Taduno's Song. Odafe Atogun

sobered up instantly. ‘I came to make music,’ he stammered.

      ‘What kind of music do you sing?’ Something about the teenager had seized the attention of the man.

      ‘The kind of music that tells stories,’ Taduno replied naively.

      ‘All music tells a story,’ the man responded.

      ‘Well, my music tells a special kind of story.’ Taduno could feel his confidence returning.

      ‘Would you play me your music?’ the man asked, in a gentle voice.

      Taduno hesitated.

      ‘My name is TK, I own this studio.’

      ‘Oh!’ Taduno exclaimed, unable to say anything more.

      ‘I would like to hear your music,’ TK continued, with an encouraging smile. He had been in music the whole of his life and something told him the young man standing before him was special. ‘Come with me. Please?’

      Taduno disregarded TK’s invitation. He unslung his guitar from his shoulder, and right there in the corridor, under the brightly lit bulbs, he began to strum the guitar. The battered guitar produced a mesmerising tune. And then he began to sing about two funny men. One laughed because he thought the other was funny. And the other thought the first one was funny and laughed too. And the two of them laughed, not knowing that they were both funny men.

      It was a short piece; it screamed of the originality of Taduno’s talent. When he finished, TK began to applaud with a big smile on his face. The first set of studio staff were just starting to arrive, and seeing TK clapping they joined in, certain that he had discovered a prodigious talent. Soon, the whole corridor became filled with applause. And the legend of Taduno was born.

      Taduno and TK established a great friendship and together made music that resounded in every corner of the country.

      ‘We’re almost there,’ Aroli said. ‘We’re almost at the studio.’ And then, glancing at Taduno, and seeing that he was smiling, he asked, ‘Why are you smiling?’

      The smile on Taduno’s face broadened. ‘Because we are almost there,’ he replied.

      *

      He could sense that the air in the studio was different as he and Aroli walked in. It was not the same place he had walked into that June morning, almost twenty years ago. It was as if something had died there that was once alive.