Flash Fiction: Deceitful Truth by Makinde Damilola

While returning from buying eggs and sardine for breakfast that Saturday, I fantasized devouring my share after its preparation when I heard someone calling out to me. It was my friend Wasiu who lived next to my house. I rarely spend time with him as I was hardly allowed beyond our balcony's railings. We exchanged pleasantries and after a brief talk, I told him I had to go in as we were already in front of our gate. Just then, he made it known to me he would follow me in; I defiantly refused, but he seemed resolute. I entered and started whistling as if we had a dog which was to heed the ominous call. Unaware of the trick, Wasiu, like lightening, disappeared from behind me. I consumed the fruit of happiness which the trick served me.

Upon entering, dad asked me why I whistled. Confidently, I explained how Wasiu wanted to follow me in and how I deceived him with a mythical dog. After my explanation, dad went in, brought out four strong wires, strung them together and started flogging me. To him, I was a lazy liar who had been an apprentice of the devil for a limited time. He flogged me blue-black.

After 45minutes of thorough flogging, he commanded me to go down on my knees with my arms up. As I did, I noodled on what happened and why I got flogged to that extent. I could not rationalize the link between the punishment and the offence. Coincidentally, a radio sermon was on, and the cleric made a statement, 'Tell the truth and it shall set you free', and in my demoralized state I burst into tears, answering to myself, "No, it didn't set me free".

Biography

Makinde Oluwadamilola Peter, a first year student of communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan, takes delight in writing, singing and reading.

Letter to the Sun by Akoni Adedeji

Dear Sun,

You went to bed early yesterday

Nudging evil out of slumber

Confining me to my roomy room

Ordering the candles to do your job

Now, give your ears to my plight:

While you slept and snored,

A lad in the neighborhood got missing

Adama was raped by those you vindicated

In your absence, darkness dines with evil

The winged humans assemble in devil’s domain

The gentle men on the highway begin their day

Even the four-legged thieves are licensed to operate

Ibadan through Olasubomi Cole’s Colourful Lens

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

Ibadan is the capital city of Oyo State and the third largest metropolitan area, by population, in Nigeria, after Lagos and Kano, with a population of over 3 million, and the largest metropolitan geographical area. - Wikipedia

Area: 3,080 km²

Weather: 23°C, Wind NE at 10 km/h, 88% Humidity

Population: 1.835 million (1991) UN data

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

Olasubomi Cole, an ingenious photographer, captures the rustiness and boisterousness of the ancient city of Ibadan with the colourful lens of her ubiquitous camera.

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

Ibadan

Ancient city of rusty caps

Foisted upon lands

Embraced by ageless hills

Subsumed in countless famed tales…

(Culled from Ibadan by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom)

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

Mapo Hall is the colonial style city hall, perched on top of Mapo Hill, in Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria. Mapo Hall was commissioned during the colonial era by Captain Ross in 1929. It was renovated in 2006 amid some controversy. - Wikipedia

Photographer

Olasubomi Cole, who hails from Lagos State, studies Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan. She is passionate about telling society's unheard stories with photography. She loves reading, watching movies and interacting with people. 

Email: communicatorsleague@gmail.com

Book Review: Punctured Silence by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

Punctured Silence is the much-anticipated follow up collection of poetry to Kolade’s second solo work, The Light Bearer.

A young poet, Freedom’s work has gone from strength to strength in this collection. His compositions have evolved and grown, the structures more sophisticated and the imagery more delicately expressed, such as in the verse ‘I fall no more’. What has not changed is the motive for his writing. What speaks to readers in Freedom’s poetry is the raw emotion he expresses, and the irrepressible hope that shines through each piece.

Readers of Christian poetry will enjoy this collection, but it is by no means exclusive. Freedom’s verses speak on a universal humanitarian level with their constant call for peace and co-existence. He draws on the violence in the world around him, and poems such as ‘It could have been you’ describe the terrible violence inflicted on Africa by groups such as Boko Haram. Through his words, he illustrates the scars have been inflicted upon his country and that will remain for many years to come. And yet, ever the optimist, the author shows his dreams for a better future through poems such as ‘Arise O Africa’.

One of the best aspects of this collection are the snippets of African language and culture that permeate the poetry. In poems such as ‘Healing the world with words’, the reader is treated to short explanations in the footnotes relating to Nigerian flora and fauna, as well as cultural figures and Gods. This really enlivens the work and adds another dimension to the pieces.

Overall, Punctured Silence is a wonderful read and a breath of fresh air.

Reviewer

S J Menary (Warwickshire, England)

S J Menary is an up and coming author and poet; writing Gothic horror, fantasy adventure, and chilling tales of the macabre. Recently published in an international short story collaboration of fantasy authors, Winds of Change, S J Menary is making a name for herself as a fresh new talent. Her terrifying tales are soon to be available in the Cumbrian Chthulu publication (forthcoming 2016) and her poetry has been published with the National Association of Writer’s Group and with Rugby Festival of Culture's poem a day initiative (out June 2015). She is currently working on her debut novel, The Blood Gate. A winner of the 2014 Sampad International Writing Completion, she is also a performance poet with the internationally successful Rugby Writer’s Group. Their work includes the intergenerational underground poetry movement, Open Resistance, and the local campaign for a Poet Laureate in Rugby as a tribute to the long history of great poets from the area. S J Menary is also the Junior Editor for Orders of the Day, the society magazine for the English Civil War re-enactment group, The Sealed Knot. As an IT consultant, she also works with the Alexander Kollontai Film Company. She lives in Warwickshire with her tabby cat, Artemis.

Ofada Kitchen II by Yetunde Oyelude

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

       The breezy evening was mildly illuminated by the crescent-shaped moon. Demilade was so much in a hurry to get out of his last class just to share some moments with the lady he couldn’t apparently get off his mind. Optimistic, he found his way into Ofada Kitchen. The canteen was a beehive of activities; lots of customers dined and wined at the same time, chatting and giggling with one another. Attendants with rumpled faces were also busy taking orders from a line of impatient customers, but Demilade could not seem to find his favourite among them. He moved closer to the food stand with a wildly thumping heart really hoping he would see Sewa. Still, she was nowhere to be found in the canteen. He was slightly hungry but all because he couldn't find Sewa, his appetite vanished.

        

      Disheartened, Demi found his way out of the canteen with his face soberly facing the floor.  Unaware of others, he bumped into a young lady who was engrossed with whatever she was doing on her phone.

      “Sorry!” Demi and Sewa both apologized almost at the same time, and as if acting a well-scripted movie, they slowly lifted their faces to lock their gazes.

      Sewa felt the movement of butterflies in her stomach the second she set her eyes on Demi. Her heart raced wildly with imaginary legs. She couldn't remember when last she had been so excited meeting a guy that she had barely known for a day.

        “You!” Sewa exclaimed, trying to subdue the excitement in her voice.

        Demilade was just too relieved to reply her. He couldn't begin to describe how happy he felt just by seeing her. He took instant notice of her conspicuous beauty. She was wearing a simple red dress and she looked impeccable in it. “You're going home?” Demi said finally, staring at the bag with a strap hung over her shoulder.

      “No, school,” Sewa replied, trying hard not to notice how unbelievably handsome he looked despite the fact that he seemed exhausted.

       “School? Are you a student of UI?” He seemed surprised.

       “Yeah,” Sewa nodded.

       “Wow. I didn't realize.”

       “Why? Because I work in a canteen?” Sewa asked wryly, raising her brows.

        Demi smiled. “Maybe. What level are you in?”

          “100 level.” Sewa replied.

          "Oh, so you're a new student?"

          "Yeah." Sewa affirmed. "How about you?"

         "Me? I'm in 300 level."

         "Cool." Sewa nodded.

        They kept staring at each other after the conversations dried up. Feeling awkward, Demi broke the silence. "Come on, let's go. Let me walk you to the gate."

         "No, no, don't worry. I'm....I'm fine by myself." Sewa replied shyly.

          Demi half-smiled. "Come on, let's go. You know you don't want to walk to that gate all by yourself."

          Sewa knew he had not differed from the truth so, she succumbed coyly.

          "So, since when have you been working here?" Demi asked, staring at her keenly as they walked. Her timeless beauty was revealed by the way the cool night breeze caressed her face.

          "Hmm," Sewa started thoughtfully. “…that should be about eight weeks now.”

           "Cool. Hope you enjoy working there?"

           Sewa chuckled and started in a tone laced with sarcasm. "Yeah, right. With Madam Ofada and customers like you, I sure enjoy working there."

           Reading between the lines, Demi laughed wholeheartedly and Sewa couldn't remember how to breathe. His laughter effortlessly held her heart captive.

          Oblivious to what he was doing to sewa, he commenced in a bemused tone. "Customers like me? What have customers like me done to you?" Demi found her amusing.

          Realising how discomposed she was in Demi’s imposing presence, she recomposed herself. "You were obviously hungry and angry this afternoon so you decided to pass your aggression on me." She said angrily not looking at his face. She wasn't sure if she was angry at Demi or herself.

Of Love and Woes II by Akindeji Ola

Our eyes were locked in a battle of emotions in which none of us was ready to throw in the towel. We were both egoistic but I was eager to cut her wings to stamp my authority. I continued looking her squarely in the eye while studying her reactions. She was startled although she tried hard to hide it. She returned the look I gave her, and it felt as though her hazy eye would burn through my soul. After a few awkward minutes of eye communication, I decided to withdraw the eye-attack in order to initiate a conversation with her.

“Hello sunshine,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

No reply came as she was utterly confused. It was so obvious that she was shocked to see me again.

“You were very mean yesterday. I was only trying to be friendly, you know,” I said again.

 “No, I wasn’t. I only did the most appropriate thing, you were the jumpy one,” she countered defensively.

“All right, just forget it okay? Let’s start this all over. I am Toba, and you are?” I said extending my hand again. She tilted her lash eyelashes upward, shook her head, and finally burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

A thousand and one thoughts rushed into my mind as I tried figuring out what was going on within her. My mind tried rationalizing the fact that she could refuse my offer the second time. “She is actually the one cutting your wings,” the spirit of truth whispered.

“Aisha,” she said, jolting me back into reality. Surprisingly, she shook my hand. The earth momentarily froze as her tender palm touched my woody palm. I felt like a celestial being; I was in heaven.

“Hey,” she cooed, bringing me back from wonderland. “How about this night? 7:30, Love Garden,” she added.

“That’s all right,” I said, trying to suppress the excitement welling-up within me. My intestines danced for joy like a child who just got a new toy for Christmas. I wanted to scream my head off. I had gotten Miss. World without having to travel round the world.

“Don’t be late,” she said, with an air of finality while giving me a penetrating look. Her presence was swept away with the swagger that endeared her to me in the first place.

Late? Never! I was never going to miss such a coveted opportunity.

I tried to concentrate in class, but I could not as thoughts of what could happen that night kept flashing through my mind. I dreaded screwing up the budding romance.

The day passed by slowly like a snail. Impatience was excessively pumped into my adrenal gland. Finally, 7pm chimed on my clock, and I started getting dressed for our premature date. I put on my finest casual dress, perfumed my body heavily and set off for our venue. I was going to play love at Love Garden.

I waited patiently for Aisha to arrive, and at exactly 7:30pm, she arrived. Our date began in earnest. We talked on everything we could lay our mouths upon. All through our discussion, she clung to me like a baby scared of the dark. She pleaded that I sang for her, and I obliged although I had a croaky voice; a toad would make a better singer. Suddenly, our lips were fastened together with the thread of passion before parting for our tongues to engage themselves in a frenzied dancing competition. When we finally separated, I could see her chest heaving like an athlete who had just finished a marathon race.

***

“Watch your front, Mr.!” A man shouted at me, crudely bringing my thoughts to an abrupt end. I groggily made my way towards Aisha while the old memories flooded my mind again. I remembered the many bad moments we had together and how different circumstances threatened to tear us apart. In the midst of those nagging thoughts, it became clear that we were inseparable – the earth and the sky, fate made us.

Biography

Akindeji Ola, who hails from Osun State, studies in the department of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan. He loves reading and socializing.

The Chick's Demise by Makinde Damilola

“Seun,” my mum called. “Come and throw this dirt into the bin for me.”

I ran to the kitchen, hoping to get back fast to the cartoon I was watching on television. I collected the dirt in the basket and raced outside our unfenced house. When I got to where our central waste bin was, what I saw almost made me scream.  I saw a Mother hen feasting with her newly hatched chicks. Believe me, I had a phobia for cocks and hens generally, and that fear was aggravated with the abhorred sight of the hen and its chicks. I retraced my steps and thought of what to do. The cartoon was ongoing, I had to dispose the dirt, but the hen was ready to attack me if I dare neared it, believing that I wanted to hurt its chick.

Pensive, an idea popped up in my mind, I picked up a stone, to scare it away, but instead it ferociously cackled, opened its wings in an attempt to attack me. I was so scared that I shed a little urine in my pants. Just then, I summoned a bit of courage, stood back and hurled the stone at it, not to harm it but to scare it away. Alas! The unexpected happened; it hit one of its chicks and it wriggled, wriggled and wriggled before heeding death’s clarion call. I had killed a chick not ours. Even the cartoon I wanted to get back to, had escaped my mind. Just then, a mischievous thought crossed my mind and I immediately carried it out by disposing the chick together with the dirt. I ran back inside feeling safe and smart.

MALARIA by Tejuoso Olamide Mary

Mustn't you quit, O’ mosquito?

A malignant chase I'll give you this day,

for my skin you kissed with probing lips;

               you laid your hunger-stricken limbs on me               

and profusely drank out of my red wine

to infuse ‘iba’ into my armless system-

this evil shall not go unpunished,

you and your likes, be damned!

                                

My blood flows in its veins infected

all thanks to your sensational venom

my skin bloated from the scratches

you graciously but selfishly built on me-

for this great evil,  I detest forgiveness,

you and your likes, be damned!

The loathful liquid you skewered

spreads freely and rapidly like a waterfall;

my throat sore, head hurts all night;

my joints ache; my body trembles

yet I shall never submit to your will,

and if you think you have won this fight

in the pit of lies and deceit- defeat awaits.

You and your likes, be damned!

Malaria,

beware! I have conspired with your foe – herbs,

and the boxy net has agreed to be my guide-guard:

henceforth, trouble head mine no more,

you shall  work-up my heart beat neither.

Oh, rejoice o stomach, for the end to hunger comes

for I have conquered you, malaria…

You and your originator, be damned!

*Iba – Malaria

Biography

Tejuoso Olamide hails from Abeokuta in Ogun State. She loves reading, researching and writing. She is an aspiring journalist who believes in the philosophy of ‘writing to right’. She presently studies Communication and Language Arts in the University of Ibadan.

Art is the Heart by Famuwagun Festus

Some time ago, there was a disagreement in an eminent family. World, the father  had just titled himself  The Body and wanted his wives, Science and Arts and the children, human beings, to choose for themselves anything in the body they deem fit to be their title.

                Everyone saw themselves as being important. Hence, their zealous quest for an enviable title. Science was the first to talk.

“Being an inevitable member of this family, I’ll like to be called The Nose.”

“Mum, the ear is more important,” one of the children opined.

“You need your nose for respiration,” Science replied.

“Not necessarily!”  He argued, “One can also breathe through the mouth.”

Seeing how disputable her stance was, Science agreed to be called The Ear.

“If I go deaf, you can still communicate with me,” countered another.

Argument from various angles saturated the room like a gaseous substance. Every child became vibrant in debating over which is more important – the nose or the ear.

                “Alright, I shall be called the eyes,” Science resolved.

There was no argument this time. Everyone agreed that sight is of great use. Then, Arts, who had been silent all along said, “I choose to be called the heart.”

 Pin-drop silence ensued. Science was displeased. Although, she hadn’t thought of it, she believed the title was hers.

                “How can you choose to be the heart?” She shouted in anger.

Arts seemed unperturbed and others remained quiet. Then, she walked out in anger.

                For weeks, Science raged so much that home became hell. “That name is mine” was all she kept saying. Everyone was uncomfortable.  Art was concerned but there was nothing she could do. She felt she was really the heart and, giving it up was tantamount to disposing one’s identity.

                All effort to pacify her was futile. So, World decided that both wives should go and live with their parents in another planet for six months.  This won’t run concurrently because he wanted to determine who truly the heart was. 

                Science went first. She was terribly missed but it was soon discovered that she was not indispensable. Almost all her constituents were replaceable. In the absence of automobile; aircraft and ship, foot, animals and canoe were used for transportation. Herbs were used in place of medical care. Traditional means substituted many scientific means.

                Soon, it was Arts’ turn.  Languages for conversation were declared missing. Music, theatre and other dramatic arts became extinct. Records of history were gone.  Even literature and philosophy could not be seen and sensed. Painting, sculpture and other handcrafts that used to make world beautiful were unavailable. Art was indeed indispensable.

                World, the father, became dull. Human beings, the children, were uneasy. Even science was really incapacitated. There was no means to display talent and dexterity. Everything became redundant. After just two weeks, all - including science -   called for Arts’ return.

                Science’s absence was colossally felt; Arts’ was indispensably missed. Everyone therefore accepted that Arts is The Heart.      

Biography

Famuwagun Festus was born in the 90’s in Kaduna state, Nigeria. At present, he is a first year student of the University of Ibadan where he studies Communication and Language Arts. As a prospective author, Festus’ delight is rooted in writing stories. He also sometimes dabbles in poetry.

Poetry : In Her Prime by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

Photo credit: Olasubomi Cole, BeautySplashAfrica & Bunmi

The breeze swirls around her elegant gait;

a dance to the rhythmical beats composed

in the studio of her youthful figure –

echoes of the timeliness of her comeliness.

In her prime,

the doors of admiration, once stiff,

are flung open for eyes- mine, theirs

to explore the treasures buried beneath

the soil of her sacred being.

In her prime,

her beau hews the stone of death

for infidelity, his desires pollinated-

alienated from treachery's lustful calls.

In her prime,

her structure, structured like a sonnet,

screams God's dexterity - an artifact,

proudly displayed in God's showroom –

incandescent!

In her prime,

this question, a Messenger's icon,

pops up on the screen of thoughts,

'When her prime elopes with time,

will her beau still be for her?'

Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom, who has authored two poetry collections, The Light Bearer and Punctured Silence, studies in the department of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan. His works have appeared in diverse global anthologies, magazines, websites and blogs.

The Beauty in Arts by Aladesuyi Seun

Frank Lloyd Wright said, “Art is a discovery and development of elementary principles of nature into beautiful forms suitable for human use”. When art is mentioned, most people restrict it to just drawing and painting in their mindless minds – a narrow way of viewing arts. Art is life itself. It is a sine qua non for humanity’s sustenance. Art is put to use in the simplest and most complex of ways. For instance, the crafty combination of colours on our clothes to give a pleasing appearance depicts how simple but indispensable art is to humanity.

Have you ever paid close attention to the aesthetic state of nature? Have you ever read a book that touched the inner core your soul? Have you ever seen a page on a website and the design intrigued you? All these border on arts. In the education sector, higher education to be precise, arts is paramount as it encompasses other notable departments varying from theatre arts, graphic designs, creative writing, music, languages and others. The beauty of being a student or product of arts is beyond description. You tend to appreciate things better and dexterously influence your society.

Art meets our psychological needs. A student having a bad mood can just listen to music and feel happy. This is as a result of the beauty in arts. Inspirational books have been known to cause positive change in the lives of people and inspire them to achieve their dreams.

Scientists also appreciate arts as being essential to life. After experimenting, they use arts to pass their message across through images. Inventors employ arts to create beautiful designs that attract attention. Even in mathematical patterns, physics and chemistry diagrams, there are elements of arts.

More so, art creates a channel for the expression of emotions. According to Thomas Merton, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” Art has helped most people to find their path and bearing. Also, once you appreciate arts, you lose yourself in its beauty.

The beauty in arts and humanities can’t be expressed. 

Art makes life colorful. You see a better world when you see the world through arts. Elbert Hubbard said ‘Art is not a thing – it is a way.’ A way of expressing emotions, a way of touching people’s lives, a way of passing messages, a way of gaining self-satisfaction, a way of earning a living and a way of making everything beautiful. It is of little surprise that God was encouraged to create the world when he saw the beauty in the art he has created. In the Bible, Genesis 1 verse 49, ‘And God saw the light, and saw that it was good.’ The beauty in arts made the world today.

Biography 

Aladesuyi Seun Oluwatimilehin hails from Akure in Ondo State.  She is passionate about maximizing her writing potential. Despite being a student of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan, she dedicates some of her time to watching movies and reading novels thereby striking a balance between education and entertainment.

Clouds of Courage by Bamidele Seth Oluwadamilola

The early morning breeze

Tapped my rusty door;

On my bed I lay being stirred

By the silent symphony of the sun rising

Suddenly, I hopped out of bed like a frog

To behold what the day held in its wry arm.

I fell off the rock like a waterfall

Only to walk on a quicksand

Left with no choice – damned

I beheld the river of hope,

Foolhardy; I jumped into it.

The storm of adversity spiraled down from hell

Retreating, I saw the bear of doom behind

Jaw dropped, blood dripping from its monstrous mouth

Nearer and nearer, it came

Thirsty for blood, hungry for flesh

Fear circulated through me like current.

Frozen, I summoned all my resolve to fight fate

I have all but nothing to lose; I either die or die

Death with an unbowed head would be epical.

Rains of strength dropped on me

Pains of fear evaporated

Soothed by the sun’s smile

Clouds of courage enveloped me.

I tackled fate right at the 18 yard.

Life’s referee waved play on… fair play

I dribbled with dexterity as I beheld the goalpost

With a powerful shot, I hit the net of success.

I was celebrated, but scarred

I was elevated having deflated the balloon of fear

I became a hero,  

I fought the battle from Z to H.

 Biography

Bamidele Seth Oluwadamilola is a God-fearing, promising, young writer who hails from Ilero, Oke-Ogun, Oyo State. He studies Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan. He loves reading, playing football and public speaking.  He is an essayist who sometimes dabbles in poetry.

A Wonderful Night by Tomiwa Adeosun

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

 Rolling up the windows' blinds,

I shoot a gaze into the distant night,

enslaving my eyes to pulchritude;

the meek moon and the showy stars

welcomed me to join their jocund fiesta.

Rat-like creatures with leathery wings

flew slyly towards the East;

restless, big-eyed creatures

croaked from the dams while

the night resounded the crickets’ chirping,

to the delight of the glowing fireflies.

I wheeled my eyes out of the window,

into a funnel-shaped garden,

the sight of which made me gleeful

as big almond fruits shone in the silver moon.

I peeked out of my window,

on a knightly night -

Oh! What a beautiful world!

Oh! What a celestial world!

Biography

Adeosun Tomiwa hails from Ilesha, Osun State, Nigeria. He expresses his creativity via writing and drawing. He is presently studying Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan where he hopes to fully optimize his potential.

Elements of a Great Photograph by Femi Kuti

“A photograph is not an accident – it is a concept,” said Ansel Adams, a U.S photographer. A good photograph is like a well-written story – it presents information that is free of clutter and distractions. The following are the elements of a great photograph:

I. Good photographs are well exposed

 

Light is the heart of photography. Therefore, a good photographer must be versed in the use of light metering, must be able to perfectly control the three elements of exposure (aperture, shutter speed and film speed) and must be adept in flash photography. A poorly exposed photograph will never make a great photograph.

   

 II. Good photographs evoke feelings

A good photograph stirs up emotions in the minds of viewers by capturing the prevalent atmosphere of a story. Is the story about happiness or sadness? Does it portray determination, contentment or feeling of horror? It is essential that the photographer decides the emotion he wants the image to evoke before releasing the shutter.

III            Good photographs tell stories

The major difference between photography and photojournalism is the fact that photography presents an image of a subject or an object while photojournalism attempts to make that image tell a story. Whether a photojournalism piece displays a sport event, an accident scene or an award, the photograph must tell a story to the viewer before he/she reads the article.

IV. Good photographs say something about life

A good photograph shows more than just how something looks; it presents an image in it aesthetic quality. A truly good photograph says  something about life itself. Cute animal pictures, beautiful landscape view and the likes have enormous appeal because they tell us that life can be playful, beautiful, innocent and full of life.








        V. Good photographs are well composed

 “There is a vast difference between taking a picture and making a photograph,” said Robert Heinecken. The overall quality of your photograph is a function of how carefully you arrange your subjects or elements in the picture. This careful arrangement or pleasing selection is known as composition.

Composition is the artistic aspect of photography, unlike exposure which is scientific, here; the creative ability of a photographer comes to play.

Biography

Femi Kuti, who hails from Ogun State, teaches Photojournalism at the prestigious University of Ibadan. As a photographer with ample years of experience, he has garnered high praises from photography critics over the years. He holds B.A and M.Sc degrees in Mass Communication.