Change sometimes strangles us in our sleep. It creeps up on us slowly, imperceptibly until we are like the frog that sits still, not noticing that the water has been brought to a boil. You know this, because of how you now feel—like waking and finding that your own strangulation is well under way, waking up to choking breathlessness, to a big hand around your neck. You felt the same when suddenly after a tin of milk you became terribly sick, not because the tin of milk was bad—the same thing happened with another tin the following day— but because lactose intolerance had just showed up on your doorstep without a warning. This is how Abuja now makes you feel.