Onabanjo, Oluseyi Olatunde2023-11-012023-11-012023https://hdl.handle.net/10539/36859A research report submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts to the Faculty of Humanities, University of the Witwatersrand, 2023My ears were itching again. Sleep pulled away like a receding tide, and the prickly feeling spread, till it covered me like beach sand. “Oluroumbi, oh, Joun joun, Iroko joun joun.” I pawed at my right ear to keep the singing at bay and ground the other into the sofa. It soon made sense to stop smashing the stained microsuede. I had released locked-in odors — mature farts, congealed sweat, and the leftovers from errant fuckery. I rolled onto my back, sniffed at the still air, and wiggled relief into the spot between my shoulder blades.enDissertation