Flash Fiction: A New Page by Yetunde Oyelude

You are only allowed to study eminent science courses as a child of Professor Adebanjo, and as fate would have it, I am an ‘Adebanjo’; and I dare not trash the tradition.

It is evening and my family members are in the living room spending quality time with one another, but I chose to confine myself to my room, so I could dwell on what I wanted to do with my life. And so I started thinking; Abigael, you are the most intelligent senior student in the science class of the prestigious Great Learners High School with several accolades backing this fact, and most importantly, you have made your doting father the proudest man on earth. And here you are, about to graduate high school with the saddest heart. Why is that?

“Daddy, I want to be a writer.” Those words didn’t seem like they came from my mouth. I blinked my eyes severally like someone who was just getting out of hypnosis. I didn’t understand how I got to the living room; all I knew was that I had just said the abominable.

Flash Fiction: A Killer Bite by Tomiwa Adeosun

A strong offensive odour hit Mr. Adeleke's nostrils as he opened the front door of his house.

"Ah-ah, what kind of smell is this?" He asked himself aloud. Then he slowly traced the smell to the bathroom and as he opened the door, the strongest of the odour that had been locked away enveloped him, forcing him to shut his nostrils. With shaky hands, he lifted the lid of the water closet and discovered that it was full of faeces.

“Where could Segun have gone, to have left the toilet in such disgusting state?” Mr. Adeleke wondered as he left the bathroom to get some drinking water.

On getting to the kitchen, he was shocked to meet the pile of plates that had been there when he was leaving for work in the morning. "What! Even the plates are unwashed. I will beat this boy to coma today,” Mr. Adeleke fumed as he proceeded to the backyard to cut off some branches of the guava tree, to be processed into buttocks-smacking tools.

Poetry: Abimbola by Emebiriodo Ugochukwu

 

Abimbola

 Can you keep a secret?

How long can you keep it?

Can you not tell her

That while she slept

I took out time to stare at God's perfect masterpiece?

Her!

Can you not tell her

That she is my Muse

And her absence here

Has rendered my quill useless?

Can you not tell her

That for pride's sake

I act as if I don't know her favourite colour,

Her favourite food,

Her favourite author,

And her favourite books?

Can you not tell her

That I sometimes see how she stares from across the room

When we are seated apart

How her stares burn when she sees me flirting with other

girls?

Can you not tell her

That I know

That she quietly hopes I break up with ‘bae’

With those "expert" relationship tips she gives?

Can you not tell her

That her voice is terrible

When she sings,

And that smile on my face

Was birthed from pain in my eardrums?

Flash Fiction: My Silver Lining by Aladesuyi Seun

Trouble loomed. I just used the last ₦100 in my purse to get to my uncle’s office. I wouldn’t have acted so irrationally if he had not assured me of being employed immediately.

I stared at the secretary, who was totally oblivious to my situation, and asked, “sir, are you sure he won’t come back to office today because he told me to come exactly this time, today.”

The secretary looked at me disdainfully, making me feel as if my brain was unclad.

 “Least you can do is answer,” I muttered.

Stranded and frustrated, I tugged at the hem of my chiffon blouse, trying to figure out how to get home with zero naira in my purse. I had hoped my uncle would give me money to take cab back home.

Well, if there was anything, like a silver lining, it was not my fate; apparently, my life was full of dark clouds. I slowly made for the exit planning to walk all the miles home.

 “Miss Fiona Alade...!”

 I turned to see the secretary hurriedly making his way towards me with a brown envelope visible in his hand. I gave him a questioning look.

Smiling Again by Olayinka Egbokhare

I have learnt to smile again,

Learnt to play and to love and to receive love.

Learnt that one can work at showing love to others,

Learnt that love has eyes and dance and laughter

Love has sober, trying moments.

Love can mean sharing or giving or taking.

Love can come at unexpected times and from unlikely quarters.

Love can take flights of risk and be daring.

Love can put illness and loss aside and shine through,

Love can argue and disagree but will refuse to fight or bear grudges.

Love may be hidden because it is too premature to declare.

Love can hurt others who love us because it does not command their approval.

Love can peep or come forth in boldness.

Love will not leave you poor but richer all ways round.

Love can teach you life lessons that will make you strong.

Love will always prevail over the storms of life.

Biography

Olayinka Abimbola Egbokhare was born in Ibadan, Oyo State. Her love for writing was brought to the fore by Mrs Ubah, one of her English teachers at the Federal Government Girls College, New-Bussa, Niger State. Yinka, the author of the widely acclaimed novel - 'Dazzling Mirage', holds a Ph.D in Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan where she teaches writing skills, advertising message development amongst other courses.

She makes her home in Ibadan with her husband, Francis and their children.

Poetry: Be at Ease, Mother

Your tears, like rainfall, wet the grounds

of sorrow within the region of regrets,

growing weeds of sadness on farmlands

fertilized by agonies of motherhood.

Mother, cry out your heart no more;

my future, like a mop, shall wipe away

dustiness of the past. Be at ease, mother.

-          Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

That spherical earth; a part of you –  

covert, protruding, elapsing stipulated time.

The purge came with a pain, which you bore.

Nocturnal you became; your siesta sparse.

These tears, you'll once more shed; the cause,

I'll once again be, but for joy.

-          Makinde Damilola

For years, I kept sleep away from the tent of your eyes –

your pupils dilated in vain as my desires rushed at you like a flood.

Heart as solid as the rock, refusing to crumble under the pressure

solely borne. Yet your smile, as bright as the sun, keeps my feet

fired for a long walk. My accomplishments will be inspired by the zeal

to repay you for all the sacrifices. This promise,

a sacred covenant, shall be kept to honor motherhood.

-          Aladesuyi Seun

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.