To die and live again.

Death is an orphan. No body fathers a popular cataclysm. Death is mysterious. A kind of cosmetic contingency, that is. Unforeseen and stealthy. Painful. Unannounced. Dark and fickle. Sometimes sought after. Other times, and most often, wished away. It can be bitter. Like bile. It can be sweet and melodious. It is mostly used as a curse. Rarely seen as a blessing. Hence a double edged sword.

The Wonders of Hell

The first time you heard about hell was when you were seven. Then, you were a naive, slender-looking boy - faultless. The Sunday school teacher, a heavy-bearded man in his early forties, painted hell as a very horrible place. He grimly told you that hell was a huge, blazing and unquenchable wild fire where sinners would everlastingly roast like cashew nuts when they died. He told you that hell was very hot and stark dark - darker than the back of your mother's pot. There will be gnashing of teeth and regrets, tortuous soldier ants and worms everywhere, your Sunday school teacher taught.

Five Minutes

There was a time when Brother Sam used to have a sound sleep, snoring, saliva all over his rounded mouth, like a snail placed on a heap of hot coals. There was a time when Brother Sam used to wrap himself in his blue blanket, a pink pillow pressed below his thin neck - all he needed to have a glorious night after he had said his bedtime prayers. But last night was different; Sam couldn't close his eyes; he seemed to have lost the padlocks to his eyelids, if there were any.

Men in Black

The vehicle stopped abruptly. We had barely passed Ore. I was travelling to Lagos, from Benin. I did not understand what was happening. Why would we stop at the middle of the road?

“Everybody come down!” the men shouted. All my innocently spurred ignorance were replaced with automatic giddiness. Was I being robbed? My heart skipped.

Letter to Ochuko

My dear Ochuko, I am very sorry you ended up this way. You never concealed your feelings. You behaved like those uncircumcised male goats that flocked around my backyard and put their noses into the smelling buttocks of their female partners.

Mama Nkechi

Anytime I think of Papa Nkechi, I always weep on the inside. That man is passing through hell. He has been to several churches but all seemed not to have offered any significant help. They all required Mama Nkechi to be present before any solution could be offered. But she won’t just go!