The ceiling leaked with the sound of mismanagement, in her opinion, a staple in all things Nigerian. It was evident in escalators that stood without motion, air conditioning units that hummed only to exhale warm air, patches of concrete on the carpeted floor, and the worst, the humans that fiend politeness in search of tips. The humid air left her brows heavy with sweat, but she didn’t wipe it or complain. This is why she was here, this was what she wanted. It was one thing to be something — it was another thing to live it. Cloaked in the comfort of New York living where she hopped around intellectual circles with the fear of coming off pretentious the height of her worry, she had grown detached from her home without even knowing it. Sure, she checked up on the country over her morning coffee in Starbucks, browsing her favourite sites which included Linda Ikeji’s blog even if she would never admit it in public. On many occasions she would read an article and in a fit of rage attack the keyboard, spewing her opinions on the comment section. It was either that or spilling her latte if she wanted to break something. The latter wasn’t an option. Continue reading “Back Home”
30/30 is a collection of short stories covering a range of issues around the self, culture, society, sex, love and relationships. It is available for FREE download on Smashwords, Okadabooks, Lulu, iBooks and other ebook retailers.
Rose rested on her branch, watching passer-bys shuffle along. Some would stop to admire the petals and inhale the sweet fragrance, others continued with indifference. She never understood why any flower wanted to be plucked. She thought to herself; why would anyone want to be loved? To be the constant obsession of another, burdened with the responsibility of being forever beautiful. And there was the issue of the thorns on the branches. Everyone wanted the petals, but without the thorns. Unfortunately, without the branch of thorns, the petals had no anchor to rest on. She wanted to yell to the others; why would you want to be the center of another’s universe? Is it not much better being just a part of it? Continue reading “Rose and The Passer-By”
With him gone, she was left with the sound of silence only broken by the tick-tock of her big clock. The air reeked of stale cigarette and sex mixed with the bittersweet smell of his perfume. Sweet because it reminded her of him in his absence, bitter because it reminded her that he had to go. She reached for a half empty pack of cigarette and sparked one on her lips. She didn’t necessarily enjoy the head rush, but there was something in the inhalation and exhalation of smoke she found rather therapeutic. Perhaps it was some kind of coping mechanism she had developed, like a form of meditation.
She thought about his wife. She didn’t owe the woman anything. It was hardly her fault she wasn’t woman enough for her husband or that he wasn’t man enough to be content. After all, if it weren’t her fucking him, it would have been someone else. Continue reading “Lady in waiting: A tale of loneliness”
Anna’s room was more or less what he had imagined it would be. A large desktop sat by the window, it was the closest the modern writer could get to a typewriter. The classic bookshelf, scraps of paper with illegible writing, two empty cups of coffee that filled the air with the all too familiar aroma. A bedside lamp for late night reading, and two books on the side. It was cluttered, but not littered.
‘So this is what you do to your men. You make them pretty much write your articles, show them a good time around the city, then bring them here for your perverted pleasures. I feel so used.’ Leo sat up on the bed to get a better view of her slim frame.
‘Says the guy that nearly ruptured my uterus. If you fucked me any harder I swear my liver was going to shift.’ Continue reading “Anna and Leo: Balance of power”
There was something humbling about watching a coffin being lowered into a grave. It was a solemn reminder of a destiny no one would ever escape, the promise of death. For the most part, people tried to live their lives in denial of this truth, but deep down it was an existential reality no one could ever escape. When death waited until a ripe old age to claim its victim, consolation was easy to find. Sadly, this was not one of those occasions.
‘I cannot believe she is gone. Just like that. I spoke to her only a week ago.’ Nneka said.
It didn’t matter where you were in the world, people talking about when last they had contact with the dead was standard I-can’t-believe-they-are-gone opener. Continue reading “Nneka and Uju: Talking depression”
They were both sat at the edge of their seats at the dinner table. Intellectual stimulation was a well-known aphrodisiac for the sapiosexuals. But it was also known to carry an inherent risk of going completely sideways and spiralling into an argument, or politically speaking, a heated debate. For the most part, this was controlled by how strongly the parties felt about the issue and their stance on it. As absurd as it sounded, it was not unheard of that a difference in opinion was enough to pull the plug on a potential or ongoing relationship. He did not want this to be one of those situations. He was already too infatuated with this woman’s intelligence to lose her over something as silly as intellectual egoism.
Waiter: Here is the bill, Sir. Continue reading “Man and Woman: A gender story”