Issue 5: Lost

Welcome to Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel‘s long awaited LOST, our fifth issue, which we are dedicating to the great traveller, Anthony Bourdain, whose recent passing has affected us all. We offer this issue in celebration of his storytelling. The word lost originates from the Old English losian, meaning to perish. While this collection features many narratives of loss, it also illuminates the journey to being found. We hope Bourdain is finding his way home.

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Lost: Nigerians Travel: Travel Beyond National Geographic

The fondest memories of my childhood were preceded by the phrase “Let’s go on a drive,” an open sesame always spoken by my father. It was all we needed to pile into his trusty old maroon red Volvo 244 DL; three barely spaced kids in the back, one mother, who always had food ready for the trip, beside him.

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Lost: They Are Not Brown Roofs, They Are Rusted

I first visited Ibadan in a poem, in the J.P. Clark poem quoted above. I hadn’t quite grasped the significance or spirit of the poem at the time; the only vibration that meant a lot to me in the poem was Ibadan—the title of the poem. It was from this point I started to nurse an interest in the city of Ibadan. I was not yet eighteen then. With no reason other than the sound of its name, I fell in love with Ibadan—I fell in love with an unknown place.

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Lost: A Tour of Memories

It is expected you would know a city where you have lived all your life by heart; it would seem natural if you knew it like the palm of your hand: its skies and crevices ought to be tucked deep down your mind such that you should be able to navigate it blindfolded. How accurate this is or who placed the responsibility on you is just a question of truism. Perhaps, to answer that, whether you can truly calibrate ad libitum the cartography of the city of your birth, you might linger here and indulge yourself in some brief nostalgia.

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Lost: You Must (Not!) Set Forth at Dawn

There are cities that never sleep. I was raised in one: Lagos. So you can imagine the rude awakening that awaited me in this new city that doesn’t just sleep but does so deeply it is reluctant to climb out of slumber in the morning. Sometimes, it takes the burning fury of the afternoon sun to draw Ibadan out from under the covers.

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