FORTUNATE TRAVELLER

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Non-fiction

Non-fiction

To Ososo Mountains II: The Music Box by Ruona Idjenughwa

I. ‘Fire-dancing’ (How do you make free spirit out of taut soul?) The music box stood on the table mat, dispelling polyphonic beats that hung heavy about the room, giving it a drowsy air. Yet, something buried deep in the rattling of the sékéré that dominated even the droning of the solo singer and the combination of percussion instruments that made the song, willed you to sail your body into…

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Non-fiction

To Ososo Mountains I: The Mountains Too Have Eyes by Ejiro Edward

Not all those who wander are lost.  – J R R Tolkien. The wind whistled into my ears, together with the music box playing Wizkid’s ‘Joro’, a song that was meant to keep alive our vibe and excitement. But everyone seemed to either be sleeping with their head inclined on the headrest in front of them or hopelessly drooling on the neck of their co-passenger. My eyes caught that of…

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Non-fiction

Uganda through my Nigerian Eyes by Temitayo Olofinlua

The first time I saw Uganda, it was through Barbara Oketta Musiime’s eyes. Those small eyes that carried many stories – Kony, Northern Uganda, Femrite, Museveni, Amin, porridge – and left many unsaid. It was 2012; we were both residents at the Ebedi Writers’ Residency in Iseyin, Oyo state. Some of the unsaid things, my own eyes would see six years later.  On August 14, 2018 when my feet kissed…

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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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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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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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Non-fiction

An Artist’s Diary II: The Long Road to Abidjan by C. Krydz Ikwuemesi

Elubor is Ghana’s border town on the road to Ivory Coast. It is about two hundred kilometers from Cape Coast. By the time we got there around 7.30pm, both the Ghanaian and Ivorian border posts had closed for the day. We had no other option than to check into a hotel nearby and wait for daybreak. Hotel Cocoville was noisy and rowdy with a disco party and a throng of…

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