“Life In Monochrome…”

Life mists us up…


And sometimes life felt worth living, and sometimes it didn’t.

It was harmattan, and death was in vogue; the world happened, rhythmically. Everything was automated, even biology.

Wake, fog, expend, expire, dust…lather, rinse, repeat.

Our late adolescence was full of non-sequiturs and six-syllable pharmaceuticals — some people were given to certain things.

Or two-lettered redemption

Petrol prices were high and Kate still wanted to cross-country. Walk the sand dunes with bare feet, frolick with the footloose almajiris, see the Gurara falls, dance the atilogwu, peep into Efik fattening rooms, trace the details of Bini bronze heads. It had to wait. She hated me for it, and I still loved her.


I bumped my head and bled on the floor on Saturday night, it was the midnight snacking, guilty pleasures. Sometimes I feel like St. Peter will refuse to call my native name out at the pearlies — out of principle. I loved the name so much — Chukwuemeka. So, idolatory. Also, it would be a tongue risk for him, too many consonants (do celestial tongues bruise? or do I get a heavenly nickname?). But I’ve read the Bible and I’m a good man. I feel Luke was like me, a poet. His gospel had bits of me in it.

Two days ago, a girl told me she saw me die, said I was responsible for a sin in the park. I kept smoking my cigarettes. I wonder how fitting it would be if we should all go out through exit wounds, in gunpowder, maybe.

Nnnena was a closer approximation of me — uncultured insanity mixed in with a generous sprinkling of Abeokuta’s festive naivety; but Kate didn’t like Nnnena. Nnenna always tried to keep in touch. I wrote her a week ago, no reply. I wrote again yesterday, ditto. Touch and go.

Rocky city; alias Abeokuta

I was in the kitchen this morning, dicing tomatoes. I cut myself accidentally, blood littered the counter and it reminded me of Black, the dingo I bought in traffic. Black died before she could give birth to puppies, and we never said anything about it because that was life. The blood on the kitchen counter had swollen into a pool, I almost reached for the band-aids but I thought of the Kurt Vonnegut book I was reading for my thesis discussion — I had given him a life not worth living, but I had also given him an iron will to live.

I disagreed: sometimes it was worth living, and sometimes it wasn’t.

Life — worth living here



IG: @Writers_Bloque


Join us. Inbox: Writersbloqueafrique@gmail.com

9 thoughts on ““Life In Monochrome…”” by Writers_Bloque (@Writers-Bloque)

  1. Beautiful story!!! This rendition is marvelous

    1. Ufuoma Otebele (@ufuomaotebele)

      The rendition is what I loved most.

  2. ^ @six, beautiful? Did we read the same piece?
    Well, 👍🏾 to OP for the effort, but I’m still trying to figure out what the post is about.
    Thanks for sharing anyway.

  3. @literati ah! The piece was beautiful to me o. The narrator was suicidal, looking for a reason as to why he should continue with life. Then he found that reason in the promise the younger generation held…@the bottom pic

  4. Ufuoma Otebele (@ufuomaotebele)

    Oh myy!! It read like you had a writing marathon where you wrote for 5 minutes, stopped, and picked up the race again. I loved, loved, loved, the pictures you added. It flowed well like a beautiful piece of music. Great, good, amazing job.

  5. @six long tyme, I read it but as @literati has said even I am still trying to figure it out.

    Busy life schedules may have brought about the hibernation I guess, but we heard the call and I answered.

  6. anak adrian (@anakadrian)

    You might be hard pressed to find many NSers with the literary maturity to appreciate this beautiful piece.

  7. @six You too had to summon me from hibernation abi?

    First of all I like the narrative style of this piece
    Then I noticed its abrupt disjointedness which got me wondering if I was reading a body of poetry….
    Eventually I realised that it was a collection of bleak vignettes actually dishing out bleak slices of life in the writer’s world…

    Then I saw the writer’s name and it explained or rather suggested why this style came about – @WRITERS-BLOQUE

    When you have writer’s block, maybe you need a splash of vignettes to set your mind free…

    The bleakness of scenarios definitely explains the title

    nice piece

Leave a Reply