All of Lagos is a mobile supermarket.
Informal stalls selling soccer jerseys, mangoes, and iPhone cables sprout between its buildings like plants growing in the cracks of a rock – improbable and tenacious. Meanwhile, hawkers weave through the notoriously gridlocked traffic carrying boxer shorts and kiddie pools, bibles and portraits of the new president, Muhammadu Buhari.
One morning I see a hand-painted billboard advertising “VISAS TO QATAR – FAST!” and beside it a phone number. Below that is written “ICE BLOCKS FOR SALE!” and then the same number. As I am contemplating the business model of the visa-expediter-turned-ice-block-salesperson, a man shoots his arm through the open window of my taxi, dangling a banana-scented air freshener.