Cry-Cry Baby

Yesterday, when I saw Onyinye ’s Facebook post on songs from movies and series, I remembered one of my favourite shows, the now-rested Cold Case. I was inspired to write a post about all the wonderful songs I found on the show. I was too tired to type anything, so I let it go.

Home?

I had always thought of home as a series of addresses.
Houses with keys, my loved ones lugged in their pockets.
Rooms with corners lined with memories.
Favourite books in shelves older than me,
With the scent of camphor and old paper,
Dancing in my nostrils, sparking orgasms in my brain.

Expensive Peace.

A Facebook post about dealing with a cheating wife vs nagging wife and the comments on that post reminded me of a certain handsome man I dated a long time ago.

 

I had just come out of a longish relationship and wasn’t looking for love but Bros convinced me that we could make it work and he definitely wasn’t going to be my rebound relationship but the one I’d cherish for the rest of my life. He ticked the right boxes- similar background, same denomination, handsome af, funny. Most important of all, he got along pretty well with my family.

One Good Slap.

You could tell that she was in love with him by the way her body bounced with each word she said to him, it was like watching a puppy with a beloved master who had been away for an hour. She was nearly pretty, almost beautiful from the joy his closeness wrought.

Love Askew.

He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat and fiddled with the collar of his shirt. He was smiling when her eyes travelled the distance from the prawn sauce on her plate to his face.

“I have something to tell you, something important,” He wiggled his shoulders a little, his smile even wider.

“I think I have fallen in love with you.”

“Whatever for?” she sputtered.

The Nightshift

I was trying to rush down my breakfast because I nearly late for work, when my brother came to stand beside me with a song I couldn’t make out, playing on his phone.

“Do you know I’m listening to the original version of Easy,” he said. “Lionel Richie wasn’t the original singer.”

A roomful of books.

On this day nineteen years ago, my dad and I boarded a bus headed for Abuja that would follow the Jebba-Bida-Minna-Suleja route. I was going to Bida for the first time, Dedem Okey brought my admission letter the previous week and automatically cancelled the preparations we were making towards my accepting the admission at Lagos State Model College Badore.

Where to go?

It was raining when I made the sign of the cross over her corpse before shutting the front door, I sprinted out of the compound and turned left towards Glover. The tiny beads of water from heaven hitting every exposed inch of my body and turning my glasses from clarifier of vision to an unnecessary amalgamation of plastic across my face, I took it off my face and tucked it into my jeans pocket.

A Page of Memories.

Now that being with you can only be memory, perhaps I shall write about you and if the burden of inhibition will lift, and if the shyness bred into me by centuries of women who never spoke their hearts truths, fades into the remnants of a handful of dust after the wind’s careless toss. I will attempt to pin the dazzling, fleeting dream that was us, on paper. All I want to do in this minute that seems empty, is to step behind my eyelids and glide into the field of memories where your smile is a thing I can touch and the faint remains of your favourite brand of whiskey linger on your tongue when I tilt my head to taste it- just before dawn.

Beyond the fruits.

Many Nigerian women posted names of certain fruits on their facebook timelines yesterday, this was done to raise awareness about breast cancer. I decided to write a little bit about the menace on the blog.