Our father’s body lay on a plinth the color of gunmetal. He was covered by a simple white sheet up to his collarbone, above which his shaved head was supported by a stone headrest. Looking at him, it was as if his body had shrunk in tandem with his dissembling life. I shivered. The visitation room in Omega Funeral Home was as cold as a meat locker, while outside the rainy season had turned Lagos into a sauna. When I grabbed my brother Femi’s hand, I was reminded of the pain that flooded me when