It’s a scene straight out of a dream or maybe an April Fool Day’s joke. But this is not April. And I am not dreaming.
For real, the man sitting face-to-face with me at Barcelos, a fast-food restaurant in Ikeja, eating chicken and chips with me is no other person than the immediate elder brother of Michael Jackson. Yes, the one and only Michael Jackson, the king of pop, the eccentric megastar, the man whose album Thriller is the biggest-selling of all times, the man who no longer has a nose, having chiselled his nose so many times that there is no nose on his face.