The stuffs in my office
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
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A scale
A scale drops from my eyes, and gradually these terrains of the future open out to me.
All around me, I find these characters from the future visiting the present domain.
They are sculpted out of fire.
The things we take for granted.
The things we take for granted.
I wanted to plant some flowers. Ordinarily I would simply jump up, grab the seeds, and plant the flowers.
But things are now different.
Without a serviceable leg, I had to think carefully of the strategy that would enable me to plant the flowers.
NEW MESSAGE FROM HUSHPUPPIE
Scammer: Hello, how are you doing?
Me: Very good. How about you?
Scammer: I’m fine, thanks for asking. how’s your day going so far?
Me: Excellent. Who are you?
Scammer: I’m Susan, from Idaho but currently living in Jacksonville Florida. I’m a registered nurse working with the UN nations overseas.
Facebook suggested you as someone I may know so I viewed your profile and decided to send you a request out of curiosity hoping we could get to know more about ourselves and maybe become friends.
Me: That’s great. Where are you currently working overseas?
HOW MANY IGBO BOYS HAVE WE SHOT THIS MONTH?
Can someone help me to translate this into as many Nigerian languages as possible, please?Many of the boys I played soccer with in Ile Ife on bare rough grounds in-between houses, using oranges and rags tied together to form balls, all the way from infancy to age ten, were Igbo kids.In 1965, they told me they were leaving, returning home.“When are you coming back?”“Papa says we are not coming back.”
FINALLY, I FIGURED IT OUT.
FINALLY, I FIGURED IT OUT: A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream? The time was exactly 01:23 am. “Iya…
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1982 (Part 38)
“Wole Soyinka wants to have a word with Rufus. Tell him to come as soon as possible. Kongi travels out of the country next week,” was the simple message that I got back from Kole Omotosho.
Omotosho was the head of the Dramatic Art Department, University of Ife. He sent a driver to me to collect a manuscript, “Marx and Mask,” written by the brilliant Ghanaian writer, Ayi Kwei Armah.
Soyinka regularly received manuscripts from several writers, and after making copies, he would distribute the manuscripts among his circle of intellectuals who met at least once a week to read and discuss the manuscripts.