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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THE UNIVERSITY OF MUMU
I took a break from social media but returned when someone sent me a video of Sunday Igboho.
I transcribed a clip of the video and wanted to share it here.
If you read the following statement by Sunday Igboho, you will shake your head in disbelief.
Sunday Igboho, the kind of person we refer to as a stark illiterate, is the one leading the entire Yoruba nation, and one of the very few people making any sense in the country called Nigeria.
Is it not clear to us by now that our educational system in Nigeria is just a scam?
We all attended the University of Mumu in Nigeria—under various names.
MADE IN LAGOS
1234. That was what my clock read. Thirty-four minutes past midnight.Perfect math, I thought. I got up to take a walk. I plugged my ears with my earphones and turned on Apple Music 1. I stepped out into the darkness of the night. The Apple Music Radio deejay started playing some tunes. It was streaming all over the world from London.
ReDoMi
Life is simple yet complicated in the ReDoMi civilization.
How do you say ReDoMi?
The vowels and consonants of the RedoMi people are so simple that all you have to do is open or close your lips to pronounce their words.
The consonants are especially straightforward. They contain no strong or forces sounds, not even a threatening hiss of the ZZZZ is allowed. That is too much of a snake strike for a people of the infinite dimension. Only the gentle “s” and “sh” are allowed into this linguistic tone.
My anti-coronavirus Esu.
My anti-coronavirus Esu.
I produced this Esu object and hung it in front of my door.
My house is marked safe.
When their Agent of Death is passing by, it sees the Esu object.
Esu, the gatekeeper, informs the Agent of Death that “He doesn’t live here. He lives on the other street.”
Excavate.
Excavate.
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.
