Happy Valentine’s Day
Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends. I love you all minus none.
Me, here, painting away on a beautiful Valentine’s Day, seven years ago.
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ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY 1981 (Part Thirty)
“My he—he—he=aler at the psychi-psychi-atric hos—hos—hos–pital made me sw-sw-sw-ear never to have a con—con—con—con—con-fron-front-tation again with Miiiiiiiiisster Ru—ru-rufus,” Obaseki was whispering to me, from under the table. “Says he-he-he will bring me back back in.”
“It’s okay, Obaseki,” I said. “You come out and sit here at the table. I will go and see what’s happening.”
“Don’t, don’t, don’t leave me, Mo-Mo-Moyo,” Obaseki pleaded. “Please- plea-se-stay-stay-stay-don’t—don’t go….”
“It’s alright, Obaseki,” I assured him. “Whatever the matter is, we will get to the very bottom of it today. This is really ridiculous!”
I studied with the Ìyàmi.
I studied with the Ìyàmi,
the Power Mothers who
suspend the global ball
on a single frail string,
yet it cannot snap.
After they gave me the name Ọ̀rìságbèmí Arígbábuwó, I transcend the boundaries of gender, race, time, and geography.
Here is the story of that transcendental embodiment, in its most concise form.
THE ROADMAP
I drove to my favorite drive-in coffee shop and stopped at the window to collect my standard order of “Banana bread with nuts, warmed, and a small cup of coffee, black.”
She was waiting for me. She smiled broadly. Her name tag read Jazmine.
“You always have your coffee black,” Jazmine observed. “I like mine with some cream and sugar.”
“Your shirt is cool, Jazmine,” I said. I stretched out my hand from the window of the car as she leaned out from the window of the coffee house to hand me my order.
THE RETURN (Part Two)
He was unable to eat or sleep, as anxiety and depression began to unravel his characteristic calm disposition. Only a couple of months prior to the abduction, the wife of the Commissioner of Works was kidnapped and an undisclosed but generous ransom was paid for her release. Kidnapping had become the new strategy adopted by members of the underworld, who targeted the rich and famous in their bid to get rich quick. Business tycoons, expatriate oil executives, journalists, politicians, and even religious leaders and their families were constant targets. Abduction had become a multi million naira enterprise in Nigeria, and the police seemed unable to find any solution to the problem. No kidnapper had been arrested, and huge sums of ransom money had been paid. Many people complained that there was evidence of collusion between the security forces and the criminals.
Post-Naija Flip-Flop
Post-Naija Flip-Flop
We are now in a Post-Covid Era.
It doesn’t mean that the Covid is over. It simply means that our lives have witnessed the ravage of this virus, and we are still here to talk about it.
Can we say we are in a Post-Naija era?
It doesn’t mean that there is no Nigeria any longer. It simply means that we have witnessed the ravage of this virus and we are still here to talk about it.
Àkòdì Òrìṣà Artists
Many models would give an arm and a leg to look as fit as these artists at the Àkòdì Òrìṣà, Ile Ife, Nigeria!
Now, look carefully at this picture.
You will see the Àkòdì Òrìṣà artists pounding clay with pestles in a mortar. Do you notice that the mortar is upside-down, as these orisa artists are pounding the clay?