Glissade

The phone rang. I picked it up at the first beep. “Waziri, how are you?” “Fine sir. And you?” “Have they called you?” “No sir.” “These people! Don’t worry, I will sort it out.” The conversation ended within thirty seconds. This was around noon on Tuesday, 23rd February 2016. I did not have to probe. …

Ọbaníbàshírí is a special, limited-edition remedy for bad-luck, and it will only set you back ₦200. All you need is a bottle of Mirinda or Fanta at any temperature.

Apropos of writing an essay on the experience of plodding through a difficult time in my life, I have been thinking about what suffering means for the artist. The process of writing that essay, as one would expect, was a dark affair layered with distress and pain. I wrote in spurts, never steadily, as both …

These Girls wanted their bosses’ lives, to upset the hierarchy of social order, and climb to positions they were never meant to reach.

He smokes until he sees something moving in the smoke, remembers Joy like blindness: swimming at Jazeera Beach, gorging on belonging, barwaaqo, iftiin. He remembers riding through Suuqa Bakaaraha on a motorbike, held onto by women with hair trailing behind them like black smoke. It’s raining in London again, Hassan Aden Samatar sings from a …

ISSUES

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