Cross-genre

A riddle for the ashy sky

Sometimes the body stops believing itself, chews away its skin with venomous thoughts. A miracle God begs you to stop performing. – Wine, Theresa Lola. Years teach you how a Saviour isn’t a man but someone, anyone, who wears crosses on the back, not the tongue. You knew crosses early Read more…

By ife, ago
Cross-genre

Thelma, Tell Ma

Thelma, tell Ma, your mother. Say you want to be her transparent lip gloss next Sunday. No one will care about the size of the lips, your ebony skin wouldn’t be sin. Home would not call you an outsider. Thelma, tell Ma you want the lip gloss, not the thick Read more…

By ife, ago
Articles

A festival of fire

Google does not answer every question. A fire outbreak nearly does. Or at least tries. On Otedola Bridge, the explosion is a bridge into five songs: Geometry Parabolas of anxiety. A woman who hated math recalls her math teacher’s voice: Diameters split every circle into half. Everything splits now. Diameters Read more…

By ife, ago
Stories

Supposed to be

This is Nigeria and so your name, though common, is pronounced Samweh – not Samuel. On a sweltering afternoon, after an hour of street football where, with your neighbours, you pride in a jersey of the bare chest and boxer shorts, after continuous successions of firing and heading the leathery Read more…

By ife, ago
Cross-genre

Love is Light and Blood

Some pieces escape the mind and become a body – they grow their eyes and ears and mouths and a heartbeat – a song that does not die – an undefined breath. This is one of them. On a night coloured with no stars, love is light and blood. Because Read more…

By ife, ago