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.
Interested in some of my published works?
Follow Me
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
I was three years old. He just bought a bicycle and I asked him to give me a ride. It was already night.
He placed me on the top tube of his bicycle. Excited, I leaned forward and held the handles. He also held the handles with the left hand, and the saddle with the other, while walking and pushing the bicycle. I imagined that I was riding the bicycle. I looked up and saw the moon.
When I was a kid between the ages of three to ten, my friends and I were fond of watching Lọ́baníkà, an egúngún masquerade that performed regularly once a year in my neighborhood at Iremo in Ile Ife. Lobanika’s annual act was the highlight of the entire community, and we always waited with joy for the week when Lobanika performed to the delight of all and sundry
Wisconsin, Madison, 1994. Naming ceremony.
I was a college student.
One of my Nigerian colleagues had just finished his Ph.D., and he returned to Nigeria.
He had no idea that his girlfriend in Madison was pregnant.
When he was contacted, he decided that he was not returning to the US.
The pregnant girlfriend decided she was not going to Nigeria to join him.
As the Chinese launches successfully the second wave of the colonization of Africa, after learning from the techniques of divide and conquer that Europe used for the first wave of conquering the continent, it became necessary for me to do this painting.
I also want to refer to the poem I wrote a couple of months ago, titled, “My Teacher Taught Me Nonsense.”
For my 62nd anniversary, the wonderful artist Afolabi Damilare made this portrait for me.
It’s amazing how time flies.
I still remember when I was a child, and I used to run around naked in the rain, with my dondolo dangling for everybody to enjoy, on the streets of Ile Ife.
“The Police Area Commander (AC) is interested in the case,” a police officer with a cellphone said. “He just called to say that he is now at his seat, and wants to see all of you in his office.” The AC’s office was about one hundred meters across the yard, from where we were seated. We all filed into the AC’s office. He was seated, and his large desk was decorated with pictures, flags and small objects with personal sentimental values. He was a handsome middle-aged man who seemed rather too pleasant looking to be a police officer. Not until he stood up did I realize that his gait was forward-leaning, with the robust physique of a football tackler. You wouldn’t want to be in his way despite his handsome mien.