AM I A PROSTITUTE?

My stomach grumble continuously and I feel the consequent coil that starts from my lower abdomen and travels the length of my stomach. The bells in my head begin to sound and Professor Iwekaye’s head becomes enlarged in my sight. I suddenly have this mental image of a girl who slumps in class. She has no father, her mother is being treated at the hospital for typhoid, her younger sister needs money to pay her WAEC fees, this girl has not eaten in the last 3 days so she slumps in class. Of course she dies before getting to the hospital.

DANCE WITH ME

Dance with me
Together let's paddle our feet
Through the waters of adolescent ripening

Let us taste of the bliss they profess
Our powdered faces will eclipse us
When time's winged chariot arrives

MY CRUSH DIED!!!

 I tossed and turned on my bed in a semi-conscious kinda state. Yea, I could hear the dogs barking from somewhere that seemed farther than my window. I jumped up when my brain registered it was Thursday, the one day that I had to get to work early. My eyes flew to my phone and you guessed right, I was freaking late! I thought of all the important things I had to do before my program airs by 12pm and am like shit! It was one of those days with a bad start.

TO THE UNBORN BABY

You were there, safe in your fleshy incubator, kicking and spurting, awaiting your chance to life. She threw up every morsel she ate but never once spoke ill of you. Afterall you were not there when the erectness consumed her being. She beaconed to you with every moan and sigh of pleasure. You knew she was inviting you when the grunts and gallops occurred so frequently, with a disregard for all those safety precautions they talk about. You came adjusting her tiny body to accommodate yours. And when her hands flew to your cradle at every opportunity,

BEYOND THE CRASH

 They were ordinary people like us going about their businesses and unprepared for the fatal fate that the nation’s epileptic aviation industry dealt them. They were different people going to Lagos from Abuja but became united in a death mourned by the entire nation. We call them the Dana 158. We have reduced them to mere statistics. Statistics however doesn’t tell us their stories, it doesn’t dwell on the dreams that died with them, it tells nothing about the battles they won or lost, the accomplishments. To those of us who had neither friends nor family among the casualties, we have removed the RIP dps and avatars, we have moved on. To us they are the people we never knew but whose deaths touched us. They are dead and gone and will never feel the tragedy of their demise but these people will;

Am a blogger! Yes am excited! Thought about having a blog for about a year before i finally got around to creating one. Since this is my first post am obligated, no scratch that, I will love to welcome you to this blog. And don't I have the special way for us to do it? In Igbo tradition when you go to someone's house you break Kola and wash it down with palmwine. So am asking that you relax, and lets break Kola together and drink  palmwine i mean you are visiting moi in my zone. Am a blogger!Yea i know its bitter but we aint really eating it are we? No we are just gonna break it, gist and get high on the palmy. Get acquainted.

Seriously, i don't know what you expect to find here but i promise you, if its trending and important it will be here, interviews (pls dont ask me with who), news, creative writing (poetry, articles, short stories) and more. You are gonna get addicted soon i tell ya! Thats not me being proud o, seems am getting high on palmwine. Running away. Btw, i will appreciate your comments everytime you can. I promise to talk too.