I am all about everyday people, telling their stories, reciting their poems and recounting their experiences.
Friday 20 March 2015
MAJIYAGBE OYINDAMOLA
ADELEKE BABARINDE AMOS - class series
Wednesday 18 March 2015
A Poem about the The British Military Expedition on Benin in 1898
In early 1898, the British army marched on the ancient African city of Benin. This was a reprisal attack, following the Benin Massacre of a British convoy in 1897. The convoy, led by British Consul Phillips was headed for Benin, in spite of having been told they were not welcome.
The British army consequently sacked the ancient city, hanging chiefs, burning houses and stealing hundreds of exquisite Benin artifacts in the process.
The British Massacre of Benin
I am the Oba of Benin,
Ovonramwem the great!
They painted my kingdom with fire,
Then birthed my artifacts in their museums.
A letter i would never read,
Was addressed to the Queen.
Blood flowed like a racing river,
They called ague a festival of barbarians.
Then birthed our artifacts in their museums.
My Chiefs hung suspended between the sky and the earth.
Their fires voraciously fed on my habitat,
Infants and women fell as the tiny pyramid leads ate into their flesh.
They birthed our artifacts in their museums.
They waved their bloody fists in the air,
A successful massacre by their civilised standards.
They had no honour, pity or love,
Bibles were sewn in our farms,
We reaped schools and colonisation.
"They have no technology nor civilisation",
He stopped himself in mid-track.
The pieces of art in his palms said otherwise.
They shunned the voice of truth,
And sang home a victory song.
We had no civilisation?
Yet you beheld our arts
And stood spellbound.
You smuggled them to England,
To sit among the best of yours.
We had no civilisation,
Yet the Queen refuses to return
Our ugly sculptures and carvings.
The Benin artifacts,
Lives in British museums
To prove how blatant a lie can be.
Monday 16 March 2015
10 shortcuts for jumping a bank queue
The Rainstorm - A Short Story
Today, the morning had predictably given way for the afternoon to emerge, the noon too did not deny the evening and its dusky outlook a chance to exist.
I was the eldest Child and in the absence of a Dad who worked in far away Lagos, i became her trusted lieutenant. At the age of ten, i was already a good cook, an expert at bathing my Baby sisters, and the foremost caretaker of our ill-furnished one room apartment.
Over the years, we had also learnt to expect the mopping which succeeded every rainfall, since the whole floor of our one-room habitation was sure to be drenched in water.
Email: favouronyeoziri@gmail.com
Sunday 15 March 2015
How Safe Are Our Mothers?
Saturday 14 March 2015
OBI KENNEDY - Class Series
Wednesday 11 March 2015
This poem is dedicated to the Sun on a snowy Day
Coloured Rays
It wakes up behind the clouds,
takes its bathe in the misty fog.
A crown of radiance adorns
its crystal face.
Look down upon us,
With your eyes of lightning,
let a breaking ray be your Smile,
We wish to embrace the warmth
Of your presence.
Come, break the thicket of snow,
Which has usurped our streets.
We wish no longer for
The mound of glassy sea
Which capsulates our cars.
I want to play on the curb,
Kevin happily announces to Mum,
He pretends unawares of
the chilly fingers of the cold.
She replies him,
Pray to Ra the sun god.
Tuesday 10 March 2015
A Morning Lasts Forever - A Poem
A Morning Lasts Forever
Silence surrounded the atmosphere,
A beautiful formless quietness,
Sparse showers of dew,
Clouded the breaking dawn,
Delaying the sun for a few more hours.
In the distance,
a dog walks its blind owner.
The park's flowers relish the
Wetness of their leaves.
A beautiful melody escapes the
Wind's chilly lips.
In all of its whiteness and beauty,
The shekeleke Bird perches on the
Fence, the flowers and the wet ground.
The snakes lay hidden in the warmth
Of their holes.
The chameleon turns the weather's colour.
My bed envelopes me in its warmth.
I take off a minute to kneel and look
Through the window to see the first
Ray of the fiery sun,
Breaking through our thin frost.
Nothing good lasts forever,
nay, nothing at all does.
Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Favouronyeoziri@gmail.com
Monday 9 March 2015
Have you ever wished for those good old days when honesty paid and hard work brought wealth and riches? Yes! I Wish
Away With Virtues and Vice
Flabbergasted, i have seen you carry on,
with patience and poverty hounding your
every step.
You speak of wants and lack,
as kings do Gold and Silver.
Impressed, You hold your head above water,
You drown without a scream for savage,
those echoes you make
exists but in you head.
You talk of dignity and honour,
Like a plaque it adorns your
Hungry face,
The contrast, even a clown would humour.
Days when honour
was worth more than a gold coin.
Years when a hard day's labour fed families.
Times when Honesty wasn't a dying word.
I wish those days back,
not for my crooked self,
But for you, the starving Saint.
Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Favouronyeoziri@gmail.com
Sunday 8 March 2015
In this our selfish world, this Poem is a Brother's passionate plea to a Fellow Brother
Betrayal of trust is rife in our present day society. Most people live for themselves, care only about themselves and would never do anything if it doesn't benefit them.
However humans were not originally created that way, Humans are meant to support one another, help each other and face the innumerable struggles of life as a formidable, united front.
This Poem is a passionate plea for us to return to our natural state of Caring for and considering the interests of others around us.
Ode To My Brother
Humans must first learn the denial of self,
The heart wants what it wants.
Ghosts must now haunt their predators,
We chirp about bountiful harvests,
Have all our actions been courteously cultivated?
Through dark tunnels
And slippery pathways.
Wounds infested by malice,
Love winding up on rejection highway.
Tough!
The road mortals must thread.
To wear a crown of thorns?
Bend beneath the coarseness of a Cross?
A six inch nail in each palm?
Or to enjoy a lavish dish of horsewhip?
I would gladly bear these all for you.
Brother!
Would you do the same?
Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Favouronyeoziri@gmail.com
Saturday 7 March 2015
Pregnancy Test - A story about 21st century teenage girls
Friday 6 March 2015
YOONUS OLUFUNMILOLA - Class Series
A Poison Tree by William Blake is one of my favourite poems ever!
This has always been one of my best poems.
This poem by William Blake is a testimony to the inevitability of conflict in our society. Misunderstandings must occur both among friends and even between strangers.
What really matters, however is the approach with which we deal with such provocations and the ensuing anger.
The Poison Tree
“I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.”
~William Blake (A Poison Tree)
Thursday 5 March 2015
This Poem is about a youth who sadly anticipates the worries of adulthood.
These days, i find myself writing more and more about my youthfulness and the dirge that would soon become of it.
As someone who is still within the comfortable boundaries of his twenties, i look forward to another twenty years from now, and all i see is a stranger in the mirror, one or two deep creases on the forehead, three Children screaming 'Daddy', A wife who is constantly threatening to sue for a divorce and a fair sprinkle of grey hair.
Ageing scares me, and so i have learnt to talk about it everyday, until the day i would wake up and realise that finally, i had aged.
My Ageing Youth.
Day has hid its bright face,
Dusk invades the atmosphere,
It rides on the back of darkness,
The good days have bowed out.
A scene winds down.
Sorely, i miss the variant voices,
The arguments and agreements,
In the thick of dusk,
When the blackness had veiled the pole. Time stole upon us unawares
And usurped our youth and exuberance.
I long for the days past,
When our scuffles terminated in laughter.
Times when our shouts violated the night,
When our jokes defied the sacred midnight,
Beautiful memories of jests and jokes and.
We all blossomed into independence,
Responsibilities began to weigh in,
Sons must father sons,
Youth must prepare for days of grey hair.
Alas! The echoes of our laughter
Are carried away by the cares of adulthood.
The deadly shortcut - The Touching Tale of a Single Mother & her Three Children
Wednesday 4 March 2015
A Derailed Future - A story about Love, hate and Patience.
"What's wrong with you?" I screamed over the phone, it took a second for her to assimilate what she just heard. To her, it was very strange and unbelievable. She had never heard me ever raise my voice beyond its natural pitch, not to talk of shouting. She sensed that she must have pissed me off real much for me to respond in such an unusual manner, so in response, she began to sob over the phone. God! how i hate to hear women cry!
I had been in the process of ironing some clothes that fateful Wednesday evening, when she called me over the Phone. We had started off on the usual light note, exchanging pleasantries and enquiring about each other's welfare. Then i proceeded to ask about her Parents and siblings, she returned the favour immediately after responding curtly with the word 'fine'.
Neither of us knew the direction the discussion was going to take, but usually we would let it run its course and at the end of the conversation, we would both be feeling a lot more happy and in love. This particular evening, i was more interested in completing my ironing, especially since electricity supply was very unpredictable. Therefore i was in no mood for a long discourse, instead, i was trying all i could to truncate the conversation as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it seemed she on the other hand was less preoccupied and maybe even bored. She kept pushing the conversation, trying her possible best to prolong it beyond the basic complements and confessions of Love we usually exchanged.
With every passing minute, i became increasingly restless and my patience began to grow thin, little wonder when she brought up the issue of marriage again, i immediately went haywire.
Amaka and i had been dating for over eight years now. We first met during my Jambite years. I was unfortunate to have written the University entrance examination for four consecutive years before being granted provisional admission into the University of Ibadan to study Education and Chemistry.
I had met at the special centre were i wrote my first JAMB.
With time, our friendship transcended the platonic stage, as our emotions blossomed, our relationship graduated into a full blown intimate affair. We had clearly fallen head over heels for each other and in less than two years, our relationship had become a popular example of what a romance should be, both among married couples and dating singles throughout the neighbourhood.
By the fourth year of our relationship, i was opportune to gain provisional admission into the University of Ibadan (U.I). By third year in the University, i was already twenty-seven years old, it also signified my seventh year of dating Amaka.
For the past year, She had been very persistent about the solemnisation of our love through a proper wedding ritual. As the months went by, she began to sound desperate about Marriage, her haste seemed unnecessary to me, since she was barely twenty four years old and yet to gain admission into the University. Countless times, i had explained to her that i had to at the least conclude my University education and become gainfully employed before we could get married.
This evening, She had brought up the issue of marriage again. This time around, sounding even more offensive and even threatening to quit the relationship if i did not marry her soon. Her curt remarks were very shocking and irrational at the same time. To worsen the whole matter, She had no single logical reason for her haste towards matrimony. For her, marriage was a competition among friends, a contest which she may emerge as the loser, since most of her friends had already gotten married. Although many of then were not fully married, but then, they no longer lived in their parent's houses and at least part of their dowry had been paid for by a roadside mechanic here or a Bricklayer there.
After all attempts to placate her and try to explain everything to her all over again for the umpteenth time failed, i decided to give up on the whole exercise. Gradually, my anger built up, until I decided that she could quit the relationship if she wanted, in fact, she could go jump into a Lagoon if she so desired. For the moment being, i was tired and feed up and infarct could use a little peace of mind.
That night, i hung up on her after a lengthy exchange of words. I considered her threats to be empty and baseless, without ever suspecting that She could ever see it through.
"Hello, who is this?" I enquired, this is Amaka, she replied "sorry, which Amaka is this" i asked again, then she went into a short narrative, after which i clearly knew who it was. I was very excited to hear her voice once more after seven months. Since our last argument seven months ago, we had not as much as called or even sent each other a text message.
For a fleeting second, i was happy that my prodigal heartthrob had returned, this time, i hoped she was a better, patient and repentant person. I was about rendering a small prayer of appreciation to God for bringing her back to me, when her next words stopped me in my tracks ....." I was just delivered of a bouncing baby boy four days ago " She said, her voice laced with a weighty amount of joy.
I pretended to be deaf, then requested for her to repeat herself, this time, i heard her very clearly and she sounded every bit convincing.
where are you? Who is the father of the Child? Are you married? When did you get married? Are you pulling my legs? What happened between us? I wanted to ask her all these questions and a million more, but all i could do was to stare at the opposite wall, mouth agape, ears mute, phone clutched feebly to my ears. I stood there, beside the hot Iron, among my roommates, mortified. I stood there erect like the biblical Lot's wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt, for merely turning to stare at a bright future she had left behind at the mercy of a fiery conflagration.
A short story Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Tuesday 3 March 2015
A Poem about Unilag Lagoon Front.
Unilag Lagoon Front
we come here to watch the lagoon
Dance to the soft melodies of the wind,
the sun too, overhanging us,
sneaks a glance or two from behind the sailing clouds.
this lagoon front is being overrun by overconfident bushes,
a trickle of confident couples
and a horde of shy crabs.
Red crabs with their huge tentacles
clawing at the floor,
ready to make this funny run into their burrows at the slightest feel of noise.
students always have a way of giving cognomens to places,
Like calling a garden 'love garden',
In this school, everywhere is a love garden.
Little wonder why couples
come here to frolic,
No wonder the mosquitoes
prefer to mate here.
Written by Onyeoziri Favour.
The Best of Poetry
A Morning Lasts Forever
Silence surrounded the atmosphere,
A beautiful formless quietness,
Sparse showers of dew,
Clouded the breaking dawn,
Delaying the sun for a few more hours.
In the distance,
a dog walks its blind owner.
The park's flowers relish the
Wetness of their leaves.
A beautiful melody escapes the
Wind's chilly lips.
In all of its whiteness and beauty,
The shekeleke Bird perches on the
Fence, the flowers and the wet ground.
The snakes lay hidden in the warmth
Of their holes.
The chameleon turns the weather's colour.
My bed envelopes me in its warmth.
I take off a minute to kneel and look
Through the window to see the first
Ray of the fiery sun,
Breaking through our thin frost.
Nothing good lasts forever,
nay, nothing at all does.
Written by Onyeoziri Favour