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I went on a walk this morning

ByMoyo Okediji

I went on a walk this morning, and it felt really good.

As I walked, something occurred to me: The world is an incredible garden in which we were meant to simply hang out, enjoy, party, make love and multiply.

But what do we really do?

We bitch, hate, steal, cheat, lie, cry and even kill.

The Corona prophet, therefore, came to warn us.

He sent us to our rooms and instructed us NOT to come out until we have learned our lessons.

But no. We don’t listen. For example, this morning I left my room and went on a long walk. And it felt really good.

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The burial ceremony was brief.

There were many more people than I expected. It was the first burial ceremony I ever attended in my entire life. Scores of nurses from the school of nursing were in attendance. All of them wore dark glasses and white uniforms. They looked like angels. I didn’t know many men were in the nursing profession. They stood together in the blazing son, men and women, some wiping their faces with handkerchief, others lifting up their glasses and dabbing up tears.

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As Rufus exited the buka, it was clear that Obaseki was disappointed.

With Madam Ngu and Prof. Wangboje present at the dining table, the circumstances for a total mediation of the crisis were perfect.

They would have just instructed Rufus to cut it, and that would have been the end. Obaseki could not have wished for a better opportunity.

But Rufus left to start his audition with his theater students without the discussion of the crisis coming up. One thing was certain: Rufus was mad and did not hide it.

IV

IV

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“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.

HOW MANY IGBO BOYS HAVE WE SHOT THIS MONTH?

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Can someone help me to translate this into as many Nigerian languages as possible, please?Many of the boys I played soccer with in Ile Ife on bare rough grounds in-between houses, using oranges and rags tied together to form balls, all the way from infancy to age ten, were Igbo kids.In 1965, they told me they were leaving, returning home.“When are you coming back?”“Papa says we are not coming back.”

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