a picture of the akodi orisa artists working at the akodi orisha

Demolition

ByMoyo Okediji

Demolition

A silent demolition is going on.

When I was about 8 years old, I walked from Akarabata Line 2 to Iremo in Ile Ife, a distance of about three miles, every morning, at dawn. I was attending a private coaching class that started at 6 am, two hours before formal classes began at 8 am.

My mother unfailingly woke me up at about 4:30 am, prayed with me, read some Bible passages, bathed me, and gave me some money to buy breakfast and lunch when I got to school later in t…

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In 2001, homesick, I returned to Nigeria after staying away for nine years in the US.

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ÀÌKÚ

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ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part twenty-Six)

ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part twenty-Six)

ByMoyo Okediji

“I just discovered a river!” Steve announced, breathless, as he ran into the sitting room with enthusiasm. “And it’s just fifteen minutes from here.”

I said, “Mungo Park.”

Rufus, spreading out on the sofa, said, “Where is it?”

“Hidden in plain sight!” Steve said. “I was driving down Ekenwan Street, and there was this dirt road by the side. I decided to explore it.”

“What’s the name of the street?” I asked.

“No signboard,” Steve said.

“There is no Benin street without a signboard,” Rufus said. “Benin people are good with signboards. Even narrow paths have signboards.”

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