Omo: the art You Mold
Child is ọmọ in Yoruba.Grandchildren is Ọmọ ọmọ.My granddaughters (my ọmọ ọmọ) came visiting last week…
Child is ọmọ in Yoruba.Grandchildren is Ọmọ ọmọ.My granddaughters (my ọmọ ọmọ) came visiting last week…
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I’m in my studio working on my second complete corpus of 256 Odu Ifa signatures.
It is a full catalog of African alphabets of intellectual origin.
LIMOUSINE TO HEAVEN There are two places to be on earth. Heaven or hell. You can…
The painting of this canvas started in 2019 and ended in 2020.
As she greeted Iya Oyo by kneeling down on both knees, the young woman looked worried…
Your Mother is My mother is Your Mother is My Mother.
“Iya Oyo, does your name mean the mother of Oyo, or the mother in Oyo?” I asked Iya Oyo one day.
“It means both,” she responded. “To my entire community of Oyo, I am the mother of all, young and old. If anyone is hungry and comes to me, it is my responsibility to feed them. Anybody who needs a place to sleep and comes to me, I will roll out my mats to them. I am their mother, and that is why I am Iya Oyo. At the same time, I live in Oyo, therefore if I travel anywhere, I am the mother who lives in Oyo.”
Would Olabisi Silva still be alive if she did not choose to live and die for Nigeria?
I asked the same question when my friend, Moyo Ogundipe, died of a cardiac arrest two years ago.
Nigeria lacks basic healthcare facilities for talented, boundary-pushing professionals.
The roads are deathtraps.