There is a pot of water on the kitchen stove, the new one. Te’ele will use it to boil rice and realize when she tastes it that she forgot to add salt. She won’t mind, where is her appetite anyway? It’s 7pm and her husband is not home yet… [10mins]

The ‘f’ in my own ‘family’ stood for flogging. We were bred with it. It was a dietary requirement. And no, don’t be fooled by the title, there was nothing sugary about the experience. Not to us. It was only sweet for our parents, especially Mama… [10mins]

It’s the seventh day of the week today. Like every other Sunday, this one is somnolent, almost as if the week has grown weak, having reached into its pharmacopoeia to pop one of the soporific pills that is supposed to aid its rest – just as God intended… [14mins]

For days, Adesuwa has been daydreaming of warm, red sand. She throws memories of it into everything she does. When she eats food conjured up in her apartment, she swallows painfully. When she makes use of the company of her loud African-American friends, or goes to the Nigerian restaurant close by to eat iyan with egusi, she still does not get the sweet taste of home… [5mins]

Swirls of dead ashes wafted out from the opposite shop, followed by the pull of something heavy, then the gentle sweep of the floor with a broom. More ashes, swirling and swirling, mingling with the dust from the sweeping and turning everywhere into a whitish gauze. Abu preferred to watch Mama Ghana this way, on most mornings… [10mins]