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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The birthday Gift.
This birthday gift came well after my birthday. It has my name emblazoned on it. As I wore it, I recalled the conversation with Iya Oyo and Baba Oyo that evening they explained the meaning of my name, Moyo, which literally means “I rejoice.” It is part of a longer name Moyòsọ́rẹtíolúwápèsèfúnmi.
I now pronounce you husband and wife.
‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now remove your corona masks and kiss.”
It must be so hard to be a dater now, with your libido on fire.
How are these young folks expected to cope now, in the era of corona?
Or are we now all reduced to just online dating, exchanging emojis and gifs?
The Day We Went to Steal Yams in Benin City
1980: One Friday, Rufus told me that we should visit the messenger of the University of Benin, Department of Creative Art, whose wife just gave birth to twins, both boys.
I told him that we needed to go to the bank to withdraw some money. I kept the purse for both of us. We were out of cash, and it was the end of the week. But Rufus said we would go to the bank later.
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.
THIS MORNING
This morning, in my African Diaspora Visions class (an art history class that I teach at the University of Texas, Austin), a student from Trinidad and Tobago said, “In a hundred years, everybody in the world will be a Nigerian, or have family ties to Nigerians.”
