We will forget the death that now stinks up the city centre, dark hallways into the doors of offices
We will forget the death that now stinks up the city centre, dark hallways into the doors of offices
Contributors for our sixth edition are drawn from across the continentāand their subjects are just as varied. In one essay, a writer loses his religion. In a short story, a character falls in love, reaching, perhaps, for more than can be grasped. In another story, a woman is drawn toāand frustrated byāa noisy neighbour.
āWho even named you Jesus? Of all the names in The Bible, of all the names wey dey dis world so, na the name wey no fit you at all dem give you.ā
Had I become a roaming syringe deployed by the federal government to inject pregnancies?
It saddens me to realize that everyone I know will die. I, too, will die.
I have never wanted to forget. But I have faltered in remembering.
She knew it was me who took our stepmomās bottle of kayan mata and poisoned it.
