Dodan Barracks
by Sylva Nze Ifedigbo The first time I knew that a government could suddenly change, I was eight years old. Father climbed on a wooden stool one morning and took down[…]
Are we listening?
by Sylva Nze Ifedigbo The first time I knew that a government could suddenly change, I was eight years old. Father climbed on a wooden stool one morning and took down[…]
A few days ago, on the way back from campus, I stopped my car almost too late, almost running into some small creature traipsing across the road. It was a[…]
by Temitayo Olofinlua My phone is ringing; singing “Sweet Mother.” That’s Mama calling. I do not know if I should pick her call. She would sense through my voice, some[…]
By Hajo Isa Bird Eye Your courage is sure, I watch you swoop and twist above The receding skyline. Carelessly you glide, Leaving the sweetness of stolen heaven.[…]
This week’s issue features excerpts of fiction, some poems, and a non-fiction piece from a writer’s residency. Chris Ihidero, a columnist from Lagos, makes a debut with two poems exploring[…]
by Temitayo Olofinlua “Is there anything to eat in this house this evening?” Barbara asked. “There’s porridge,” I replied. “Porridge is not food. Porridge is just something that I[…]
by Bolaji Olatunde November 22, 1997. I stared at the ceiling of my very dimly lit room – the outside lighting of the building provided the little illumination – with,[…]
by Alkasim Abdulkadir 1. Stoning from Glass Houses! The took away our lands And built glass houses They took away the stones So we won’t throw stones At their glass houses.[…]
I often run into a fascinating interesting dilemma of sorts whenever I read and edit submissions to this magazine. Do I turn “favour” into “favor” as my spell-checker suggests; neighbour[…]