Cannibals By Ofem Ubi
Of all things to be done with money Of all the homeless, hungry and hopeless children loitering and littering the starved streets of this ancient city Of all the insecurities and police brutalities Of all ignoble social vices and communal clashes Of all the lack and late payment of salaries Of all the outdated hospital facilities, bad transport systems and traffic Of all the countless nameless projects abandoned like old unused currencies Of all the indiscriminate felling of trees Of all the teaming teenage pregnancies in our little villages Of all obvious pot holes, inadequate electricity and tourist sites waiting to be beautified like brides on the day of their matrimonies The only thing our eyes set sight on to spare resources is an annual December ritual festival called CARNIVAL From a birds eye I see I see “Africa’s Biggest Street Party”, nothing but an army of lost but precious…
EDEN BEFORE EDEN BY OFEM UBI
I’m from a place where agriculture found its birth Where the grasses grow greener regardless of the seasons reasons because over here fruitfulness is not voluntary but compulsory A place where the sun steadfastly shines and brightens the dark face of earth I’m from a place where stars hang in the night sky like clips taking shots of humanity in peaceful slumber A place which is not more or less a tourist site for heaven, the footstool of the Holy Trinity A place I call Eden before Eden Where everything was free and animals could converse with man as if they were made of same skin, image and likeness I’m from a place, the cradle of civilization Where science said it’s first Hello to the world from the other side And creativity did a soft work on the imaginations of men falling down from the white clouds of heaven like…
LOVOPHOBIA BY OFEM UBI
Am scared of and to love It dreads me severely like a Nollywood movie ghost longing for my soul in the dark Am afraid of the four lettered word Because it turns me into a breathing skeleton It lays bare the true me and makes me vulnerable It breaks down my armor and strips me naked turning me into nothing but prey to spears, arrows and bullets of heartbreak Love turns me into a fool Constantly making me fantasize about that one person I can’t stay seconds without thinking of It makes me smile unconsciously It makes people think am few steps closer to being crazy Cos with her on the phone I unknowingly start kicking stones, plucking hibiscus flowers and roaming around like a helpless child on the busy streets of Calabar It makes me feel weak Because I accept my flaws and mistakes choosing peace instead of pride…
WEDNESDAY SERIES | THE SUICIDE NOTE 3 BY EDIKAN AKPANTE
It was obvious that my grandfather didn’t like me, whether it was because I was my mother’s daughter or for my being a female child, I didn’t know why. But he didn’t just fancy my existence, moreover, in our society, it is seen as a crime, a sacrilege, for a young one to say her mind to an elder or her own view on any matter as far as an elderly person is concerned. But truly, up to this generation, we are still bearing our forefathers’ names and not even our grand parents’. So why are they so concerned about their names being passed on, when their ancestral fathers are still living on, while their names die with them. Then Lizzy, while I struggled with this thought, something dropped in my mind, that this isn’t just about what they really want but it’s just a belief. And do you know…
Emeka by Blessing Iyeli
It’s one thing to live in a “face me I bullshit you” compound, it’s another thing to live with good/bad neighbours. Emeka is not someone to be classified as a good neighbour. A neighbour that enjoys watching your cloths being beaten by rain, tells a visitor that whoever he or she wants to see is not around, stops a girlfriend from seeing her boyfriend with an excuse that the boy’s mother is around. Whenever he is going out, he disconnects NEPA light from the right fuse to the wrong one. Emeka indeed is a wonderful neighbour who is hated by everyone especially Rita. One beautiful Sunday morning around 5:24am Rita was outside washing some cloths and making sure she gets to church on time, being the praise and worship leader she had to be in church before everyone else. Emeka knowing very well that it was time for her to…
Familiar African Tales | Ekpo in GSS Exam By Mira Morah
“Psst! Pssst! Nora!” I didn’t want to turn towards her so I pretended not to hear her. I felt a tap on my back. I pretended it was just a housefly perching on my back. Another pinch. Pinch. Tap. I leaned back and tilted my head a bit. “Please do you know number three?” She asked. I shook my head. “Please let me just see what you’ve shaded, that’s number three shae?” “I’m not sure if it’s correct. Sorry.” I quickly whispered back and leaned forward to focus on my work. When I thought I was safe from any further interruptions, I began shedding again, piecing together strings of ideas and thoughts on how to attack the questions. I was so sure of them! Then I heard the ruffling sound of papers behind me. So this babe even went as far as bringing in micro-chips! “Issoraid!” I thought to myself…
THE VOICE OF EVE BY FELICIA OTOP
You were the first of his creation. I was just an addition to what He made. To help you fulfill your purpose. It was all about you, no me, all you. I came as a help to make you complete. But you felt all had been given to you. So you treated me like the others He made. You neither interacted or communicated with me. I needed companionship and he came to me. He told me many things you didn’t tell me. He told me lies to get to you, so he could make me his own. He knew if he owns me he owns you. Even though you didn’t see the value in me. Because you owned me, you owned the world. As a helper made for you and from you, I had no thought of my own. I was thinking through you and in you. I did exactly…
Familiar African Tales | MY PALLY PALLY BY MIRA MORAH
She was my pally pally, as we called it back in school. We walked back home together from school, we sat close to each other in class, we stayed in each other’s houses till night, we even helped each other out in tests. But one day, nemesis decided to catch up with us. It was in our final year in secondary school and we were writing the ‘holy exam.’ Yeah, CRK. She asked me for an answer, and if I can remember well, we sat far apart from each other that day. So, I wrote down the answers on my question paper and passed it on to her. It didn’t take long for God to chastise me. As the invigilator moved towards where she sat, he noticed the scribblings on her paper and asked who it belonged to. Prayers began to flow from me like never before. Even my sweat…
WEDNESDAY SERIES | THE SUICIDE NOTE 2 BY EDIKAN AKPANTE
he is also my lover! I’m writing this part with pains in my heart. I know you will condemn me, that you will be shocked by this, because I’m not that angel you had always thought me to be. I lived under the camouflage of a devoted church worker. I guess you are so ashamed of me right now, right? But I am so sorry. Everyone desires my body, yes, everyone! No one to love me for me.
PASTOR EMEKA BY EKENE
The way Emeka argued about the after-life would make one wonder if he was Jesus himself. He would quote Bible verses, shake his head vigorously and beat his chest to show he was sure of what he spoke of. It did not surprise us when Emeka began preaching in our neighborhood, but what made us perplexed was the white garment he wore with a big cross hung round his neck. He carried a bell which he rung as he echoed, “REPENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS AT HAND.” He became prominent as he held vigils in the rooms of young girls seeking husbands, he would conduct his deliverance with seven candles and an anointing oil. Weeks later Emeka was poised in a Cherokee jeep, cruising around the neighborhood testifying of the goodness of the Lord in his ministry. Pastor Emeka had made a good impression in the neighborhood, until…
Familiar African Tales | How I Hawked In Calabar By Ekanem
Hawking in Calabar was just the last thing I ever imagined I’ll get into. Hawking indeed has shown me the irony of life. Permit me to share a little before I tell you one of my HAWKSCAPEDES as I call them. The bricklayer earnestly prays for the sun to shine so that his blocks will dry. The vegetable planter needs a fair weather so that her vegetables won’t perish. The pure water seller wishes that the weather remains hot so that you’ll thirst. So it was around 2007 and my dad had lost his job. Mum had just completed her NTI training. She was offered a job that will pay about 15 thousand naira monthly. This paltry sum wasn’t enough for her to cater for the family well. The next alternative she saw was going to the market to buy goods and sell. She informed me that I SHOULD SEE…
WHEN THE TRUTH LOSES THE POWER TO SAVE – By Augustus Bill
Sometimes we want to know the truth, but when we finally do, we realise more reasons why we should have believed the lie. *** It was Tuesday morning and Jay was already preparing for work, the laundry man had brought his piece later than planned, but somehow it never bothered him that he was hours late to the office, he was the CEO, and answers to only himself. It is not in his habit to be late, but he had only made a last minute plan to don his Hickey Freeman’s grey suit that morning, prompting the laundry man to delay in delivery. Jay, took a closer look at her portrait which was conspicuously placed on his dressing table, the photographer had captured those smiles so perfectly that they paired comfortably with the dim lights in the studio when it was filmed. He knows how much he loved her, and…
These Words are Edible By Nature Photographer | Ogar Monday
Ogar Monday is a journalist with crossriverwatch, a street photographer an art lover with an addiction to shapes, size and colour. These words are edible Like a sweet scenting plate of Jollof rice Seasoned with slivers of gingers That have passed through the sizzling of dancing power oil Carefully designed with springs of green onion These words soothe my soul These words are edible Like a freshly prepared hot plate of Afang soup Punctuated with shelly Nfi’s And floating with thick kpomo’s That needs a second bite to conquer These words calm my spirit These words are edible Like Mama Nkechi’s Egusi soup Forever married to lily pounded yam Both adorned in green ugwu leaf These words make me whole These words, Spoken by many tongues and understood by all By lovers to their kind Short but saying all that needs said “I Love You” Read Ogar’s poem I No…