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Archive for April, 2015


Tree limbs wither and die

Where withal, lay I

Brave face to the open sky

Inside, I’m tired

World-weary, what a weary world

Word heavy, my soul screams with birth pangs

I shiver, I shudder and –

I pull hard to get milk from life’s udders

Drowning in sighs and mushy nothings

Wrapped in my cocoon, impervious to pity

I’m alright, all night

Conversing with stars all high

All – hi,

Nobody says hello

I’m holding on to black – too scared of yellow

Too afraid to let go.

This is all I know.


Isn’t I?


Spotlight: Tomi Adesina’s Hearts & Homes

Good morning, beautiful people!!!!

It’s so much a pleasure to have a front seat on the literary revolution looming on the horizon – Nigeria’s horizon I mean. It’s honestly so cool to see us take our own fate as far as our love; literature in our own hands. It’s a thrilling something.

Another notch in the cap of said revolution is a novella by one of my ones, Tomi Adesina, a special pessin (you wouldn’t know it by the way she ignores me). She gives us a free ebook – Hearts and Homes to commemorate the disappearance of the Chibok Girls a year ago – on the 14th of April 2014. It’s been a year since the disappearance of the Chibok Girls – and many of our questions still remain unanswered. Tomi seeks to remind us, in few but tasteful words to not forget.

I dare us to.

Peep the cover art – and then read more and download below:


Hearts and Homes (The Novella)

Author: Tomi Adesina
Cover design/Layout: Ellipzes
Edited by: Olufisayo Ashaye
Country: Nigeria
Language: English
Genre: Fiction (Reality-Based)
Release date: April 14, 2015
Media type: e-copy

Synopsis: Set during the time of the raging insurgency in the North-East of Nigeria, Hearts and Homes tells the story of a Soldier who has to leave his family behind in the quest for finding the girls that had been kidnapped by the dreaded terrorist group, Boko Haram.

I tell you, you really don’t want to miss this baby. Tomi wrote the popular blog series “Dear Future Husband” and other hit blog series including “Beautiful Stranger”, “Clandestine”, “Two weeks to go” and lots more which could be found on her blog at
Tomi, who is also a screenwriter, has TV projects to her credit including DEADLINE (an investigative drama series), BROADWAY (the revitalized edition of the Ghanaian family soap) and BEDLAM (Nollywood Movie)”

Need anymore?


Twitter’s The New Diary

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”

Who tell you? What about what happens in Peckers?

You think there’s a difference?

Oh! Think different!

You’d be surprised! Old shit smells recent!

I act decent

But my thoughts are disgusting


50 colours of one shade can’t paint the full picture

There’s a war for my mind

Who will be the victor?

Victor? Hugo?

Shade? Who knows?

Killed and murdered innocents

Buried the corpses, covered the doors

Forgot the windows

Slept with the office secretary

Made her a widow

Walked away, didn’t console her

Smoked a pound of indo

Bricked up my closet

That didn’t still the skeletons

Didn’t think someone would come

To steal the skeletons

Now my bullshit is in the open;

And it’s a truth so bitter,

Guess what happens in Vegas stays on Twitter

Bag Lady IV – End.

“If I could turn/Turn back the hands of time/My darling you/”

Lola’s fingers fluttered – much like a bird with a broken wing as they touched the neck of her blouse. “Where is that R. Kelly coming from?” She asked the air in the room.

Bisi looked like she had slept in her room and woken up at the nearest BRT stop – naked. In fact, only then did she realize she was standing in her underwear. “Close the door you,” she snapped at her sister. Dare slid in the room, purse in her grip like a book – or like an iPad.

“What’s going on?” She breathed, hugging herself and looking at the original occupants of the room. Lola was still lying on the bed, eyes tightly closed. Trickling tears gleamed on her cheeks. “Bisi, what -”

An imperial hand waved her to silence. Bisi’s steps were muffled as she walked towards the bed near the door. It dipped under her weight – and Lola’s eyes came open.


The bed groaned Lola sat up. She cleaned her eyes and looked Bisi in hers. “It’s my fault. I helped you lose trust for me. After all, what’s a purse compared to a man?”

Tears, clear sparkling and quiet danced down her cheeks, adorning her face with innocence reminiscent of young leaves kissed by dew. “I really didn’t mean to -”

Bisi’s arms slid around Lola’s shoulders and pushed her head against the taller girl’s chest. “I’m just…I’m sorry.”

Dare, feeling very much like a third wheel placed the purse she was still carrying on a table beside the door – and quietly slid out the way she came.

A One-Kind Something

“Yeeeee! Yeeeee o! Kelechi you have killed me o!”

Under normal circumstances, screams of that nature would have only attracted mild curiosity. After all, the ‘killer’ in question – Kelechi – was a well-to-do bachelor who was generally well-behaved and minded his business. His mother was nice too, polite to the neighbours whenever she came around and particularly to the children and single girls in the neighbourhood.

It was no secret. Kelechi’s mum, typically, wanted him to be married. Nobody asked Kelechi’s opinion on the matter, because frankly, no one gave a damn about Kelechi’s opinion on the matter.

Mothers know best.

So maybe Kelechi’s mother had attempted to match-make him with one of her hundreds of friends’ daughters and he had insulted the poor girl. And that, is sacrilege as far as tradition goes. Hence the ‘you have killed me’ wailing.

So it could have been Kelechi’s mother screaming. Except – she wasn’t in town.

The neighbours too, had had to put their questions about Kelechi’s manhood to rest when suddenly a long-legged dark-eyed beauty started appearing in the house. First time she appeared on Egbado Street, wearing a blue and white number that put her hips and legs to maximum effect, neighbours crowded their windows and doorways.

They had to know where she was going.

When she entered Kelechi’s compound, everyone on the street sighed – though the inspiration behind the sighs were as different as the faces of the ‘sighees’.

Before long the news spread. Kelechi had a girlfriend.

It is generally accepted that once a guy has a girlfriend, some ‘between-the-sheets’ action is a given. It didn’t matter if they were religious, pious or sacrilegious. As long as there was nothing wrong with either of them, it was going down.

Or up.

So most likely, Kelechi’s dark madam was the one screaming. And giving the nature; the context of the screaming – and the timing; 3:51 on a Wednesday morning, there could only be one reason she – or any woman – would be screaming that way. So we buried our heads in our pillows, mad at NEPA for once for the strangest reason – giving us power at that time of the day because as a result, the neighbourhood was quiet. There were no generators screaming – which means there was no barrier between Kelechi’s girlfriend’s screams and our ears.

We tried to sleep, intending to say something in the morning.

If only we had been as observant a few hours earlier, we would have seen Kelechi’s girlfriend hobble in the house, having twisted her dainty ankle via okada accident. Maybe we would have joined in his entreaties to her – and maybe she would have allowed him massage said ankle before they slept, and maybe he won’t have had to slip awake at 3:47 on a Wednesday morning to rub her ankle – and maybe she won’t have been screaming;

“Yeeeee! Yeeeee o! Kelechi you have killed me o!”

But we didn’t know.

And frankly, I don’t think we cared.

Good neighbours.

Bag Lady III – Me

“Where is my black purse, you man-snatching ashawo?”

Lola looked like a train trying to go in two directions at once; back out the door she just came through or towards the bed a few feet in front of her.

The bed won.

She knew how the Israelites felt; wading through the Red Sea – except the walls were not of water this time. They were made of Bisi’s eyes; staring tidal waves and thunderstorms at her.

She made it to the bed and collapsed on it, cool softness accepting her in spite of herself. “What purse?”

Bisi’s words were bullets shot point-blank into a bulletproof vest. “My black felt purse! The black –“

“Bisi, I didn’t take your purse. You know I’d tell you before I touch anything of yours –“

Really?! Like you told me before sleeping with Jude?!”

There it was, out in the open.

The burn of tears compelled Lola to close her eyes and she wished the bed would just swallow her whole.

“I didn’t sleep with him. We – I kissed him…I was drunk! I have hated myself since that night – done everything I could to make you forgive me…” Her voice disappeared with the suddenness of power failure.

“There are some things you can’t take back.” Bisi sounded like she had razor blades in her throat. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t find my purse. Who else could have taken it?”

“I didn’t take your purse.”

“Hey Bisi, you left this in my room…” Someone spoke from the door.

Both girls turned towards the voice. It was Bisi’s sister Dare, holding up a black felt purse.


So they took light, but left us power

Power to do right, for the next one hour

Now before neighbourhood generators come on,

Come steal away with me for good, my love

Let us sit and remember, how we loved before Twitter,

How I used to use Sade within 190 characters

How I compared the moonlight to the white in your eyes

Come, see it stare now like when you catch a lie!

Why are you letting the night breeze run wet fingers through your hair?

Haven’t I said you’re mine alone; and I won’t share?!

Look – I’ll commit murder, scream till I turn blue,

Let’s just be me and you; pure form all true

Lie together – no; I mean lie together really;

I’m not talking sex; I just miss you missing me,

Let me remind you how we loved before GLO,

Running errands for my mama, any excuse to stroll,

Then stand by your gate, whispering till really late,

First time I got a kiss – man! – my heart rate capitate!

Or is it catapult? Omo, leave am like that,

The one I wrote this for is smiling widely, she likes that

Just that.

And, by virtue of this love,

We the ones with the power,

Though you’re screaming “Up NEPA”

Through time.