Peering at old tired bodies dressed in shabby flowing gowns, I felt this dream will disappear. I looked around to find a face or relate the event. The faces kept multiplying like fruit flies dancing on a festering sore. Suddenly, it was my late paternal grandfather. He sat with his friends haggling over pieces of … Continue reading Chinedu
On Friday nights, beer parlour faithfuls have emphasised that we live in last Lagos- the final generation of dwellers before the combustion of the earth. “Either a typhoon or beach overflow wipes off the city or God says it’s over,” he chattered filling their sweating goblets. “With the way everyone goes to church and mosques, … Continue reading Chronicle of a Lagos Life
A Police man slapped Mohammed in Tunisia, so he pours fire for body,truly Tunisian. For naija people will kneel down tying her shoe lace. If she dey Yaba, you can take down to bend down select –they sell police uniform and shoes there. When you get to Yaba turn left, then turn right. You watch … Continue reading Is it Your Money?
I thought I was a Lagosian. Today ,I realised I am still a native of Ogbomoso. I left my shirtmaker in Tinubu Square on my way home. I watched Muslims pray in unison with the spirit of Ramadan hovering in the air. I wanted to take a bike but after haggling with motorcycle operator , … Continue reading Las Gidi
I heard of Him few years ago while He healed people at the Galilee. He was to learn carpentry but he started walking with multitude waxing miracles. On a fateful night that I toiled to make a bumper fish harvest, I saw him on the ship speaking to people. After a night of labour, we … Continue reading Forsaking All
She sat still in the atmosphere of a cemetery. Lolade looked grim at the barren lines of her paper. Others with swollen pupil having held sleep hostage filled the gaps. She was at a loss of what to pen. The pen looked too heavy to engrave any meaningful writing on paper. She kept flipping the … Continue reading Miss Sociology
I try to hold you. All I have is the clasp of the wind. I long for the weave of our lips sucking out the breath of our lungs. Standing in the lonely space barren with living bodies. I yearn that our spirit comes interlocked. Beyond the swap of our saliva in a sensual mood, … Continue reading The Long Corridor
My dear independent country is fifty. In its golden jubilee, this is the time to clink glasses and wear smiles for the photograph. I expected a large carnival with sequined kaftans and vivid display of our cultural heritage. I needed to be overfed with stories of green technology, flawless power supply, countless modular refineries, rapid … Continue reading My First Night