“Have you ever been with a woman?” I didn’t know how to respond. She startled me, and then she kissed my collarbone. My skin tingled with goosebumps at her every touch, and she made her way to my nipples.
Rivers In the Desert | a short story by Mohammed Taoheed
The whirling wind whispered his sagacious sapience in books, and plethoric eyes pleaded assertingly that he dabbled into politics. Like all misologists, he leapt pronto, and he was made the mayor of a state in his sod, UAR.
Project Flame | a short story by Akinsole Damilare
You left the flames too close to the kerosene, and fate, not out of love for you, saving you from the fire, revealing the destruction of your dream… Standing outside like a soldier, you watched as your life project went up in flames, realizing that the world has no heroes.
Ọmọ́túndé: A Bond Broken & Renewed | a short story by Michelle Adegboro
Even as a newborn, you could see Iris’s eyes, ears, nose, and hair in hers. It was a beautiful reminder. I held her in my arms, played with her, and sang her the songs I used to sing with my sister. I named her Ọmọ́túndé because I believed she was my twin returned again.
A LETTER TO MY MOTHER | a short story by Abdulrazaq Salihu
Mother, I fear I have lost a whole lot of contacts and relationships as a mango tree loses its leaves. Our street looks smaller now. It is now a strange place even to people like me who once had only its scent inflected in their nostrils.
WILL YOU MARRY ME? | a short story by Ude Vivian Chidimma
Somma is on the line. You are so glad someone is calling you at least. You would have preferred someone else to call, a man maybe? One of those you wanted to be with.
A CAPITALIST TALE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT | a short story by S. Su’eddie Vershima Agema
There was a time when she would cook only once and have leftovers to spare at the end of the day. In those days, Timbir would go in and chat with her. They would talk about anything and everything.
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.
BARBS ARE BARED | a short story by Reginald C. Ofodile
Ehimhen caught himself warming to Oche, even as part of him disliked the man for having dropped what he, Ehimhen, considered Oche’s proper Nigerian identity.
WE ARE MANY | a short story by Ubong Johnson
My uncle writes my name on my forehead with white chalk. Beneath it, he writes my father’s name but crosses it with a single line. I stare at my face in the mirror and release a held breath.