This cold weather is here again.
This cold weather is here again.
How many layers do I wear just to go and get a cup of coffee from Starbucks?
Six layers.
This cold weather is here again.
How many layers do I wear just to go and get a cup of coffee from Starbucks?
Six layers.
2: The Return
He was flying back “home” for the first time in his life.
At thirty-six, he felt that he had waited a little too long.
But better late than never: this is the moment he had been waiting for all his life.
He peeped out through the window of the aircraft as it descended toward their landing, with the building, vehicles and roads becoming bigger and bigger as the plane drew nearer the landing ground.
The secondary school rusticated me for being part of a riot that the students organized and carried out with meticulous sagacity.
Flabbergasted, I traveled to Ile Ife where we lived, from Oyo, where I schooled.
My father was amused that they rusticated me.
“Did you really participate in the riot?” my father asked.
“I did not,” I answered.
The Rain and Olodumare
I just returned to Austin, Texas, from Ghana where it has been raining all summer.
The landscape in Ghana is lush and green.
The farm products are in abundance. It rained on my last day in Accra and I enjoyed the sweet scents of the soil stimulated by the falling drizzles.
Weather is turning cold.
Really chilly and rainy
Time to look for those warm things, and drink tea laced with honey. Or whatever.
Is it true that all men are born equal?
No.
We are born with different talents and handicaps.
But we may agree that “All men SHOULD be born equal, but the circumstances of each birth vary.”
Some people are born close to the finishing line, and many are born right at the beginning of the starting point in this race of life.
Others are placed even behind the official starting line, and they must also race with those placed only a few feet from the finishing line where all the goodies of life are stored.
Iya Oyo!” I hailed. “Baba Oyo told me this story about Orí, and it doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever.”“What story?” she asked. “Is it from his Bible? There are lots of incredulous stories in that book of his.”“No, it’s not from grandpa’s Bible,” I assured her. “He said it’s a story his mother told him.”