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About three months ago, I finally landed in my home country after about 16 months of a chosen exile. I had arrived minutes past midnight so I’m guessing that was the reason for the scanty airport and grumpy faces of the officials who attended to me. I was welcomed with immense heat and my months of mental preparation for the weather seemed futile. Continue reading

Monkey Business

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This process we call growth occurs in many forms like the moment you realize you can no longer slide your head through a railing, the day you discover that your favorite pair of shoe is a size too small, the realization that choosing chocolate over money is dumb and the ‘no shitting’ moment when you conclude that babies aren’t always cute and your father is a despicable scumbag. Continue reading

Recipe for Insanity

peyton-sawyer-peyton-sawyer-5045719-720-576Reading is an old hobby she had abandoned even though she still prides herself with the knowledge of literary writers like George Elliot, Mark Twain, Stephen King and a few others. She loves the way she silences her audience whenever she shares her extensive knowledge gotten from these books. They listen with hidden envy at how she lets their names, titles, and quotations roll out of her mouth with ease as though she were explaining the simple act of making moi-moi. Indeed, reading is a past hobby she loved but that’s all it is to her now, the past. Continue reading

Remember the Alley

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It definitely wasn’t a Sunday because mama always kept the Sabbath day holy. She always said, “Never patronize sin.” So I am sure it wasn’t a Sunday but it could have been any other day of the week. Maybe a Tuesday or Thursday or Wednesday or Saturday… I just do not remember but I remember it was the summer just before I got into senior secondary school and the first sign of womanhood was beginning to pop through my shirt. Continue reading

My Chosen Exile

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I stand at the airport nervous as I watch my bag pass through the screening machine and flashes of scenes from Banged up Abroad and UKBA pass through my mind. I wonder if the Ori (Shea Butter) in my bag will be found illegal and confiscated or if they will mistake the bean flour my mother made me take for cocaine and I will have to go through a drug test or worse, bend my butt and spread them cheeks for a closer inspection in a private room. I think one of the airport’s security guards notice as he asks me if I’m alright and tells me to ‘please’ remove my muffler as I pass through the metal detector. I notice his beautiful green eyes and I’m suddenly unable to trust his politeness.

I’m waiting for my next flight and the same sharp headache I’ve been having for days return but this time with different thoughts. A girl in purple and blonde braids and a British accent approaches me to make inquiries about her flight, I reply her with my Nigerian accent and she gives a knowing smile and proceeds to say, “How you dey nau?” which leads to further discussions Continue reading