SONG OF VICTORY (FOR BUHARI)

President Muhammadu Buhari, GCFR
President Muhammadu Buhari, GCFR

My ears only drink
Whispers of ‘BUHARI’
From that confluence of hoary hairs
Of words and
Laughters wafting
Like the fire that doesn’t turn woods to ashes

Now the end
I harbour
Shall sleep in death
In the presence of this pistol
That shall silence the guns among men

And every path
I now quiver
I am greeted by voices
That echo ‘long live happiness’
No more hurricane of hunger
Or sugar of pain
Only heavens
Shall shed rays…

A A YANTAGWAYE

Bifurcation

portrait-black-and-white-womanEditor’s Note:

bi·fur·ca·tion
/bīfərˈkāSHən/ noun, plural noun: bifurcations
  • the division of something into two branches or parts.
“the bifurcation of the profession into social do-gooders and self-serving iconoclasts”
  • either of two branches into which something divides.

Alice stared blankly into space as the Judge sentenced her to 21 years in prison. She had accepted fate as it was.Her fate. Sealed a long time ago. It had all started from the house with the broken bottles and the rusted gate.


“Alice!” the voice of a beautiful little girl called as she ran with her floral dress billowing in the wind.

Her name was Gloria. Braided hair, glasses and front teeth missing, she gave a welcoming smile.

“Gloria!” She called back.

They hugged, the innocence sparked bright and for a second, one wouldn’t believe there was a thing that could separate such humanity.

“Happy Birthday, Alice,” Gloria said as she handed a box of chocolate to her friend.

“Thank You very much Gloria, want to share?”

Gloria nodded. “Catch me if you can!” Alice said and ran, Gloria waited, knowing she could catch her easily as laughter rang through the air.


Gloria couldn’t believe who she was seeing; it was not who it was but who she was with. It was a rare phenomenon to see Alice with a male, who wasn’t ‘nerdy’ arguing over Occam’s Razor or Malthusian Theory. Continue reading

Red Valentine

130524BloodyKnifejpgAuthor’s Note:

This post was inspired by a flash fiction piece written by a friend. More of his work can be found here.


You ignored what was left of your fries, picked up your phone, and left without a word. You couldn’t stand even the thought of trying to make conversation. You had made the last minute decision to stop at the fast food place frequented by staff from your job. You regretted it the minute you stepped in the door. You would turn back, if it didn’t make you look indecisive. She hated that. Indecision. You wondered why you acted like she was still watching you; judging you. It seemed silly, but you could never help it.

Love hung in the air; it was filthy. As you made your way to the counter, you thought of just how you were once like the others. In a former life, not so distant now. One you sometimes yearned to escape from. One huge leap at a time. Suppressing the memories of it deep into the layers of your mind. What did the Bible say about new creatures? Yes, that’s what you were. A new creature that… A cough jolted you from your reverie. You realized that you had gotten to the counter, for minute or two, it seemed, and the attendant had an impatient look on her face. Continue reading

Something in the Water

Jennifer.HearingVoices.Body2_Something in the water is calling me..

No, I’m not mad, but if I explain will you Understand ?

I have seen, but I do not understand, am I insane?

Or have I gained forbidden knowledge?

I’ve always known these things.

I imagined them decades before, when I sat quiet with eyes onlooking like a naive little girl.

If I wandered greater souls, I alone will change the world.

She has cursed me and called me god among slaves, Continue reading

New Openings

c09efe61640af758_shutterstock_76299898.previewYou worshiped him. It was not love at first sight; it was lust that transformed into something beyond your control. You tried to dissuade yourself from falling hopelessly, but as always you were the hopeless romantic at heart. He was everything you desired, or more than you felt you deserved in a lifetime. You did every of his bidding. You thought pleasing him would keep him completely within your grasp. It worked. You did have him, for a time. Until he started making outrageous demands.

You stormed out of his house the day he tried using his ring finger, in the middle of a lovemaking session, to penetrate your anal carnal. It was mistake, you told yourself, until the consistency at which he probed became glaring. Your body went numb, like something had been turned off inside you. Your mind went blank, every sexual fantasy leaving your body. You raised your head and stared at him deeply, with that probing but yet naïve eyes.

“What are you doing,” you asked, as he stared right back at you, with that air of confidence that had endeared him to your heart. Continue reading

Stupid or Conformist: Part One

Young woman dominating

Editor’s Note:

This is the first installation of a four part story.


Moyo sat in the darkness of the bedroom she used to share with her husband. She had given up on wondering where he was. He only came home once in a week to check up on his children. He bought them toys on these visits. He came home the previous day and they had another big issue. It was as if he was asked, “what will make you happy today? Getting a promotion?Getting a raise? Winning a jackpot?” and he replied, “No. talking Moyo down would make my day. In fact, it would make my year.” He came home and just vented. As usual, he found something wrong she had done. It was like there was something about criticising her that turned him on. He didn’t stop at bathing her with insults, he kicked her out of the room.She ended up sleeping in one of the guest rooms downstairs.

Lately, they didn’t have sex. He couldn’t stay long before shoving his shaft into her oven. Obviously, there was another woman who was giving it to him. She had confronted him on several occasions. The last time she did, he gave her the beating of her life.After that incident, she swore never to confront him in her life. That was two months ago. Good enough for her, she didn’t have to bother about anyone asking her questions. She was a stay-at-home mom. She wouldn’t have believed it if anyone had told her four years after getting married to him; he would turn into a dastardly monster. She wondered where she had gone wrong. She regretted putting her life on hold for him and her children. Continue reading

Tam’s Dilemma

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Getty Images

The statement “Hair is political” couldn’t have been far from the truth. I cut my hair and dyed it blonde and instantly became a national hero of some sorts among friends and acquaintances. Lately, I have been referred to as a feminist, said the same way you would say to someone who you just discovered has lice in their hair.
Warily was the word that came to mind.

Walking in the new confines of my new Afro-centric look, people would suddenly think I was some kind of confident dragon who could probably go on a nude march around Lagos just because of my hair.

The decision to cut my hair had come from a series of internal wars and battles, hair struggles and a search for something within. I cut my hair simply because for starters I just wanted to cut my hair and because you simply don’t save what needn’t be saved. The most amazing thing about cutting my hair was getting remarks like “Did your boyfriend like it?”, “What did your parents say?”… Continue reading

The Wait

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Edith smoothed her dress once more as she sat in the reception waiting to be interviewed by God knows who. The wait was driving her completely insane. Even as a child, one quality she’d lacked was patience. All that talk about patience being a virtue that every wise person should possess were just “stories- for- the- gods” to her. She didn’t see any reason why anyone should have to wait infinitely for someone. Or something. If she had a choice, she would have left, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Choice in her case was just an illusion. She didn’t need to be reminded how much she needed the job to cater not only for herself but her little ones. So she stayed even though waiting was becoming unbearable.

She glanced at her watch again. 12:15pm. Continue reading

Throes

anguishEditor’s Note:

throes
/THrōz/ noun, plural noun: throes

 intense or violent pain and struggle, especially accompanying birth, death, or great change.

Synonyms: agony, pain, pangs, spasms, torment, suffering, torture; literary travail


If they had told you that the man would be confined to a wheelchair in a vegetative state, you would have cursed at whoever made such blasphemous statement because you saw him as a demi-god, the one you looked up to after the One he taught you about- The Heavenly God. But then, he would have dealt with you and told you that he didn’t raise you to be mediocre but distinct. You remember clearly the way he rang the bell at 5:30AM and everybody; Mother, Deola, Victoria and you, filed out with morning breaths and barely awake eyes for The Early Morning Prayer.

Continue reading

Is it always all about sex?

gay_pride_flagAuthor’s Note:

This piece (as well as all other pieces I will be writing) is strictly for gay men, especially those living in Africa or other homophobic-oriented societies. If you have an objection to people being gay or see it as deviant behavior, please here is a nice place to stop and close the page. Should you elect to keep reading, then you have accepted to be open-minded and non judgmental. Enjoy…..


For as far back as I can remember, I have always been attracted to men. I do not remember the first time I expressed this attraction physically, but what I do remember is that I have always wanted my partner to love me. When I was much younger, the prospect of even meeting someone who shared this same attraction was more than enough for me. To hold someone who didn’t immediately push me away, or who didn’t look at me with revulsion and anger seemed a little more than fantasy or wishful thinking. My hidden desires pushed me into the darkest corners of despair, and loneliness became a feeling I was accustomed to. To avoid inadvertently exposing my attraction to the wrong individual, I was determined to build up a wall that would protect me from hate and abuse. I learnt how to walk like a guy, talk like a guy, keep my hands firm and still while I spoke, not show too much interest in an attractive guy or speak without thinking. I wore baggy clothes and tried very hard to comment when pretty girls walked by. When my voice cracked as a teenager and became deeper, I was ecstatic. It felt really good to be like everyone else. But somewhere deep within me the emptiness lingered. Continue reading