1202021
Read it from the beginning to the end.
And from the end to the beginning.
From front to back and back to front.
It is January 20, 2021.
1-20-2021
It is the end of Trump.
The beginning of Biden.
Coincidental?
It is one of those special days in the history of humankind and fateful dates of the calendar.
****The painting is 1202021.
It has no beginning or end, top or bottom.
Can you see the two characters?
I had never seen Papa Ru in such a subdued mood. Nothing could have slugged him harder than the thought of Kongi maltreating him. He used to boast that it was because of Kongi that he returned to Nigeria from Britain.
Kongi had attended an event that Rufus produced for the BBC in London in 1979. And after the event, Rufus said, “Kongi met me backstage and asked, ‘Young man, what are you doing here, with all this talent that you have? You need to return to Nigeria immediately and contribute to the development of your country.’”
Eye witness account, we looked at this work in class today.It is part of much larger door panel carved by a Yoruba sculptor called Dada Arowoogun.He is one of those we refer to as a “traditional” African artist.
He almost made it into 2019. I wonder what stopped him.
The last of the soft kleptomaniacs and kleptocrats?
In his days, politicians stole in hundreds of thousands of naira. Or a few couples of million naira.
They were soft kleptomaniacs and kleptocrats.
Now we have hardcore kleptomaniacs and kleptocrats.
Moyo: When I was 6 years old, I started attending the free primary school that the Western Nigerian government offered.
My teachers were supposed to teach me simple facts: how did additions and subtractions work? What happens when you mix oxygen and carbon dioxide? How do you speak English without committing grammatical blunders? And so on, and so forth.
“Oloriburuku! Were! Olosi! Alakori!” Road rage yelling coming from all angles.
I am covered in sweat as I sit patiently behind the wheel.
The AC of my truck has broken down. And the automatic window winder is not working. But my sweat glands are working.
“Hold it, hold it,” Obaseki said, “here come your people.” He gestured with his nose in the direction of a couple of flickering lights in the dense darkness.
“What is going on there,” I asked?
“That’s Joshua’s spot,” Obaseki said. “He just arrived. And he has company. Most probably Gina.”
I was drunk, anyway, so I asked for one more bottle of beer.
“We are out of ready-made snails,” our attendant explained. “We can make some for you by order. But I recommend you try our ram. There is no better ram in the world than ours.”