I walked briskly on one of the connecting paths to the main road that led to church that Sunday morning. I was late to service again and honestly, this time, I couldn’t figure out why.

There are always one hundred and one things to do -- even on a Sunday morning. Pheew! This determined transition from a grueling 9 to 5 work life of a Lagos mainland boy to small business ownership is certainly not for the faint of heart.

Some clients simply want a mammoth 90 percent of your time for 5 percent of your gross estimate. How does that even make economic sense? But you have to keep up a smiling face and pleasant voice all of the time anyway.

Great. Now, I was starting to crowd my mind again with fluff. I wonder how much space is in there. Maybe that’s why I get forgetful sometimes.

I lifted my head slightly higher from its previously tilted, reflective position, and the side of my eye caught a faintly familiar figure ambling from the opposite direction.

I couldn’t miss that face in a crowded street -- except the road was typically sparse this morning.

Her eyes lit up and she locked her gaze on me. A half smile was forming on her lips.

Clearly, she recognised me too and now we had to exchange pleasantries. The problem was I couldn’t recall her name or where I knew her from. Dang!

A thousand images flashed in my head and my subconscious rummaged through the chaotic jumble to pick out memories of her.

No luck. I heaved.

The only thing that fleetingly etched on my mind was back then when, after another episode of a blank stare when he wanted to know where I placed an important item, my dad would ask: “But how do you manage to come top of the class when you’re so forgetful?”

Well, it puzzled me too. And it's still a mystery to me now. How much room is in the mind again?

My old acquaintance was now within touching distance.

“Good morning,” I greeted with a plastic smile.

“Ah, long time. Good morning,” she acknowledged with a nod.

I know I should mention her name out of courtesy and ask about unimportant details, but nothing was popping into my head. I’ve learnt to be honest in such awkward moments.

“I'm sorry, I’m really trying to recollect where I know you from,” I said, the pretend grin still plastered on my face.

“From Estate,” she said.

Fantastic. She said “Estate.” That really helps. 'Estate' must be the name of a place in Lagos! And to imagine I’ve lived in more than two estates in this Lagos…

She noticed my eyes were roving in dilemma

“Jakande Estate,” she corrected.

“Oh, Jakande Estate,” I echoed, still at a loss about where exactly in that place.

“How’s oga?” I added and hoped my assumption was right. She looked it.

“Fine,” she replied and slowly made to continue on her way. “How’s your brother?”

Brother? Which brother? Is it my actual ‘brother’ brother, the one I’m rarely seen with?

Or was she referring to Ola, who was so close to me most people assumed he was my brother?

Oh, well. Did I say I was late to church already? Satan, be gone now!

I hoped the ushers at the door don’t turn me back after several rounds of scolding looks from afar.

“Fine,” my voice tailed off as I doubled my steps. I glanced back briefly and she was out of view already.