• Tumisi

    Atsetemi: Reclaiming a Prophecy

    Sometimes I consider my father too clingy. It’s in the way he claimed us at birth. Eight days after we were born, daddy etched a part of himself on us. A part we could never erase. That day, at our naming ceremonies, our father named us after himself. We would all grow up to realise that like him, we bear ATSE too; but unlike him, it’s only a part of our names. Meet my siblings: ATSEmay. roseATSE. ATSEson (of blessed memory). omATS’ola. toritsemATSE. ATSEyemi. ATSEfemi. and ATS’uwademi, my only younger sibling. I am ATSEtemi, and I’m yet to understand why dad decided to claim us by our names. Sometimes I…

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    On Writing, Uncertainties, And A Renewed Hunger For The Baby Girl Lifestyle

    Some days my thoughts feel feeble. They fail to meet my standard of creativity and common sense, so I dissociate myself from them. I hold back moments of meditation, clip the wings of my imagination, and stifle inspiration. I am Elyon’s Paradise, Chef of soulful buffets; no sour thought should slip out of my thumb. Meticulous with this mental gatekeeping, I watch myself get detached from writing. These days I’m careful to call myself a writer. I do not think I deserve such honour conferred on responsible wordsmiths who have paid their dues through consistent documentation of their thought processes. These guys show up at work, wrestle with their keyboards…

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    For Momma

    Yesterday I was a joyful soul. An all-smiles-cheeks-wide- grinning  joyful soul. I wore my momma’s blouse I brought with me to this new city for the first time in nine months, and it felt nostalgic. Worn on a jergins and boyfriend shoes, the cotton blouse sat on me with weird grace: bogus and plain, yet adorning my frame with dignity, the chic-est fashion item you’ll find in a Christian mother’s wardrobe. . My day was spent reminiscing the good ol’ days of family devotions. Out of the blues, a song popped up my mind. It was one of momma’s favourite. I sat by my desk, thinking about all the funny…

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    Dear Nathan

    Dear Nathan, I saw your pix on Facebook, the one which attracted over 500 likes and 200 comments, about 50 percent increase in response over the one you uploaded three weeks earlier. You had the biggest smile on, the magic which pulled the response, I suppose. In spite of my beef for cute guys on Facebook, I just couldn’t be mean. I clicked the love icon. However, there was something about your eyes: they were dark. Not even your flickering smiles could hide the sadness in there. It’s been over three months we talked; three months our friendship thrived only on the comment boxes of our status updates. Our inbox…

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    Of Ancient Fields And A Harvest Of Words

    It’s thirteen days into the New Year and I can’t boast of the “ideal” New Year’s Resolution. This has nothing to do with me forming ‘woke’ like the folks who consider others immature for being resolute about something every year. I used to be like them, hating on New Year’s Resolutions and its strict adherents because every “intellectual” I knew did same. What I didn’t realize was I was shortchanging myself by living a life void of viable plans and actions. I was stuck in a maze, and the only movements I made were circumferential. Last year, I had a Resolution. It was a decision made after observing how messed…

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    For Things I Don’t Deserve

    This week, there’s been an overwhelming consciousness of peace, the abiding presence of Yahweh. I wake up each day with thanks on my lips. Nah, not the usual religious lingo used to spice up a boring devotion- the “thank you for making me to see another day…” line we dole out to the Lord in naps. This is mindful gratitude, that which sets one’s soul on a journey to uncovering God’s goodness. Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. (Psalm 103:1-2) I forget not his benefits. I remember the day…

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    A Dance In The Deep

     If storms were friendly, you could’ve been buddies. Each day some unfortunate event seems to strengthen your bond. The world thinks you both are an item, some inseparable pair cruising misery. Sometimes, you think so too; series of misadventures make you assume such. For this cause, you embrace the storms, its waves and all. If loving storms were enough to bring warmth, you would’ve been at ease. But you’re not. You’re a frigid being in need of peace. You thought an embrace was all the storms needed to be melodic with its roars. Perhaps, it waves would rock you to sleep. But three days ago when November said hi, you…

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    Forgive Me Dear Blogging Counsellors, I Don’t Have a Niche

    I once loved being called a blogger. Like “singer”, “songwriter”, and “poet”, “blogger” is a name I’d wanted etched on my personality. Blogging seemed like a forte, like some shield against the insults society hauls at unemployed graduates. The Facebook profiles of some friends are worth considering. Somehow, these job seekers get “gainfully” employed as CEOs of anything.com. While some people may consider this a sham, I do think otherwise. “Blogger” is hope- a new way of advancing an already stagnant life. The first set of blogs I read were online diaries. I stumbled into them during my penultimate year in the university. I was intrigued by how much people…

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    THE LOVE THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING

    You are a lion. Your folks told you so. They did when they discovered your strengths, and the zeal with which you maximise them. They observe, as you with finesse devour obstacles- a feat cowards despise. They are proud of you, of all that you represent. As your uniqueness glistens in their eyes, they fall deeper in love with you. What they didn’t realise however, is that you do not share their sentiments. In your eyes, everything is an illusion. Your strengths. Zeal. Finesse. Uniqueness. . . Everything. You don’t feel like a lion. You feel like a chicken. You want to scream this into their consciousness. But your folks…

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    POETICADO: AN OFFSPRING OF SELFLESSNESS

    Towards the end of our national service last year, my friend, Unoma Akiti, called to seek ideas about a poetry gig brewing in her head. She wanted to organize a spoken word event which would infuse other aspects of art and literature. She kept repeating the word, “Poeticado”, a portmanteau of poetry and…. avocado, I guess. I listened patiently as she rattled excitedly about it. When she was done however, I was a bit startled.     I know my friend, the stuffs she’s capable of. I understand her strong drive for excellence and her passion for impacting lives with all of her being. I do not doubt her event…