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THE RAFTER’S BURDEN—the English translation of Oladejo Okediji’s AJA LO LERU
THE RAFTER’S BURDEN—the English translation of Oladejo Okediji’s AJA LO LERU is out
Three days before his transition, my father, the Yoruba writer Oladejo Okediji, had only one worry: “Akanbi,” he told me, “make sure you work with Sola Owonibi to get Aja Lo Leru translated and published.”
I was suspicious. “We are already working on it,” I said. “You are worried we won’t do a good job?” It was another hint he gave me about his impending departure during that last call. And I did not miss it.
“I’m just saying,” Baba said with a dismissive laugh. “I would love to read a good translation of the novel.”
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY 1981 (Part Five)
Obaseki, looked cornered. He certainly was not anticipating an encounter with me at the restaurant. His shrunken face looked collapsed with fatigue. The anxiety that he was feeling was palpable. His face began to twitch. It was bad enough when he saw me entering the restaurant. But the moment I informed him that Rufus was on his way to join us, his system could no longer handle the tension. He stood up. He patted his pockets.
“What is the matter?” I asked him. “Is everything fine?”
“Oh, I was-was-just checking my—my—my pocket. For my-my-my-house keys.”
“And is it in your pocket?”
THE VOYAGE
THE VOYAGE
About 30 years ago, I slept at the Murtala Muhammed Airport for four days.
No, I was not a homeless vagabond.
I had bought the Nigeria Airways ticket to fly to the United States for a one-year sabbatical leave.
But when I arrived at the airport, I realized that my ticket was not honored, though I had bought it legitimately.
Whenever a plane was about to leave Lagos for New York, the NA officials posted a manifest list, and my name was not there.
Things are happening rapidly in Nigeria.
Things are happening rapidly in Nigeria.
Terrorism has fully found a home in the southwest.
Who attacked Sunday Igboho’s house, destroyed the place and left human blood and tissues all over the property?
Igboho’s house has become a monument to the struggle for freedom, independence and peace in Africa.
We Never Die
We Never Die
“Òkú is not dead,” said Iya Oyo. “In our [Yoruba] culture, we do not die.”
“How is that possible?” I asked her, astonished.
“We already defeated Ikú (Death),” Iya Oyo announced. “The defeat of Ikú is what the Odù Ifá called Ọ̀yẹ̀kú focuses on. Olójòǹgbòdú, the wife of Ikú is the great woman who accomplished the defeat of Ikú, and since then we no longer die.”
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.