Coffeehouse.
Coffeehouse in Austin.
It can get pretty wild out here in Austin if you know what I mean.
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ÌWÀ
ÌWÀ
“Olódùmarè has several wives,” my father said. “Do you know that?”
We were strolling back home from his writing workshop that evening, and I was seventeen. I always accompanied him to his writing workshops where he taught playwriting
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Is it merely a coincidence that the news of the abduction and assassination by suspected Fulani invaders of Oba Israel Adeusi, the Olufon of Ifon, happened the very same day that the United States is celebrating the annual Thanksgiving event?
There is no coincidence in history.
Nature times things with organic orchestration.
Exactly one year ago today.
Exactly one year ago today, my father, the venerated Yoruba writer, Oladejo Okediji, joined the ancestors. His transition proved to me the truth in the saying that death is an illusion.
One does not die.
I still see him in the house,
discuss with him in my studio,
drink with him in my parlor,
dance with him at my parties,
just as I used to.
Western Nigeria
When a sheep keeps the company of the dog, it learns to eat feces.
Western Nigeria was not like this when we were growing up.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)
Gina did not look glad or relaxed. I could read it in her posture, without even getting close to her.
Rufus said, “Moyo, Gina is back!”
Steve hardly allowed the bus to stop properly before jumping down to run and hug her.
“Is that her?” Adolo asked Felicia rather softly.
“Yes,” Felicia responded. “That’s her.”
I got down slowly, and took my time locking up the door. Then I went to Gina. She looked down and didn’t meet my eyes. I thought, “She must be mad because she didn’t see us at her father’s funeral.”
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!”