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Like a bird
Like a bird, I mostly live on seeds and fruits these days.
The seeds last long, and I can easily store them in my self-isolated den.
But the fruits, I prefer them “fresh.” I, therefore, buy only enough to last for about a week whenever I visit the grocery store near my house.
So, I put on my Koro hijab and went to the grocery store.
Oladejo Okediji
Oladejo Okediji, a handsome gentleman who also happens to be my baba, is receiving great honors from the Obafemi Awolowo University and the South West Association of Nigerian Authors–to acknowledge his contribution to African literature, at the young age of 90.
EDIBLE URBAN LANDSCAPES AND MOBILE GARDENS
The south needs to cultivate edible urban landscapes.
Nigeria has an ecology that permits the cultivation of food plants throughout the year.
The edible urban landscape means that the cities and town of the south should be cleared of weeds, and every available space must be turned into a vast food-producing landscape, all the way from Ilorin to Port Harcourt.
II
II The doctor is Seyi Ogunjobi, an artist in residence at the Obafemi Awolowo University’s Center for Cultural Studies. He has been assisting me to build the ÀKÒDÌ ÒRÌṢÀ. At the exact time the police was storming the construction site of the ÀKÒDÌ ÒRÌṢÀ, Ogunjobi, a Leeds doctorate in creative arts, was moderating a discussion in the lecture theater of the Center for Cultural Studies, at the Obafemi Awolowo University campus. Part of the seminar series of the center where Ogunjobi works, his duties include hosting the seminar series, at which invited guests presents on a regular basis. Yesterday, Ogunjobi was moderating a seminar that I presented, titled, “Invisible Canvas: Painting as Performance in Ile Ife.”
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Twenty-two)
“You’re kidding me, right?” I asked Steve when he said that Gina was probably in my room. He extended his bottle of beer to Rufus who yanked off the top with his teeth and handed it back.
“Why sounding so alarmed?” Steve asked. “If you asked me, I’d say let’s swap places.”
“What!” I said, alarmed at his suggestion.
“You can stay in my cold room tonight,” Steve, “and I can use your warm room.”
“Is that British custom?” I asked sarcastically.
Did he wink? I couldn’t quite tell in the dark. He said, “The British have no custom. Only Africans have customs.”
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981, (PART TWO)
Rufus was in a murderous mood. Steve, the one who Obaseki pummeled, became worried when Rufus went into his room. “What’s he gone to do in his room?” I asked Steve, whose only interest at that moment was diving into the fried rice we just brought for him.
Steve said, “He’s gone to change into his shorts. Looks like he’s really upset. He is changing into loose clothes to take out that guy who attacked me.”
“Na shakara,” I told Steve.
“What?” Steve asked.