It was Sadiya’s birthday. Segun had decided to celebrate it in an unusual way, and here we were: a glass of wine in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. In front of us were blank canvases, waiting to come to life. I was lost in thought as I looked at the canvas in front of me. We were alike. Blank. Life had the controls, tossing me as it wanted. At age 25, my feeble frame belied the harsh experiences I had been through. With a photography career that kept breaking down like my old tripod, I tried to keep afloat by juggling freelance gigs. I was going through a tunnel, but there was no light at its end. As a half-orphan, as I often called myself when in light spirits, it was my responsibility to make sure Mama did not suffer. Papa was long gone. I had no one to turn to, and I was ready to call it quits. Knowingly, Sadiya threw me a sideways glance. I smiled at her, shutting my thoughts from my expression. Then, Vincent Kumapayi entered. That was one artist I would give anything