That Fatherhood Feeling


This call to fatherhood, I hear it
In the quiet twitching below my belly
And in my heart when my eyes meet
With the yearning gaze of my neighbour’s son
The glitter of his eyeballs telling a story
Of curious wonder and a smile so intriguing
That I begin to wish he were mine Continue reading


There is Nothing Wrong With Nigerians Who Are Impatient With the Government

President Buhari and Governor Obiano with VP Prof Yemi Osinbajo in the background

President Buhari and Governor Obiano with VP Prof Yemi Osinbajo in the background

The day you resume work, your employer starts assessing you. He expects you to know and do your job but occasionally comes around to make some input.

Sometimes, your employer will point out your tardiness, and how he expects certain deadlines to be met, failing which you get the stick.

This applies if you are the employer too.

Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Erased

Your father was stubborn. And because you were strong-willed too, you refused to wear the vest of shock she gave you.

Its sight pinched you, drove pins into your skin till they grazed your aorta. You feared they would shred the muscles of your heart but you would not give up.

You told her. Again and again. She would smile. And walk. Away into the starry night. Hope for you was the setting sun, it had to rise in the morning. But for company at night, you drained your data on Instagram.

Nostalgia led your bytes to her page and you drowned in the forgetfulness that characterised it. Her hearty smile and your restrained cheer in a red shirt were gone, the one with your pimpled nose too. Vaporised!

You went to Twitter and checked her bio. It was there you realised the sun would rise at dawn but not with hope for your shredded heart.

The word ‘Lover’ was gone, space occupied its place, your subtle reference. You were now a vile history, an unholy anecdote, cleansed, and erased.

Flash Fiction: #TrekforLove

(Heartbreak in a time of fuel crisis, as inspired by a conversation on radio).

They met at the subsidy rally in Ojota, the day Femi Kuti came. Femi wore a wry smile as fans took pictures with him. He gave her his Curve 2 to snap him with Femi and he in turn took a picture of her with radio. He twitpic-ed a picmixed version of the pictures with: #EnoughIsEnough, #GEJmustGo. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Mission Aborted

Written for Ife Olujuyigbe.

She asked Segun to tell her the Yoruba translation of “Equity aids the vigilant.” She needed it for Dr. Coker’s test the next day but it seemed all he wanted was a kiss. She stopped him and he called her stiff, boring, uninteresting and some other “ing’s” that pricked her ears till they squeezed tears from her eyes. She did not even know she was crying till she felt the wetness on her notepad, he made it that easy with those lips of his, the same that lunged at hers just some minutes before.  Continue reading

Flash Fiction: For Better, For Worse

This morning, when he said those words after the presiding pastor, currents of excitement ran down your spine, circling and mildly teasing your bowel.

The words “to have and to hold” echoed in your head, your tongue pushing against the inside of your shining teeth. All that the congregation could see was you, a beautiful bride, and him, an excited groom. No one knew of Eniola and her magic fingers, and your Xperia, the one with the “baddest filters” and Instagram, your playground where he found you, you that he declared a good thing.
As he made to lift your veil, you wondered why he never took you for the swimming test, never visited early in the morning or unannounced. You felt he should know so you told him during the procession “for better, for worse can mean with or without makeup”.

He smiled, laughed and smiled again. The world was lost on your joke but you found that look in his eyes at the reception, the uncertainty you had the first time you bought shoes online.

– Tobi Adeb

Flash Fiction: Sweet Intervention

Pink or purple, he could not decide which to settle for. His eyes met the bottle of perfume you treasured, not the same one but its type, the one you only dabbed on Sundays. Not sure if he should switch to buying that, he rolled his fingers into a fist and shook them like they held dice within. By the time he unfurled the ball of his fist, he had somehow gravitated towards the sales attendant, the one with glittering skin, not as evenly toned liked yours but she smelled as good.

“I was thinking of buying her a good perfume, one with a luring smell like yours,” he said, pointing to the row where bottles in varying amusing shapes sat like mini-gods. Her eyes rolled half-clockwise and her smile dipped towards the left corner of her lips. He adjusted his gaze. “Actually, I was even thinking of getting her lingerie,” he said. She looked at him and allowed the curve of her lips stretch into a crescent before she said “Colour, size?”

It was then he realised he had been thinking in colours without shapes. He remembered the first day you sat beside him in the chapel wearing that blue silk gown, the one that drooped a bit at the front. He could still feel you brushing his arms as you made to pick your jotting pad from the floor before he offered to help. But he knew. He felt more than what he saw. These things are measured in cups but he could not even think of an alphabet. The attendant tapped on the table. He looked up and then down, beyond her necklace. He didn’t know for sure how she would react but he would do anything for you, even risk a slap and just as he made to speak, you tapped him from behind.