A Quiet Symphony at the Ministry

It happened quietly – no fanfare, no anthem, no special ceremony. Just a regular day at the Ministry of Education, in one of those inner office receptions with beige walls and rotating visitors. 

I was seated in the waiting room, among strangers, each of us there for different reasons. None of us knew each other. We shared only the air, the ticking wall clock, and the silence - at least for a while.

Then slowly, the room transformed into something extraordinary.

To my left were three Indians, seated closely and conversing in rapid Hindi. The language danced in the air, fast-paced, musical, instantly throwing me back to those Bollywood films we devoured growing up. Their speech, though not loud, was animated, a soft flurry of syllables that seemed to color the room.

Opposite me sat a man dressed in a crisp green native attire, topped with one of those Hausa-Muslim caps that seem to transcend tribes. At first glance, he could’ve passed for a Yoruba elder. 

But then his phone rang, and with a fluid switch, the Hausa language flowed out of him – warm, grounded, and rhythmic. It merged beautifully with the surrounding sounds, forming an unlikely harmony with the Hindi nearby.

Then my boss took a call. Yoruba. Rich, textured, expressive. Not loud, but unapologetically present – like the sound of a talking drum in a distant courtyard.

There it was: (Hindi), Hausa, Yoruba. Each distinct, each unapologetic. And none clashing.

I caught myself smiling, silently wondering if the third major Nigerian language would complete the circle. I didn’t have to wait long. A policewoman walked in – poised, firm, her uniform sharp and her gait confident. 

You didn’t need to be told she was Igbo; it was in her mannerisms, her grace. She didn’t speak Igbo directly, but her voice carried that unmistakable tone as she threw a few sentences in Pidgin at a woman seated at the far end. 

And with that, the unspoken quartet was complete.

In that little reception area, in the heart of a government building, a quiet symphony of languages and tribes played itself out. No arguments. No side-eyes. No tension. Just people from different places, different tongues  coexisting. Minding their own business. Respecting space. Living in peace.

I don't know what exactly I hoped to get from that moment. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

But it was beautiful.