Archive - February 2019

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Books of February
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Frayed at the seams
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A path to thread: Fit
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I am not my face
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Thanksgiving

Frayed at the seams

It began with mild headaches and dizziness. Nothing the family hoped pain medications couldn’t cure. Her mother put it down to the increased stress of living and working in Lagos. Then they became worse – the headaches weren’t responding to the remedies; he had trouble sleeping; difficulty in balance and slight speech impediment. It was the seizure that put his family on high alert.

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A path to thread: Fit

Zibby sighed and looked away. This was far from the life she had envisioned for herself. Behind a desk. A rigid 8am – 5pm routine. Answering yes sir, no sir, three bags full. But push had come to shove, and she was down to her last miserable funds (saved and anywhere else in the world), scarcely enough to cater for her needs and her sister’s. She had to look for an alternative before things became desperately hopeless.

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I am not my face

How do you get used to something that was non – existent in your formative years? Then surfaced and took eternal residence in your life at precisely the threshold of adulthood? The older I got, the younger I looked (was that humanly possible?). Oscar Wilde needn’t have written The Portrait of Dorian Gray; I’m a breathing specimen.

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Thanksgiving

So I have this weekly post (mostly fiction, sometimes memoirs) I do every Sunday on Whatsapp to a couple of my contacts. Tomorrow makes a year of its inception. Below is a little note of appreciation I sent out this morning: Indulge me for a minute. Close your eyes. Imagine me behind a podium on a stately – looking stage, slaying with my chic evening dress and war paint on fleek. I am holding a portable- sized, silver – plated typewriter and a small, square piece of paper in my hands. The air is suffused with applause and background music as a voice – over announces my name and category. It’s obvious to all that I’m hyperventilating, and the looks of disbelief and happiness take turns flittering across my visage. Once I catch my breath (I’m on a clock now), I look down at the paper and open my mouth to speak… First, I’d like to thank God for the gift of penmanship. For my fascination with letters and words. The ability to string them together into coherent, readable blocks of text. For a seemingly endless spring of inspiration and a fertile imagination. The choice to indulge in what I love. Thank you, Lord, for the work of my hands. To my editors. Amid your own personal and professional commitments, Theo & Igho, you are both still able to fit in a sister’s work. Meeting your own time limits as well as mine. Your edits are one thing; your insights, suggestions, and questions are another. Thank you for your time and the pieces of you selflessly sprinkled all over my writings. And you, my reader, my very own oniovo!  The reason behind Sunday’s special rays. Tg, Adula, Eve, Refe, Franca, Ogaga, C.Eguaibor, P. Osazuwa… Uyi, Trish, Toby, Odo, Obehi, Ebuwa, Osas, Funmi, Jeje, Muimui, Rose, Ify… In a time- deprived society such as ours, you didn’t have to spend moments of your day of rest reading my work. I recognize that you had a choice but included us (my writings & I) anyway. Then went ahead to give feedback. In”more

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