Goats and sheep, I read somewhere, are equally capable climbers, but goats are more disposed to climbing. I have a goat’s—a young mountain goat’s—inclination to climb and jump, as opposed to other sheepish people *tongue out*.

Leaping up onto the sidewalk at Orile, a foot and a half higher than the road, and thrusting my hips slightly forward to cushion my backpack as it swings back and smacks into my hipbone. Ducking across brisk traffic and vaulting over the waist high median divider along Ipaja Road. Hopping onto curbstones in Alagomeji, Yaba and walking foot before foot on the zebra-colored strip with the occasional hip wobble to maintain balance, like an inexperienced tightrope walker, and toppling off every now and then and hopping right back on. Clambering up the ladder up to the overhead water tank behind my distant uncle’s house in Ajah, I survey the landscape around from that eyrie, although I feel a little vertiginous doing this. Bounding up the stairs of the CMS Bus Stop pedestrian overpass, I take them two or three at a time, and gallop down it on the other side of the road, not minding my calf muscles’ protests. (more…)