The story of the man, his wife and their donkey who kept changing positions according to the dictates of the strangers they met along the way never fails to crack me, no matter how many times I see the depiction. The funniest one to me is the cartoon that shows a man with a marked resemblance to former Nigerian President Dr Goodluck Jonathan and his wife with Nigeria as the donkey.
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I was chatting with a very dear friend about being in Benin-city and living here instead of that congested Lagos and I told him about working here for a while before sneaking out at dawn back to Lagos to another job. As I recounted the experience to Odogwu, I realized how much I had forgotten about the turbulence of that time. Continue reading →
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 →
“Adaeze, what is Pyelonephritis?” He asked with a smirk.
Tolu looked at me with some concern, and I smiled at him just before looking at the smirking man and opened my mouth. Continue reading →
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.” Continue reading →
The slab moves back and forth, in a slow rhythm that comforts you. You smile despite the pain that burns through your entire back, the pain means you are not dead yet even though your head tells you the white room is a kind of heaven. You suddenly wonder if a CT scan used “harmful radiation” and if it is even necessary that you are here to do this. Continue reading →
The bus stops at the bridge in front of the National Stadium and you come down, there’s a woman at the back of the bus who’s insulting the conductor. You don’t linger to hear the end of the argument, it had started even before you boarded at Anthony bus stop and it will continue until she gets tired of shouting at him. You’re very grateful to have gotten to Stadium without losing a limb, the driver had driven with the speed of a man who was pursued by a vengeful ex girlfriend.
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