The stuffs in my office
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
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Ela, Offspring of Olodumare
Jumped in my Jeep,
started the engine to warm it
and listen to public radio
for 5 minutes.
Jumped out.
Ex-marine neighbor,
calling across the street:
“Mayu, come here.”
Me: Not coming. Too dangerous. Not safe. Covid 19 is ravaging Texas.
It saddens me.
It saddens me.
It saddens me a lot that the southern people are not able to understand the urgency of the situation they are involved in.
Those you call the Fulani herdsmen, or the Fulani people—they are the Taliban.
Please read the last line again.
Those you call Fulani herdsmen are the Taliban.
I found this 2001 painting in my garage.
I found this 2001 painting in my garage. At that time, my friend, Moyo Ogundipe was staying with me.As the curator for African and Oceanic Arts at the Denver Art Museum, I had invited Moyo Ogundipe for a solo exhibition at the museum. He had one year to prepare for the exhibition.
Road rage
“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.
The Apomu Border Patrol Officer.
The Apomu Border Patrol Officer.
It was Iya Oyo who told me about the Apomu Border Patrol Officer.
Iya Oyo said, “When extended to the limit, when you have reached your breaking point, when you cannot go any further, you know what to do?”