Harmattan’s dust overfills our nostrils, repeatedly, announcing her aura way too sharp, unnecessarily faint, lazy lazy drops of red, curry spicy, and dash of Cameroon’s romantic pepper. Exhaust pipes dish out smoke, dark and strong as crusaders, fit and focused and oddly smooth slaying us with fierce long swords. Rattle snakes and golden scorpions all … Continue reading Nu and Tanned
My life is like the harmattan’s mist That crusts and dries all layers touched While blocking sight beyond the here But hanging untouchable to fill the void My life is like the coiled spring Energy brims through its bends and loop Yet held in place by a force greater Still watching, waiting for time … Continue reading Versions of a Life
A childhood memory of Christmas. It starts with the sun: the large red disc that appears at dusk up behind the houses and right atop the Fadama. The sun and then the smells: the scent of dust and bush fires and finally the aroma of fried meat and frying tomatoes. The sun assumed that colour … Continue reading And Christmas died in Minna
With lips shredded like a masquerade’s dress And faces masked in petroleum jelly, blinding their dryness Harm is at hand With skin … Continue reading Harm-at-hand
I was once pretty, Samira with the brown skin, luscious brown lips and big dark eyes. Now I looked like a skeleton coated with flesh. My eyes had become small with small bags underneath. My over stretched skin could feel the starchy hospital bed sheet. The white walls of my small hospital rooms, was a … Continue reading Cough Syrup, My Friend.