People talk about me, Esu Elegbara, the snail-shell dancer who scrambles all messages, who can speak in any tongue, take on any voice. They talk about me in hushed tones, afraid, confused. How I came one day and walked in-between two friends’ fields. One was on my left, one on the right. I was wearing one of my favourite hats. Two-tone, you could call it. Multifaceted is another expression that springs to mind. It all depends on your position. Either way, I talked to both of them, exchanged pleasantries, cracked a few jokes. They were easy, ready to take a break, they didn’t even wonder who I was or why I was there. I stayed almost a whole hour before they returned to work, waving goodbye. In the evening I heard them arguing, right in the village square. They were calling each other names, accusing each other of lying. Their friends and neighbours tried to understand what the problem was, why they were so angry with each other.

One was shouting about the man, me, with the black hat. The other was shouting back that he was blind, ignorant in fact. The hat had been red. I laughed at first, then I waited for a long time. I waited for them to see.

But they didn’t stop. They shouted and shouted until their faces were burning from the inside. They couldn’t see what they were missing.

Not everything is the same everywhere. They couldn’t see it at all.

They shouted all night. In the morning, I showed them the hat.