Akinwumi Isola.
Akinwumi Isola (1939-2018).
One of the greatest.
The only Honest Man
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Akinwumi Isola (1939-2018).
One of the greatest.
The only Honest Man
Madam Ngu looked at my most recent painting and from the expression on her face, I could see that she did not like it.
She sat on the big chair in the center of my studio in the Ekenwan campus. I had arranged my paintings around the wall as she requested, ready for her critique.
“Muyo,” she said, “you need more life drawing classes.”
“Yes, madam,” I responded.
1234. That was what my clock read. Thirty-four minutes past midnight.Perfect math, I thought. I got up to take a walk. I plugged my ears with my earphones and turned on Apple Music 1. I stepped out into the darkness of the night. The Apple Music Radio deejay started playing some tunes. It was streaming all over the world from London.
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.
In 1999, I boarded a plane from New York to Syracuse. It was in December, and the weather was freezing cold. I was happy that the weather forecast indicated it was not going to snow, though I knew that the temperature in Syracuse was going to be well below zero, even colder than the weather in New York where I boarded the plane.
I was going to the University of Syracuse for a job interview. The advertised job was going to almost double my salary, if I got it.
Ẹyẹ: Bird I told Iya Oyo that I was scared when a couple of birds perched on top of the large tree in front of the house and were making loud sounds, one calling and the other responding.“You are afraid of birds?” Iya Oyo asked me.“Yes,” I said. “My playmates told me they are witches, àjẹ́.”
“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.