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 →

Rome wasn’t built forever.

Ifeoma is one of my favourite facebook friends, her wit and wisdom and shiny pictures are a delight anyday. She is also a briliant writer- I’m featuring her post very soon, should have done it since but life happened. She made a post about how she accepts now that her alma mater was a glorified secondary school despite fiercely arguing about it with her father and a doting professor. Some people came to counter the post- as expected, and tried to change the focus of the narrative from the school to all government run schools in Nigeria. However, a conversation on that thread caught my eye and inspired this post.

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Live and Let Live.

I was going to write a longish post on intolerance this morning and the thrust of it was about how being Nigerian seems to be the starter pack for intolerance.

 

Nkechi Bianze- in her facebook post this morning said “intolerance is a Nigerian thing”, while I don’t think we have a monopoly of it, we have enshrined it in our daily lives, it’s probably a part of our DNA, we cannot live without it. Continue reading →

Dear Lagos

Lagos,

Foundation of a thousand castles 

Graveyard of a million dreams

City of endless toil

Oasis at every corner

Glittering northstar 

Hell’s embassy

Crusher of fragile hearts

Destroyer of the weak

They say you’re the biggest,

Their geography as valid as a two thousand naira note,

They say you’re the best, Eko for show

They say you’re golden, old enough to have sense.

A plethora of shiny faces wishing you well,

At each succeeding bus stop.
Yet you let him dance with hope, under the tunnel

Bleeding and dying, while life pulsed around him

Three hours they said, he bargained for life,

Waiting for flashing lights to take him to safety,

Hoping to touch love one last time.

But you wrapped him in a bodybag

Your work complete, as his soul rose to the sky

Accepting the sacrifice of your favourite son.

The one on a yellow throne with madness in his eyes 

And gin and weed chanting his oriki. 
Dear Lagos,

In your crevasse I was born,

In your shadow I thrive

I wish it is hate that makes my blood sputter and pop

As I think of you,

Shame lights my veins instead, slowly it consumes me.

Dear Lagos, 

Be kinder to your children, 

Listen please,

For I will say it again.

Stop killing your young.

The trouble with Elu Aku

My grandfather liked to tell the story of how the world came to be. God gave man only one thing as he descended from heaven and that was a palm nut, he planted it and its leaves helped to make man’s shelter, kept the shelter and environment clean, provided kindling for his fire, the wine kept him from losing his mind in the harsh world he found himself and its fruit gave him two different oils. The oil from the pulp to make his soup and to be the bride of the king of food- roast yam (the man loved his roast yam!) and oil from the seed, or kernel if you like, to anoint his skin and hair and to save his children from evil and its manifestations like convulsion and fever. It was the second oil that put my brother and me in trouble many years ago.

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