FORTUNATE TRAVELLER
Journeys come to an end before they end, just as they begin before they begin — with the arrival of anticipation. — Jenny Diski, Stranger on a Train.
Poetry

Night Gods at Feast by Kechi Nomu

I. Night Gods at FeastAfter Wendy Xu’s Several Altitudes of Not Talking a sign here reads: Sell your deadInvert the batteries. this is, of course, an error. mine or the sign maker’s. our headlights in lieu of distance, travel the length of eyes.      anoint the sheen              of a gate. we approach at this uncontrollable hour night gods at feast; local beer and pink-bodied chickens held in a spit:the world is a puzzle…

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Non-fiction

A Bridge Between Learning and Mourning by Tọ́pẹ́ Salaudeen-Adégòkè

For a moment, I complimented myself on timing my arrival when I saw the heavy traffic on the other lane of the Third Mainland Bridge – sense will not kuku kill me. It was night, the rush hour of Lagos traffic. Traffic was free on my lane – towards Lagos Island – like a deserted highway. The other side was a gridlock of people getting away from the Island, characteristic…

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Non-fiction

Brisbane: Memories of Migration by Uzo Dibia

First the seduction, then the beheading: Holofernes! John the Baptist! Maybe I am next in line, I pondered as Magda gave me the spiel. Recruiters will seduce you with their words, and when you succumb, you find you’ve been sold a dud or sent to the backwaters of an unknown country. This script was well-worn, often followed and almost always seen to its contrived conclusion. Magda’s words were smooth, enunciated…

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Interviews

Reminiscing Travels: A Conversation between Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún and Adédàpò Treasure

Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún is a Nigerian linguist and travel writer born and raised in Ibadan, Nigeria. His writings and language advocacy have earned him a variety of recognitions including the 2009 Fulbright Scholarship, which initiated the experience that formed the backdrop of his new book, Edwardsville by Heart (2018); the 2016 Premio Ostana Prize, becoming the first African to be so-honoured, and recently, the 2018 Miles Morland Scholarship. Apart from KTravula.com,…

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Non-fiction

A JJC in Lagos by Cynthia Adaobi Okpala

In other states, you will see a bold signboard with a welcome greeting as soon as you get to their boundaries. But Lagos will not welcome you with anything like ‘Welcome to Lagos’. What you will find is a brusque statement that is figurative of the unwelcome salutation that awaits your arrival. Something bold and specific, something uninterested in unnecessary friendliness and frivolities, something close to the hustle and bustle,…

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Poetry

Reinvention by Uche Nduka

REINVENTION I The rope of distance broke you sat there reinventing Lagos islands got drenched inside us black crows torched our scars the lessons of attraction the avalanche might actually get kinder wandering in all capes but the death of desire is not what you keep hearing about II Soon all this will be memory stitching yourself into a blue sky, an open door that’s what it says in get-aways…

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Photography & Art

Prague is for Dancers by Ranka Primorac

Prologue [The Dancing House, Prague] On 21 June 2018, after returning from my first ever visit to Prague where I went to attend a conference, Africa, local cosmopolitanisms and the world, I tweeted two pictures I’d taken in that city, with the caption ‘#Prague is for dancers’ and a heart-eyed emoticon. The tweet was inspired by the Dancing House – an iconic building on the Vltava waterfront dreamed up by…

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Essay & Review

Of Roads and Crossroads by Tade Ipadeola

Title: If Only the Road Could Talk Author: Niyi Osundare Publisher: Africa World Press Number of pages: 126 Year of publication: 2017 Category: Poetry   Old, never aged, Once golden apple of an Empire’s eye, London never sleeps (but sometimes snores) Still methodically English, with some brown now In the watermark of its Union Jack…  – London (p 106) Of all African poets writing in English today, without a doubt Niyi Osundare…

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Poetry

Owerri Revelation by Michael Akuchie

I We move out from the park, through a circle of chairs, And pass a sleepy-eyed attendant from whose mouth Igbo language moulds concepts like chunks of meaning. Ikpoba hill Descends on us as a woman seductively unwrapping her dress. The landscape still spells Benin with red sand and Perfervid sun. Suddenly, it becomes green with envy That I am leaving. I too feel guilty that I am abandoning Home for another home…

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Non-fiction

An Artist’s Diary III: The Homeward Journey by C. Krydz Ikwuemesi

The border was as tough as it had been when we passed the previous Saturday, though not the same officials except one. This time the police openly requested 3000cfa before they would touch our documents. Whereupon we interjected that we had almost exhausted our funds and were just managing to get back to our country. Besides, we had paid 6000 cfa when we passed the other day and it was…

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