Author - idolor

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I pledge to Nigeria my country, I think
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A prick in the bubble of fun
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G.L.i.B – bed: Fine Boys
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G.L.i.B-bed: A week with Chuma Nwokolo Jnr
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The good, the loud, and the questions…of the holidays
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Origin story
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Bragging rights
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G.L.i.B – bed: My kind of book
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July in review: Best month yet
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August: The bridge, the break

I pledge to Nigeria my country, I think

Long ago, I stopped comparing and wishing Nigeria would attain a second – world status; first (world) is stretching my fantasy beyond its elastic limit. A couple of weekends past, in the middle of work, I overheard the children singing the country’s national anthem. Probably an off shoot of the IAAF championships; all those different anthems played in the course of the games must have sparked something in them, stoked their tender, patriotic streak and they inadvertently burst out into it. As I listened to them, I was reminded of myself at that age – the tune was no problem but the words, those were a different ball game. Those I knew I belted out loudly, confidently; others I didn’t, I murmured and stumbled over. They were my children all right but they weren’t going to make some of my mistakes if I could help it. My mission, if I decided to embark upon it, would be elocution classes for the national anthem. We had been at it, every day for about a week (and I could hear progress) when my pride was deflated by some seemingly unpatriotic Nigerians as various groups began to threaten to declare: Biafra Republic Oduduwa[…]

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A prick in the bubble of fun

Forgive me if my posts are far and few in between this month. And when they do appear are either focused on children – who happen to be front, back and centre of my vision right now – or the book I have just barely managed to finish. These days two things occupy my time – children and their needs. And more of both. So, bear with me a while; the holidays would be over soon and trust me, my whoop of delight will resound louder than anyone else’s. Now to the thrust of this post. Gone were the bubbly, happy – go – lucky trio who marched purposefully into the hospital few hours earlier. A solemn trio aptly describes the children who emerge from the clinic’s swinging doors, numbed by pain, shocked silent at the turn of events the fourth child among them was In the middle of endless holiday fun, one of them (my niece) broke out in bright red, itchy rash. On her arms. Her legs. Spread on her back. Sprinkled across her chest and belly. Her smooth, light – coloured skin was suddenly riddled with them as though they expressed some sort of rage. Measles? Chicken[…]

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G.L.i.B – bed: Fine Boys

  The night I finished Eghosa Imasuen’s Fine Boys, I dreamt of the University of Benin, some familiar haunts of mine in Benin City, and friends whom I hung out with in my teenage years. It goes to show the depth of effect the book had on me. Even I didn’t realize it until after the dream. With the Warri- Benin axis as its central locations, Fine Boys can be likened to a coming – of – age story about its protagonist, Ewaen, and his band of friends. From his home life in Warri to his school living once admitted into the University. Nigerian universities are a jungle to live in while learning. Appalling but true. Fine Boys depicted the country’s higher institutions, using the University of Benin as a typical example, in all their unhealthy, and unpalatable glory. It also relieved the red sand city of Benin and my Alma Mata every time Ewaen went back to school. Ekosodin. Osasogie. I lived and made memories in these places. Medical Hostel, main café – a stone throw from each other. Hall one, Hall two and the car park separating both were once comforting, welcoming sights at a point in my[…]

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G.L.i.B-bed: A week with Chuma Nwokolo Jnr

There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face. Ironically, I hadn’t set my eyes on Chuma Nwokolo Jnr when I happened upon some scribblings of his on Facebook last year. Using photos taken from different activities (panel discussions, informal gatherings, etc) of the recently concluded Ake LitFest, he generated seemingly appropriate dialogue for each. Dialogue which resulted in hilarious, uncivilized, out-of-control guffaws. More than enough to google the creator and find out about him. Nothing prepares you for the unassuming, gentle-looking, friendly visage which confronts you in all his images. It is certainly not what you’d expect from one who has honed the comedic writing style to seamless perfection. His face gives nothing away; you never see it coming. The first book I read, Diary of a Dead Nigerian, is a short one. A short read. But one I’m certainly not wistful about. Divided into three parts – one for each protagonist – it is an amusing tale of three men, a father and his two sons. Chuma Nwokolo beautifully captures the events preceding their deaths and encompassing their lives as well. The choice of words, their actions and streams of consciousness set each character apart and[…]

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The good, the loud, and the questions…of the holidays

  By now, I’d have gone off the rails. Screaming every other five minutes. Disciplining for the next five. A threat hanging dangerously on the tip of my tongue or silencing with a look that shouted volumes. But no, I still have my wits around me; my sanity’s intact too. Except for bone – tiredness at the end of each day, all is going swimmingly in my world. Stick with me, please. There’s a method to my scribbling madness. Or is it a message? A moral? Perhaps, just a plain ol’ rant. Whatever. There’s something to be said (or rather written) here, and I’d make it crystal in a minute or two…   Arm cardio Back in the university, a friend of mine, Biggie, could churn out (quite effortlessly) food enough for eight of us in our cramped hostel room. She never broke a sweat while at it and even had leftovers for later. I’d stare at her in awe. Cooking like this in school? In less than ideal kitchen conditions? For more than two people no less? She was my culinary hero then. Biggie was the first girl in six children. Catering for eight people was routine – a[…]

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Origin story

From a virtual storage space to an intrinsic part of me, my blog has evolved in the few years of its existence. From a link where I stored short fiction stories to a place of documenting life’s experiences, piling my passion, honing my craft. From no category whatsoever to several, with the most recent one included at the start of 2017. From plain, unappealing white look and feel to striking, personalized purple theme. From idolorsdomain.wordpress.com to idolorsdomain.com. Over time, my blog has constantly morphed according to my whims and fresh ideas. No longer is it merely a web warehouse for fiction(as was the original plan for its  creation) but also a vestibule of memories, a platform to share, engage and release.

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Bragging rights

Michael’s gaze narrowed slightly as he eyed the half-eaten pain au chocolat suspended mid air before it rested on the person holding it. ‘Aren’t you overdoing it?’ His husky tones inquired. ‘The croissants or the trumpeting?’ Across the small round table between them, big, brown eyes belonging to his long-time personal and professional friend, Anne, danced brightly as her cool tones wanted to know before popping what was left of the pastry in her mouth. ‘Both.’ He adjusted briefly in his chair, then reached for the tall glistening glass of colourless liquid in front of him. A smile chased across her thin line of lips. ‘Yet you take me out to lunch to indulge? ‘ He shrugged, saying nothing; raising the drink to his lips, he drained it. She leaned, slender arms on equally slender crossed legs. ‘Admit it, M. I’m good.’ He met her gaze. ‘That’s probably the 1,000,000th time I’ve heard that in the last 15 minutes. There’s no doubt about it, Anne, you are.’ ‘Ha!’ She clapped her hands, temporarily drawing the attention of other diners. ‘I’m awesome like that. I can’t help it. Mad skills that are in demand; o e of the best at the[…]

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G.L.i.B – bed: My kind of book

Too few pages. An unexpected protagonist with memorable, sometimes , eye – brown raising quirks. She makes ageing a journey you wouldn’t want to avoid when the time comes. The story  – telling style from each character’s unique point of view is as enthralling as it is insightful. The author’s juxtaposition of different cultures and languages, and traversing the globe in the protagonist’s recollections makes this small novel packed to the rafters, and an easy favourite of mine. Her writing style, subtle wit and smattering of non-English terms combined to the appeal of the book for me. I thoroughly enjoyed every written word of it and wished it had extended for a 100 pages more. A delightful read.

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July in review: Best month yet

Because I have mentioned some of the things which occurred in this month in previous posts, I’ll keep it short and sweet. July was, perhaps, my best month yet. The weather added nothing whatsoever to the success recorded. It was anything but fine most of the 31 days contained therein. At least two rainstorms wreaked havoc on human lives and property. The water they left behind turned buildings to mini dams and major roads to major rivers. The children’s long vacation commenced fully and it has been cartoon binging since July 1, with some home assignments thrown in between screen time. And so far, I’ve been able  to work undisturbed, focus and achieve daily. My reading practice received a boost to three books this month. Adding one or two more is next on my agenda. And I completed a 31-day  writing prompt challenge. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t scurrying around at the end of another month in an attempt to reach my required posting target. Happy anniversary, my workout routine! It has been one year since I began exercising three/four days weekly. The changes are minimal and only just obvious; so are the practices which have[…]

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August: The bridge, the break

August called. She said she’d be here tomorrow. It is uncertain if she’ll come along with the break she’s famous for. With changing weather patterns and global warming, anything could happen. This year has taken its toll on her too, and she’s contemplating allowing the perennial rains to continue in order to wash away her disappointments and failures. We can go ahead and keep our fingers crossed though; no harm in it. Hope is a good thing to have. However, there’s no doubt about that breather she’d provide before the -ember months come banging in. That is a given. Well…until she arrives. Until tomorrow.  

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