Under Pressure.

I do not know now where I got the impression from, that Lawanson market was the market with highest priced goods in the whole of Surulere and Idi-Araba market which is barely 500meters away was the cheapest. I think the women who own stalls in the market are more serious than those in other markets with a wider variety of goods and that is why this morning, I took my body to Lawanson to buy the plantains and vegetables I needed to make the meal my spirit had been craving for nearly a month. Continue reading →

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I am not Wife Material… And It’s ok.

This post has been sitting pretty in my drafts since June 30th, I wrote it at a time I found myself writing about marriage a whole lot. I decided to shelve it until another time and I guess that time is now…

 

Recently, I was having a conversation with a much older man about marriage and a woman’s place in the home. If you know me well- or at least read my blog regularly, you’d know that I do not believe in having specific gender roles in a marriage.
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Till You Turn To Wanderer.

One of the easiest and surest ways to annoy me is by making sweeping, derogatory statements about ‘Nigerian Youths’ around my space. Nigerian youths are lazy, unemployable, unmotivated, unserious or whatever other adjective you want to use, keep it to yourself.

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Nigeria, My Beloved Country.

“I know a lot about my country

I know a lot because I care

I know a lot about the people

I know a lot because I’m here

Nigeria my beloved country

Working together is the key

Nigeria my beloved country

Her future is you and me.”

This song holds strong memories for me, the title is Nigeria my beloved country and the singer is Funmi Adams

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Not by power: Not by might.

There were several scenarios Sebastian Okonkwo had figured would play out in his life when he was forty, he expected several cars in his garage, a house in the city and a bigger, fancier one in Obizi. He had expected to have travelled to several countries and to be able to wear a suit without feeling awkward. There was a time he had been foolish and thought he would be married to a beautiful Mexican woman with her long hair brushing her buttocks when she moved, but he mentioned it to his mother once and the memory of the knock she landed on his head just before saying tufiakwa was still strong in his head, that incident knocked out the silly fantasy. Continue reading →

Silken Prison.

It’s been a month, a year, a century since I last heard your voice.

I don’t know if I miss you, I just know my heart grips the walls of my chest like a multipronged pair of pliers when I think of you. You drive through the highways of my mind at night with headlights on full blast, as the fumes of your exhaust fade, I clutch my chest and swallow my tears.

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