So Long, Majek.

Sometime last year, there was a rumour that Majek Fashek had died but I didn’t believe it for one second and unsurprisingly, it was confirmed that he was still alive. This morning however, when I saw the announcement of his death on a friend’s WhatsApp status, I screamed. The sky was a sickly shade of grey and the rain sounded as if the sky was crying. I knew it was true, Majek the rainmaker had gone home.

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He is My Peace

My favourite writing position is with a pillow propped behind my back, my head resting on the bed frame or the wall – depending on where I am. My right thigh supports my laptop while my belle balances it.

As I write this, my laptop tils a little from one side to another and it is the only time I am grateful for my soft and round belly. I want a flat tummy one day in the future, I don’t want them abs although I suspect I’d be one those who would get one as they try to pop out whenever I start a workout regime.

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I’d be Dead

I had a relapse of a Dysfunctional Uterine Bleeding that has plagued me for several years.

Yesterday afternoon, I was lying in bed while Obinna sat on the bed beside me and my youngest brother paced the room as we talked.

 

We were teasing Obi about becoming more handsome since he miraculously gained 1kg when Ikenna said for the first time ever, people were telling him that his brother was finer than him. Continue reading →

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 →

Ngozi…

My father has an ‘unusual’ middle name, it’s fairly common but unusual still. A few weeks ago, I stumbled on a post that referenced the name – maybe it’s Tsar’s post actually. Anyway, he made a quip about the name on the post and I threatened to report him to the bearer of the name, but something nagged at me.

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Orison

I definitely haven’t been in the mood for a story today, collecting my thoughts was a problem.

I haven’t written a poem in a month or so, I miss poetry. It’s the easiest form of writing for me and it gives me the most joy, even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…

 

Orison

Pray for me even if you don’t believe 

There’s a god to answer.

For this cup fills me

With anguish & bone crushing dread

And I am yet to take a sip

 

Pray for me, hold my hand if you can.

For this darkness swallows me whole

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe

I cannot fucking breathe.

 

Pray for me, day and night

Perhaps God would look to you

Maybe your sins are fewer, 

Maybe he knows you still.

Me? He’s forgotten me. 

 

Pray for me for my tongue is gone,

Stolen by the thief of peace.

My words jumble in my head

Desperate for air, 

Dying by the minute. 

 

Pray for me even if you don’t believe

In prayers, or charms forgotten by ancestors. 

Pray for my soul

For the earth wearies me

And I want to die now.