sing a song of strangers..
Sing A Song Of People is a primary school poem I loved to recite as a child. Back then, it felt like a fun little rhyme about people going places, moving fast, walking slow, some in the rain, some in the snow. It painted a lively picture of city life—one filled with movement, diversity, and purpose. I remember imagining all these different kinds of people and thinking how exciting it would be to live among them someday.
Growing up, I was drawn to the idea of big cities, the hustle, the skyscrapers, the energy. I read about them in books, watched them in movies, and romanticized the image of a fast-paced metropolis where things were always happening. I was born and raised in a city myself, but Abuja isn’t quite like Lagos, London, or Toronto - the three cities I’ve lived in. Those places are different. They are alive, yet somehow lifeless. They have everything, yet feel empty.
But now, every morning as I take the subway into Toronto’s downtown financial district, I think about that poem differently.
My daily commute starts at 8:30 a.m. on the subway, along with hundreds of thousands of others funneling into downtown. We pack ourselves into the train like a well-rehearsed assembly line, barely making eye contact, airpods in, scrolling on our phones, waiting for our stops. The train pulls into Union Station, and the exodus begins, each person scurrying off to their own corporate tower, ready to trade hours for paychecks.
By 5 p.m., the tide reverses. People walk briskly, eager to escape the concrete jungle. That’s the funny thing - every morning, we rush into the city, and by evening, we make a beeline to leave, we scatter to reclaim a few hours of real life before it all starts again the next day.
Sometimes, I pass the time by imagining everyone around me in their natural states, not in their nice office clothes, but in lounge shorts, sprawled on their couches, eating spaghetti straight from the pot, playing with their kids or dogs, watching mindless TV. It’s a tiny act of rebellion against the monotony, reminding ourselves that beneath the layers of capitalism, we are still people.
Yet, every so often, I see something that makes me wonder when we became so soulless.
As I write this, there’s a man standing in front of me, holding a single crutch, his foot encased in a medical boot. He clearly needs a seat, yet not a single person offers him one - not even those sitting in the blue priority seats meant for people in his condition. They say we should be kind to all because some disabilities aren’t visible. But what about when they are? What about when someone is right in front of us, visibly struggling, and we still choose to look away?
I think back to Sing a Song of People. The poem captured the movement of city life, but maybe it also foreshadowed the disconnect. People rushing, faces blank, lost in their own world, ignoring the ones beside them. We think we are surrounded by people, but often, we are just alone in a crowd. Maybe the poem was never celebrating the city but warning us of adulthood. Or maybe it was reminding us that even in a place that feels soulless, the people within it are not.
Sometimes, these soulless strangers become real people. Once a week, I randomly run into my sister on the subway. We live just one stop apart, and somehow, despite the crowd, we always seem to find each other. A few months ago, a new guy joined my company and we work on some projects together. He gets on the train three stops after me. Before now, he was just another blank face in the crowd. But now, I know that guy, he’s a great dad with two kids and a third on the way, I know that his nanny cooks meals for the family, and that he loves the city of Toronto—so much so that he wouldn’t live anywhere else.
It’s funny how proximity and familiarity can make people real to us. The same person you ignore today could be the one you share an inside joke with tomorrow.
If you’re unfamiliar with the poem, let me save you some googling..
SING A SONG OF PEOPLE by LOIS LENSKI (1965)
Sing a song of people
Walking fast or slow;
People in the city,
Up and down they go.
People on the sidewalk,
People on the bus;
People passing, passing,
In back and front of us.
People on the subway
Underneath the ground;
People riding taxis
Round and round and round.
People with their hats on,
Going in the doors;
People with umbrellas
When it rains and pours.
People in tall buildings
And in stores below;
Riding elevators
Up and down they go.
People walking singly,
People in a crowd;
People saying nothing,
People talking loud.
People laughing, smiling,
Grumpy people too;
People who just hurry
And never look at you!
Sing a song of people
Who like to come and go;
Sing of city people
You see but never know!
