We invite you to immerse yourself in these pages, to find your moments of clarity, and to experience the liberating power of art that truly allows us to “Breathe.”
“History Books Cannot Be Trusted, So We Must Write Our Own Stories…“ | A CỌ́N-SCÌÒ Magazine Interview with Nana Sule
We have to write. History books cannot be trusted. We must write our stories, weave them into art, painting, poems—because at the very least, we have to let it be known that we tried. That we resisted. That we didn’t want this to happen, but it did.
Reading Impunity As Nigeria’s Truth | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ review of Faith Ose Ebhodaghe’s ‘Impunity’ by Izang Alexander Haruna
The thing with impunity is that everyone suffers from its existence… Impunity touches everyone in one way or another.
A Palette of Desire | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ review Lanre Sonde’s ‘Mellexy: Colours Of You’ by Jide Badmus
Sonde’s Mellexy: Colours Of You is a book of utopian love verses and nimble lyrics, something to get lost in while tucked in bed for the night.
In The Hush Between Lines | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ review of Folake Adebote’s ‘The Ways We Fought’ by Servio Gbaadmosi
One of the quiet triumphs of The Ways We Fought is its sense of Africanity that does not require assertion. It lives in the rhythm of speech, the weight of names, the presence of community that is, at once, protective in some ways, destructive in more, and always complicit.
A Dog For The Butchers | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by S. Su’eddie Vershima Agema
But Captain wasn’t done. The dog gave chase, its paws barely kissing the ground as it streaked after them like a demon released. The men glanced back again and again, hearts pounding, as though their gaze alone might keep the animal at bay.
Owuro’s Hunter | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Michael Olugbenga Olobadola
Owuro was a place rooted deep in doctrine. Here, witches weren’t figures of myth but threats prayed against from the pulpits and minarets. If the truth broke the surface, there would be blood.
Red Flag | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Haské Madabe
The kiss came slowly at first, exploratory, then deeper. Her hand slid up the side of his neck, drawing him in. The warmth between them swelled
Sniffles & Sneezes | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ poem by Janoma Omena
I am curled up under blankets
Surrounded by snot-filled tissues
Ginger tea that has long g
Prelude To Becoming | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ poem by Abubakar Ibrahim
& what else becomes of a boy who must unlearn the language of flowers? He carries silence the way a river carries the dead with resignation.