Short Fiction

Dodo, Caramelized

Dodo is the name of the creative nonfiction facet of this blog that was discontinued by the weight of many sadnesses and university stress. Here are two instances of real-life situations witnessed and captured for Dodo. They were both car accidents that happened in the exact same place.

Accident I

The t-junction at Abule Oja has curves in it like ram horns and cars and danfos stream on it rather speedily. To turn with a faint body-swinging drama as they part in other directions and navigate the slight curves must make drivers tingle softly. Continue reading

Advertisements
Standard
Short Fiction

What Not To Do When Spelunking in Anambra

Swarms of moaning heads fill a sick sky. In their mouths; black disease and rotting teeth.Their mourning lances our ears, causing clotted blood to trickle out, down cheeks, past chests already sticky with sweat, to clump at groins. Continue reading

Standard
Short Fiction

Akara Oyinbo

On the sixth day of February, in the year that they declared all the Nigerian houses be painted white and grass-green, Mrs. Lola Joy who lived in the largest house on Ada Goodness Street choked on wedding cake and died. She lay stiff on the black rug of her mansion with a smile on her face. The cake had been really good. Continue reading

Standard
Short Fiction

Occasional Fireworks

The Power Holding Company of Nigeria is the most literal organization in the country, i.e they hold on to the electric power more than they distribute it. This is often a problem for everyone with electricity-based investments such as students and barbers and washmen and bukas and shops that stock cold fruity drinks for my refreshment from the burning Lagos sun. Continue reading

Standard
glint, Short Fiction

You Really Shouldn’t Be Looking Out of the Danfo Window

There is a black Camry nose deep in the side of a white Camry.

Policemen pace the empty asphalt the crash has created, they sweat hungrily in their black uniforms and stroke their blue, green and yellow badges. At the heart of the accident, where the relatively newer black vehicle is kissing the off-white one with crushed metal lips, is a small woman in a wheelchair.

Her face is tired, a purple scarf looped around her skull messily. Her fingers rest in her lap, trembling. The police remain restless. Lagosians gather like vultures to watch as the sun pours down, burning skin relentlessly.

There is no blood and the cars are empty.

Standard