You see, the migrant’s tragedy is not merely displacement, but also the denial of their potential. Opportunities—once alluring mirages from home—vanish at the point of need, leaving only the echo of the cruel refrain, “Go back where you came from.” Each rejection carves another notch on the tally of our exile.
Roving Bodies | An essay by Edwin Mamman
One of the difficult parts of moving was having to explain to friends and neighbours why we’d no longer be living ‘here’ next year. Saying goodbye and ending friendships you had forged. It was always sad to leave people behind.
Burning Dirt | a short story by Urhuru
“So, you….” Alex stares at his hands “… you don become my padi abi?”
Timi laughs as he walks towards Alex, “Ehen na’’. And they shake hands, in the weird way that guys do.
OF IMAGINATIONS & IMBIBING: A BOOK LOVER’S TRIBUTE TO AFRICA’S FINEST AUTHORS | an essay by Enit’ayanfe Ayosojumi Akinsanya
They merged all the way from my childhood and became the flame in my rocket today. It is only natural that, like murals, their portraits keep surfacing in my works, and yet, they leave me whole, undefiled, true, the writer child they had raised.
SHAPES | by Mhembeuter J. Orhemba
I look up nude men on Google. A gathering pulls inside me, dies as quickly as it started. I try nude women. I soak in their fullness and curves. I wait, for the heady momentum of arousal. The fire in my chest rather grows hotter—I close the tab.
SELF-PORTRAIT AS A HELIUM CONTESTING FLIGHT WITH THE SPIRITS | an essay by Taofeek “Aswagaawy” Ayeyemi
Some nights, I am a wanderer. Clutched to my bed yet my mind breaking borders like nocturnal birds. Tonight, I peep through the window to see the sky– starless, moonless, with no glee except the sheen of a stray cat’s eyes.
I SAY MY NAME | an essay by Ayomide Ruth Oluwagbenga
Somehow, I’m tired. I don’t even want to prove anyone right or wrong anymore. A simple step in front of another took me out of the chair of boredom and desperation, and straight through the doors onto the sunny passage.
THE STATE OF NIGERIAN LITERATURE AND THE NEED FOR YOUTH INVOLVEMENT IN MANAGING THE AFFAIRS OF THE INDUSTRY by Ahmed Maiwada
Nigerian literature is not in the state that it ought to be, given the enormous Nigerian population; we need to do more. We need to develop a conscious policy towards enhancing the results achieved by our books out there in the market across the world.
HAIKU: AN INTRODUCTION by Taofeek Ayeyemi
Haiku originates from Japan and there, it is their oral form and usually in a sequence or linked verse form (called renga, renku or haikai no renga) up to 100 verses and more. The introductory verse to the sequence is the hokku which is now called haiku.
WHO IS TO BLAME FOR A BADLY PUBLISHED BOOK: AUTHOR, EDITOR OR PUBLISHER?
The fault for a badly written book lies with the writer while the fault for a badly published book belongs to the publisher’ while the shame is a joint venture. A respectable publisher should never knowingly publish a bad book.