This young journalist called Sowore.
He reminds me of another journalist called Dele Giwa.
And another journalist called Ken Saro-Wiwa.
Do you know what happens to journalists like them?
I don’t.
“Two husbands are better than one;
So also vice-versa,” this sixty-something year old woman informed me in Ile Ife.
In indigenous Yoruba systems, I still grew up to witness polygamy–when a man had several women, and when a woman engaged several men.
“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.”
My friend—for whom I was chasing the snake when I fell yakata off the ladder—just made…
How to train an apprentice artist?
Get her to work with you on your own art.
Get her to go through the process that you go through.
Get her to understand that it is a lot of work.
But there is no amount of talking that can convey that fact to her.
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
At the coffee shop.
Guys checking out my friend, like “What’s that?”
We are the people of the 22nd century.