Two days ago while I worked on a photo from a writing workshop organized by my friend, I had a conversation with my brother on the process of getting the image I wanted from the raw photo which was dark and nearly useless. The picture went from drab to fab in a few minutes. Yesterday morning, I woke up with the thought that the process of getting that picture ready was a lot like life and how God arranges our lives. Continue reading →
In the year of our lord 2000AD, while I was on holiday from boarding school, I did something that made my father very afraid. My mother had travelled and it was just Daddy and us and we had just returned from church, it was Sunday morning. Continue reading →
My grandmother had called my father ‘Uncle Eze’, as long as I can remember but I thought nothing of it, didn’t my own mother call me Mommy when she wanted me to do something I wouldn’t do normally? Maybe like my mommy, she too used it to move the immovable force Mbaise children tend to be.
May 11, 1995.
The girl was bouncing on her grandmother’s four-poster bed as she listened to the radio, she loved jumping on the bed and having the bed throw her further in the air than with the other boring beds everywhere else. The radio was on, Bob Marley’s songs were on rotation and she bounced in rhythm to them even though she wished it were Lucky Dube instead. She preferred Lucky Dube’s songs to Bob Marley’s because at her mother’s birthday party when she was four, Lucky Dube’s music was the backdrop and that was one of the most exciting moments of her young life.
Sometimes, a song is your happy place. The rhythm, flow, cadence and lyrics coalesce into a magic feather that tickles your soul and fits wings on each ventricle of your heart. Continue reading →
I do not know why I carried my phone with me on deck duty that Wednesday morning, was I planning on taking a selfie to send to Naomi? Well maybe, but I had already sent her a dozen pictures of me on the rig at sunrise and several others at midday when the sun struck the Atlantic at the angle that turned it into the golden sheen of sapphire and emerald that makes want to fall on my knees. It never gets old. Continue reading →
You wrapped it in a pink towel, tucking the ends of the towel in the folds that had formed in the towel as you wrapped. You placed the pink bundle in the Ghana-must-go bag you bought from Iya Lukman this morning after you had stopped crying. It took all of your will to clutch the zipper until you got to the end of the bag and sling the handles over your shoulder. Continue reading →