APPRECIATION
I really thank Olodumare this year.
2019, the year I had my leg accident, also the year of my great recovery.
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ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Seventeen)
I was already tipsy when Gina screamed.
But the performance on the stage continued as if nothing was happening. Obaseki got up and went into the ushers’ chamber. I tried really hard to see what was happening at the other end of the arena, to get an idea of what was happening to Gina. I really couldn’t see her. But because Joshua, who was assaulting Gina, was wearing a white suit, he was relatively visible, next to Gina, who, going by what she wore during the day, was in a red gown. But it appeared that Gina was already on the floor, and Joshua was kicking her, as she continued to scream while it seemed he continued to hit her.
My granddaughter fine sha!
My granddaughter fine sha!
Those of you who don’t have granddaughters, Olodumare will pese o.
But your granddaughter still won’t be as fine as mine o: just so you know. Kẹ́lẹ́gbẹ́ mẹgbẹ́.
She already eats amala and okra like a professional at seven months.
When we visit Nigeria after the Koro, she will take a tour of all the major Amala joints in Ibadan, starting from Inanstrate at Mokola.
The Miyetti Allah cattle herders.
Miyetti Allah cattle herders want grazing grounds in the south?
I have not touched beef in more than a decade.
But fair enough.
We the Orisa devotees in Yorubaland have a simple request as well–in the interest of peace, progress and prosperity.
We want to have 100 square miles in each northern state reserved for us as our Igbó Orò. We need the space to break kola and worship our orisas.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY 1981, (Part Eighteen)
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.”
Yèyé
Yèyé
“Iya Oyo,” I called, after polishing the bowl of amala she made for me, “what does Yèyé mean? Is it different from Ìyá, which means mother?”
It was Baba Oyo who answered me, raising his glasses and looking up from a book without a cover that he was reading. Because I had also read that book on his table, I knew the book was titled “Ogboju Ode Ninu Igbo Irunlole,” by D.O. Fagunwa, one of the old books he had in his library.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1982 (Part 38)
“Wole Soyinka wants to have a word with Rufus. Tell him to come as soon as possible. Kongi travels out of the country next week,” was the simple message that I got back from Kole Omotosho.
Omotosho was the head of the Dramatic Art Department, University of Ife. He sent a driver to me to collect a manuscript, “Marx and Mask,” written by the brilliant Ghanaian writer, Ayi Kwei Armah.
Soyinka regularly received manuscripts from several writers, and after making copies, he would distribute the manuscripts among his circle of intellectuals who met at least once a week to read and discuss the manuscripts.
