Why I love Nigeria? Why I love Africa?
Tell me, where else in the whole wide world can you make a khaki cocktail with big stout and emu funfun?
I love Nigeria I nor go lie.
Happy New Yam, friends.
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BISCUIT BONES.
BISCUIT BONES.
Let me introduce you to Jẹgúdújẹrá, (Chop-and-quench).
Do you know how the Jẹgúdújẹrá Nigerian eats chicken thigh?
I will tell you:
Set the plate of chicken thigh in front of Jẹgúdújẹrá, and the eyes bulge, opening as wide as possible.
A wide smile distorts Jẹgúdújẹrá’s face into a demonic mask of inner delight.
Jẹgúdújẹrá starts with the flesh. With studied concentration, Jẹgúdújẹrá bites deep into the flesh until the entire mouth is full, with both cheeks bulging.
Welcome to the new world.
Welcome to the new world.
It’s not going to look like your father’s world.
So, this lady came to the Àkòdì Òrìṣà, and asked the women artists working there, “What are you people doing here? What is this place?”
The curator said, “Madam, this is the Àkòdì Òrìṣà, and as you can see, we are working.”
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Twenty-One)
When Steve offered us a cigarette, I took one out of the pack he extended.
It was from one of the packs he brought from Britain a couple of months earlier.
I was not good with cigarettes. But I was also not good at saying no to cigarette offers. All my friends smoked. And I loved to hold a stick of cigarette stylishly and watch the smoke rise from the tip of the ashes.
We sat there in the dark, watching the moon, smoking, silent. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning crashed across the sky, followed by a ripping sound of thunder. Instantly, the moon and the stars disappeared, and the sky was an endless black canvas coughing out intermittent flashes of jagged lights filled with throbs of thunder.
THE TRIAL OF CSI
THE TRIAL OF CSI Those Yoruba people who have swallowed àjẹsárá, like CSI: be warned. Our…
The Rain and Olodumare
The Rain and Olodumare
I just returned to Austin, Texas, from Ghana where it has been raining all summer.
The landscape in Ghana is lush and green.
The farm products are in abundance. It rained on my last day in Accra and I enjoyed the sweet scents of the soil stimulated by the falling drizzles.
INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF AFRICAN AMERICAN ART.
I am pleased to announce the publication of an essay that I wrote in 2004–sixteen years later.
The journal is the INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF AFRICAN AMERICAN ART.
The essay, on the work of Bing Davis, is titled “Flying Back Home.” I describe Mr. Davis as an “Afronaut.”
I did not use the term “Afrofuturism,” because that term was not even in theoretical usage at that time.