APPRECIATION
I really thank Olodumare this year.
2019, the year I had my leg accident, also the year of my great recovery.
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YORUBA DISINFORMATION IS MUNGO PARK
YORUBA DISINFORMATION IS MUNGO PARK
This morning, a friend of mine who is a professor at a university here in Texas woke me up with, “Hey Moyo, what is the meaning of Yoruba?”
This professor called me on WhatsApp video.
Disinformation is as old as the human tongue.
Let me take that back.
Disinformation predates the human tongue.
Disinformation started with the body language of making signs.
When you smile, when you really are plotting to hit a fellow, that is disinformation.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Twenty-Nine)
Some fire seemed out of Papa Ru as he sat, something which would be clear to someone who knew him well, and might not be noticed by others.
I saw the difference in the grey dim to his eyes. It was less in the bow that formed around his shoulders as he leaned forward on the table, under which Obaseki was hiding. But Rufus was hardly aware of his own body yet. It was the first time he left his room since we carried him there the moment we arrived from burial. He seemed to have a hard time just keeping his face from falling off his head. As if to ensure that did not happen, he pressed his chin into his palm, his elbow resting firmly on the table for support, seemingly carrying the entire weight of his torso.
My art class before the Coronavirus.
My art class before the Coronavirus.
I dreamed about it last night–I was teaching, and there was this really brilliant student who did everything perfectly.
As I went to take a closer look at her work, I woke up.
What really happened was that I had fallen asleep with my music playing. And what really woke me up was Peter Tosh, singing,
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Sixteen)
“Hold it, hold it,” Obaseki said, “here come your people.” He gestured with his nose in the direction of a couple of flickering lights in the dense darkness.
“What is going on there,” I asked?
“That’s Joshua’s spot,” Obaseki said. “He just arrived. And he has company. Most probably Gina.”
I was drunk, anyway, so I asked for one more bottle of beer.
“We are out of ready-made snails,” our attendant explained. “We can make some for you by order. But I recommend you try our ram. There is no better ram in the world than ours.”
My mumu is too much.
My mumu is too much.
Hear my story o.
They just fixed the electricity at my place in Nigeria.
To get it fixed, I bought four poles, and hundreds of yards of cable.
I contributed hundreds of thousands of naira to get the transformer.
I bought the meter.
And paid to have the entire thing installed.
But I understand that none of these things that I bought belongs to me.
They all belong to the government.