Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Why Do We Keep Asking For Apologies?

The idea that people have to apologize for who they are to me is one of the stupid things we do as humans. Majorly, because, minority groups often believe they shouldn't apologize for who they are but expect the majority group to apologize. This scenario fascinates me, as it's one I see in every freedom movement. But the three major movements that show it the most are race, gender and sexuality.

Let's tackle each issue.

Publication News: Wartorn Me

I don't know about you, but poetry is the hardest thing to write. You're meant to prune it till it's succinct. As a die-hardened fiction writer, I used to swear I couldn't write poetry.  But, 2012 was a great year. I took a poetry class and wrote some decent poems. Even better, I got two of my poems published. Klorofyl is the latest journal to publish my work. And I am honored.

Head over to Klorofyl to read Wartorn Me

Sunday, July 20, 2014

A List Of African Literary Magazines

Packed with information and interesting features, the magazine began with the simple desire to provide a necessary service to the followers of African Poetry - readers and scholars, anthologists, conference and festival managers or other enquirers.  
Submit:  poetry.

Fosters cultural understanding and awareness through literature, art and film. Founded in 1992 by a small group of writers and visual artists, the organization strives for artistic and literary excellence while showcasing the unique and diverse stories within the African Diaspora. It publishes quarterly.
Submit: fiction, poetry.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Orange is the New Black Disney Princesses

For a Design Crowd contest, Maria Bayley mashed-up Disney princesses with Orange is the New Black characters and came up with:
Holla! She won first place. 

Monday, May 26, 2014

My #YesAllWomen Tweets

When the Majority is Oppressed!

I found this emotional 10 minutes short about a world where men are subject to sexism. It's titled Majorité Opprimée, translation, Oppressed Majority. Synopsis reads "On what seems to be just another ordinary day, a man is exposed to sexism and sexual violence in a society ruled by women."

You Don't Have To Be Pretty

"You don't have to be pretty. You don't owe prettiness to anyone. Not to your boyfriend/spouse/partner, not to your co-workers, especially not to random men on the street. You don't owe it to your mother. You don't owe it to your children. You don't owe it to civilization in general. Prettiness is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked “female.”" -- Diana Vreeland

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


Dear Sadiq Abacha,

I do not know you personally, but I admire your filial bravery – however misguided – in defending the honour of your father, the late General Sani Abacha. This in itself is not a problem; it is an obligation—in this cultural construct of ours—for children to rise to the defence of their parents, no matter what infamy or perfidy the said parent might have dabbled in.

The problem I have with your letter, however, arises from two issues: (i) your disparaging of Wole Soyinka, who—despite your referral to an anecdotal opinion that calls him as “a common writer” – is a great father figure, and a source of inspiration, to a fair number of us young Nigerians; and (ii) your attempt to revise Nigerian history and substitute our national experience with your personal opinions.

Therefore, it is necessary that we who are either Wole Soyinka’s “socio-political” children, or who are ordinary Nigerians who experienced life under your father’s reign speak out urgently against your amnesiac article, lest some future historian stumble across the misguided missive, and confuse the self-aggrandized opinions of your family for the perceptions of Nigerians in general.

Your letter started with logical principles, which is a splendid common ground for us. So let us go with the facts: General Sani Abacha was a dictator. He came into power and wielded it for 5 years in a manner hitherto unprecedented in Nigerian history. Facts: uncomfortable for your family, but true all the same.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

The search for success

I was told since my childhood to search for success
right at the moment when understanding
curve balls and intertwines strands by strands with competition.
My eyes squint and my stomach reels at the thought that someone okaying
my decisions is all that should matter. It doesn't seem like it matters if the totality
of my belief says that life

should be worth more than a few crumbs or that a baby’ life
is worth more than a woman working 9 to 5, beating success
at its game. Maybe I need to retrace my life in order to grasp the total
chaos that striving for literal understanding
has brought into my life. Okay
maybe, the answer lies in some competition–

Last night at the public relations student meeting, I froze at a competition
the question, whether interning should be scrapped from being life.
All I could think of was fuck! I was blank. Okay!
I also thought about successfully
showing I understood
the words that spewed out. I lost the election because I was blank. Totally.

Success has me knotted about competing. Life hates fairness
on my understanding. I’m not okay with this form. Fuck it!

A version of this poem initially was published by Ynaija as part of its 30 days 30 voices series.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

#Arrow's Nyssa al Ghul: Beloved League of Assassin

Hell hath no fury than an assassin scorned ...

So, I returned to watching Arrow this week. I had stopped at this season's first episode and worked my way up. Love seeing Black Canary and realizing she's Sara Lance. Love that she's Oliver's equal. They both have the same story line, the shipwreck sent them into arms of people who taught them to fight and both have seen enough deaths. Hence they're both strong and damaged.

But greater discovery was this week's episode where the show reveals Nyssa al Ghul. I love love her.
The first scene we see her in, I never have cheered on a villain as much as I did after seeing her pick up the pen. I knew what was coming and I pushed myself into the moment, without a care.