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Showing posts from October, 2015

I, SON OF ILÉ-IFẸ̀

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Ilé-Ifẹ̀ is my home Here, in the source of life On Odùduwà’s fertile Earth crust Where the first palm’s root burrowed I did not come walking on my feet My head came here before me I claim sonship of this land For Orisa-nla formed me Do not mind my skin I’ve heard Sango’s lightning Held Ifa’s nuts, all sixteen of them And bled my sacrifices on Ogun’s stool Iloro’s earth, who witnessed my birth Holds the first chapter of my death For the rope that led me here Is there, one with its soil…

NO MORE --- A TALE OF MARRIAGE, SEX AND HOMSEXUALITY

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Caked sperm flaked off Cynthia’s stomach when she woke up that Saturday morning. She was alone in the bedroom. The bastard was gone. As usual. She heaved a sigh as she lazily crawled to the edge of the bed, absentmindedly grabbing her ripped bra and panties. Her day was starting exactly as the days before. The only thing different about that morning was that she wasn’t sad, or confused. She knew what had to be done. It was no longer a matter of IF. Now it was about WHEN. She had decided that in the course of the night. WHEN! All it had taken to get her from IF to WHEN was another night of mechanical romance, pinned down under his bulky frame with his throbbing member splicing her unwilling and dry lower labia and his prickly chest hair needle-pricking her uninterested, drooping nipples. A few years back, those same nipples would have stood erect in salute of his aliveness. She would have arched and groaned and clawed and moaned. She would have wrapped her legs around his back a

#ACCORDINGTOKIS: HAVING A BOOK IS NOT WHAT MAKES YOU A WRITER.

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Having a book is not what makes you a writer. My stance comes following a post by one of my younger writer friends here on Facebook. He wanted to know if a person must have a book, as a form of certificate, to confirm him or her a writer. It is a fact that there are a lot of persons here on Facebook who have published book and are yet far below some teenage writers here in terms of the quality of their creations.  Again, there is another category of writers like Eketi Edima Ette, Emmanuel Oluwaseun Dairo and Pearl Lagertha Lothbrok who (to the best of my knowledge) do not have published books but they are DAMN good writers, better than many of their published peers. So, the certificate of a writer, for me, is what you write, on Facebook, in a newspaper, on your wall or in a book/anthology/magazine. Now, as a piece of advice to unpublished writers, I must say that having a book that people can refer to everywhere is VERY GOOD. You must however know that it is not a NECESSITY –

BRIGITTE POIRSON: THE GOAT THAT SAVES OUR YAMS

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(for Brigitte Poirson, French teacher and promoter of African poetry) when we gathered in the tubers from our farms across seven rivers ah! we planned for yam-feasts we forgot about our hungry beasts! they stole in nightly for tubers while the village went to slumber soon, all our barns were empty our wails and tears flowed aplenty until a goat crossed the  Rhine bleating to us her hope-garbed line she horned the thieving beasts composed sweet tune for our feasts again we gathered in tubers from farms far beyond seven rivers today we hold endless feasts in the absence of thieving beasts! *** When I was working on my first book, I sought the help of several ‘big’ Nigerian writers and God knows 99% of them turned me down with plausible, but painful, excuses. It was my friend Su’eddie Vershima Agema (who made me change the title of the book) and Madam Brigitte that encouraged me (editing and advising) the most at the time. This woman