Nwanne Agwu

Photo by Gabriel Tovar In the 1920s, due to the newfound accessibility of cars, long-distance driving became an option for Americans looking to travel. Suddenly, more people were careening down long highways, bored, with nothing to do but look out the window, and entrepreneurs got to work, building roadside structures constructed in fantastical shapes: restaurants that looked like hats, water towers shaped like teacups, souvenir shops inside of a dinosaur’s belly, and more.

Dogs cried the day your father died. Not the day exactly; they cried the night before that day. Two dogs that I heard but didn’t see because I was too scared to leave my bed, and even if I left, I wouldn’t know how to tell Mama that I was going outside to see crying dogs.

Illustration by Charles Owen / THE REPUBLIC. Illustration by Charles Owen / THE REPUBLIC. I was seven or eight years old when I first saw a video of the Egedege Dance Group on television. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, the synchronization of the sounds, cacophony becoming harmony, the invitation of the flute, the arrival of the other instruments and finally the vocals. There was also the movement of the dancers who went from wriggles and stretches into acrobatic performances.