear in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Ines soothed, placing a hand on his arm. Donnie, look, whoever she’s with, that’s her loss, not yours. Don’t waste your time on that negative energy. You’re a proper catch, Donnie: big heart, mad energy, Spurs champion vibes. You deserve a girl who wants you the way I want Magnum, or how Carola’s all in for Mickey. Someone who’s gonna ride or die for you, not pull a shitty stunt like this tosser. Trust me.”

Donald sighed, managing a small nod. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He would have loved to meet the guy smashing his girl and teach him a lesson. But there was no point; it wouldn’t make any difference. Amara wouldn’t come running back into his arms just because he went gorilla mode on the other guy.

In any case, she was clearly making the choice to be with this guy. She was the one who decided playing him was a good idea. Even if the guy suggested it, she still made the choice to hurt him. So she was more at fault than whoever this geezer was.

“Yeah… you’re right. I appreciate that, Ines. Just gotta keep my head up, innit? Focus on Perspective and all.”

Ines nodded, a pleased look on her face. “That’s the spirit. You’ll see, the right one’s gonna come along and see what we all see—a legend. Now, perk up and let’s get ready for this show. This combination of Naija and Mzansi magic should be a madness!”

“Yeah, you’re right. These two will do a madness for sure. Should be a lit one, still. Oh, by the way, I was chatting to that friend of yours, the cute Muslim lady. Oh my days, she is such a lovely person! Soft-spoken and sweet to the core! Her husband is one lucky geezer, real talk.”

“Ugh, tell me about it! Dena is the ultimate definition of ‘precious’. I love her so much, you wouldn’t believe it…”

***

“Hmph! London weather diɛɛ, oh no,” Simba muttered loudly as he gripped the steering wheel of his car, navigating the late-evening traffic through Brixton. The afternoon had been a sunny one without a cloud in sight just an hour earlier, only for clouds to emerge and darken the atmosphere. 

Typical London weather.

Nana Esi sat in the passenger seat, her face firmly fixed on the lively of her phone, scrolling with a familiar indifference to his comment. Having dropped Pokua off at the dentist’s for an appointment, she needed to get some stuff at Brixton. Simba, who had taken them to the dentist’s place, offered to take her and bring her back. Her rigid posture suggested she would rather have taken an Uber or taxi instead, but of course, it made no financial sense. As she sat there, her cold and clipped demeanour was at its most glaring form, rarely engaging with him. 

Simba’s eyes flickered toward her briefly, then back to the road, his chest heavy with unsaid words. 

This silence was painful, to say the least. He wanted to reach out to her so badly, to at least share a genuine smile and conversation with her. Anything to try and bridge the chasm that had grown wider and wider with each passing year. 

Anyone could see, however, that the feeling was not mutual. She seemed content with this state of affairs.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as they moved through the streets. Stopping at a traffic light, Simba’s fingers hovered over his phone, connected to the car’s Bluetooth. The radio conversations were getting boring; if there was no conversation, he was better off jamming to some tunes.

Suddenly, Pokua’s voice echoed in his mind from their last father-and-daughter outing. Particularly when he played ‘So It Goes’ by Black Sherif and Fireboy DML…

“Daddy, the way Mummy loves Black Sherif eh… she’s always humming his songs.” 

A plan instantly popped up in his head.

Considering her attitude, it was likely it would go nowhere, but… it was worth a try. 

He opened Spotify, scrolled to his playlist, and hit the play button on a personal favourite of his. 

The opening beats of Wotowoto Seasoning by Odumodublvck and Black Sherif pulsed through the speakers. Simba kept his eyes on the road, moving as the traffic light turned green, but his heart thumped loudly in his chest as he silently hoped she’d notice and say something.

Nana Esi’s thumb paused mid-scroll, and her head tilted slightly as the song filled the car. She didn’t look up, but her fingers slowed, the song clearly catching her attention. 

Simba noticed her reaction, and his grip on the wheel tightened as he willed her to say something. 

Please, say something, Neesi, he silently urged her, as if she would hear him. Please engage me. We both like Blacko, let’s talk about that. Please… 

“Do you actually like this song,” Nana Esi asked suddenly, her voice low and clipped, but not as sharp as usual, “or just Black Sherif’s verse?” 

Her eyes might have stayed glued to her phone, but the crack in her icy facade was quite evident.

Simba’s lips twitched into a half-smile.

Yes! 

“The whole song. I think it’s fire,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light and devoid of too much excitement. “But Black Sherif’s verse is the peak, obviously. The guy is just too much.”

She let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, and finally glanced at him. “Figures. I only listen to it for that verse.” Her voice was quieter now, less guarded, as if the music had coaxed her to come out of her stiff shell.

He nodded and began rapping along to Odumodublck’s verse. 

Keeping a straight face was quite a struggle, as Nana Esi’s face softened into one of confusion while he rapped along. He couldn’t blame her; the lyrics were pretty garbage to him, but it was still fun to rap along to.

“I don’t know what the fuck he was saying there,” she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice as the chorus, building up to Black Sherif’s part, started up.

Simba snickered. “Ibi nonsense nkoaa, but chale, it’s still a jam. But our boy’s part is coming up. That be where the main juice dey.”

Nana Esi chuckled, bobbing her head to the beat.

Before he knew it, she was softly singing along to the chorus as well. She was caught up in the current, and he was loving it.

The verse they were waiting for dropped, and as if on cue, both voices belted out…   

Tear them down into pieces, what you figure this be?

Follow me talk your gibberish, Kwaku, I never listen…

Their voices mingling, there was a bit of hesitation at first, before they grew slightly louder, buoyed by the joy the song brought them, filling the car with something alive.

For those fleeting minutes, it was as though the wall between them had crumbled, and a glorious warmth had replaced the stiffness that had filled the car.

And what a beautiful couple of minutes it was for Simba.

“So what paaa was this chocolati girl showing Blacko?” Nana Esi chortled as the verse ended, finding one line from the verse highly amusing.

Simba laughed. “Hmm, the way he sings it diɛɛ, it’s giving OnlyFans levels.”

She let out a loud laugh. A laugh he hadn’t heard in ages.

The final notes of the song faded, leaving a warm hum in the car, Simba’s heart raced with excitement, buoyed by the unexpected harmony of their voices moments ago. This was the type of thing they had dreamed about years ago: sitting in a car, belting out tunes together.

It was so soothing and heartwarming to get to experience this, even if it was for just a moment. The iciness between them had been so deep, these rays of sunlight were worth cherishing.

Nana Esi’s guard hadn’t fully returned; her phone rested in her lap now, her eyes fixed on the rain-streaked windshield and a slight smirk on her face.

That smirk he used to tease her about back in the day.

Some things never change, do they? He thought to himself. That smirk, that infectious energy, that… that beauty… damnit, I miss you, Neesi. I really do…

He cleared his throat. “So, uh, you’re really into Blacko?”

Nana Esi let out a soft laugh. Not her usual guarded huff, but something almost playful. She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for a moment before drifting to the dashboard. “Interestingly, I didn’t really buy into the whole vibe at first,” she admitted, her voice softer. “This might be preposterous to suggest, but I thought he was just another one-hit-wonder guy to step on the scene. But after this recent album, I heard ‘Soma Obi’, and chale, before I knew it, I got hooked, checked out the album and the old one, and since then, I can’t stop playing his stuff. He’s just too dope, you know.”

Simba grinned, savouring the sound of her voice without its usual formal edge. “I mean, that’s how it is with Kweku Killa. His music just grows on you; it’s inevitable. Okay, okay, so which of his songs are your personal favourites?” he asked, his tone encouraging.

Nana Esi looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmmm, there are quite a number. ‘Soma Obi’ is so beautiful… umm, let’s see… ‘Oil In My Head’ as well, definitely. Then ‘Shut Up’ too is there, the vawulence in that track is fiery. Oh, and ‘45’ as well. Hard one. And of course, ‘Second Sermon’ and ‘Kwaku The Traveller’ are up there.”

Simba nodded, his grin spreading. “Yep. They’re all solid bangers, no question about that. As for ‘Second Sermon’, it’ll forever be one of GH’s GOAT tracks.” 

He reached for his phone, his fingers quick on the Spotify app. “As you’ve mentioned them, let’s put them on deck.”

Nana Esi nodded enthusiastically. “Okay!”

He nodded as he duly queued up the songs and hit play. The opening beat to ‘Oil In My Head’ kicked in, infectious and heavy, filling the car with its pulsing rhythm.

 Oil in my head

Everythin’ I touch is blessed

All I see is blessings

And, no man can stop this 

By the time the song hit its first chorus, Simba and Nana Esi were united in their joyful sing-along, their voices loud and filling the car.

Simba stole glances at her, a delightful warmth in his chest as he observed her face going alive in a way he hadn’t seen in years. 

It was just like old times. Those days when he visited her and they sang along to music videos on Metro TV. Those days when they were an inseparable duo who simply loved each other’s company.

Beautiful times.

His heart was full as they continued to belt out the words to the song. 

And deep down, he could feel it. That this was what he wanted more than anything else.

To be able to bond with the woman of his dreams, sing with her and their beautiful daughter, and spend their days together.

It was a beautiful moment, but just like Nicki Minaj, he wanted this moment for life…

Beautiful times indeed. You can only hope that this leads to something like an awakening of their dormant love…