This is a throwback!
What do you see?

What do you see?

We are the last of the broke Africans.
Believe it or not: by the end of this century, every fourth person in the world will be an African. It means that one out of every four humans will be an African.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends. I love you all minus none.
Me, here, painting away on a beautiful Valentine’s Day, seven years ago.
Sell your possessions, give everything to the poor, hop on the okada bike and ride your life away to paradise.
My dear friends, there is no more pleasurable way to die than on the okada bike. I just discovered what I had been missing!
Madam Ngu finally cornered me in the buka.
If I had any inkling she was coming to that buka that fateful day, I would rather have starved than be found dead there. She had been looking for me for weeks. And I had been evading her. I was trying to break free of her influence and she was trying her very best to ensure that she stamped herself into my art, my being, my style of creating, and my idioms of expression. She had studied at the Royal College in London and was trying to make me a master draughtsman who painted in the European fashion. And I was a radical looking for a way to break out of the western mold of painting.
After my Ph.D., I returned to the roots to learn from the source.
These iyas who have no university degrees taught me things none of my professors knew.
Gina was looking at me directly in the eye as she began to turn the button that reclined the car seat. The moon came out of a clump of clouds and highlighted half of her face, as she pressed her back against the front seat, flattening it almost completely on the back seat. Her teeth, as she smiled at me, looked perfectly even, and they sparkled like diamonds in the dark.
“You are a handsome man, Uncle Mo,” Gina said. “Your mom must be very beautiful.”
“Thanks, Gina,” I responded. “My mom is beautiful indeed, but everybody thinks his mother is beautiful.”