In the months before my mother died she occupied herself with the lives of her only sons. Spending what seemed like every waking moment asking questions about our relationships, would-be marriages and not-yet-born children. “Olusegun you will not be young and handsome forever.” She would bellow over the phone… [10mins]
It was the week before Christmas when he found out. He’d gone to the supermarket to buy exactly 3kg of chicken breast, a bottle of vinegar and breadcrumbs. Mueni would marinade the chicken in her secret family spice before grilling it in the oven for exactly two hours at one hundred degrees Celsius… [10mins]
The letter lay untouched on his desk, its creases marked by dust. It had lay there for the past 3 weeks after Sandra’s funeral. He didn’t have the nerve to move it from where she placed it, right beside his sewing machine, where she was certain he would notice it… [12mins]
Clothes, everywhere. Clothes removed with an urgency of passion that now seemed spent. Two lovers lying on a poster bed. Bed in a hotel room with its balcony door open. A sultry wind beckons at the soft curtains, raising it ever so lightly, like a practiced voyeur’s peep… [4mins]
The boy came up to Niren and stood next to him at the pinball machine. He must have been around ten or eleven and was still dressed in his school uniform. Niren glanced down at him… [10mins]
My Brother, Olileanya, was born on an evening in January 1984 at Holy Mary’s Maternity in Mother’s hometown, Osumenyi where we lived. It was a Sunday afternoon, we had just finished eating rice and chicken, and Father was arguing about the new head of state General Muhammadu Buhari when Mother went into labour… [14mins]
In collaboration with Writivism.
The first time the ghost of my fraternal twin appeared to me, I was terrified – so terrified that my abrupt recoil jerked the low wooden table from which I’d been eating fufu and egusi… [8mins]