Stolen … Chickens are sweet

“I used to steal chickens,” she blurted as we walked down the beach.

I knew it! I knew she was in her ‘confession’ mode the way she’d gone all intense when she took her first drag.

“Congratulations,” I drawled laconically, “I’m glad you’ve moved on to stealing bigger and better things.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love Tosin. She’s my closest friend, a non-judgmental spirit, whose company soothes me because she knows when to talk and when to shut the hell up.

But, like the rest of us, she has her flaws, and the most irritating one is her compulsion to confess stuff. There’s nothing I detest as much as people confessing stuff to me. I mean, do I look like a reverend father? Kindly keep your confessions to yourself man, I don’t want to know the shit you’ve been up to. I’ve been up to a lot of crap myself, but do you see me going around looking for someone to unburden myself on? Why should I make myself feel better and leave you feeling as if it was your fault I did what I’ve done? What’s the point in that?

“I’m serious here Tobi, when I was at that Polytechnic up North, I used to steal the chickens in my neighbourhood.” She looked at me earnestly, as if telling me this would transfer a million naira into my account or change the pump price of petrol.

“Okay, you used to steal chicken.” I said.

“Don’t you believe me? Don’t I look like a chicken stealer?” She asked as a big wave came whooshing out of the sea and hit the sands beneath our feet with a boom.

I stopped and stared at the breathtaking sight in front of me. The full moon shone down on the sea, which was the colour of black coffee. The water looked darkly inviting, silky, smooth, like Irish Cream sliding down your throat. I knew if I touched the sea, it would be thick between my fingers, sensuous. I can hold it, I can hold water, I want to bunch it up in my fist and allow the smoothness to run through my fingers.

I also knew it was the Mary J in-between my thumb and forefinger thinking.

“I used to be the best chicken stealer in my school in those days. I mean, students from other neighborhoods would invite me over to their place to steal chickens for them. I was that good.” Tosin broke into my thoughts.

I looked down at her in surprise, for a moment there I’d forgotten she was walking beside me. That’s the thing about her. She has that ability to melt into you, making you feel like you’re two parts of a whole. She has this knack for sharing your experiences with you. She's Ogbanje.

"You need to be real quiet when you are about to steal a chicken, " she said as she took two quick puffs and tossed the butt towards the sea, "you need that element of surprise when you grab it's neck, so that it doesn't start squawking.”

The moon made her yellow skin almost white. She had escaped being an albino by the skin of her teeth.

“Are we still on this chicken thing?” I asked.

She nodded.

“You should stop smoking weed girl, it does not agree with you.” I said.

“Listen, I’m serious. I mean I spent a lot of time in heaven knows how many universities and polytechnics across Nigeria, I might not have obtained one single certificate from any of them, but I was really good at stealing chicken.” She said earnestly.

I love her crazy eyes. One moment you’d think she was looking at someone over your shoulders, the next her eyes would tangle with yours.

She has ogbanje eyes.

I smiled.

“Well, thank heavens you acquired one skill. I’m sure your parents are proud.” I continued walking, trying to lessen my long strides to accommodate her shorter ones.

Tosin is delusional about her height. Everybody in the world except her knows that she barely tops 5feet, but she thinks she’s a giant.

Tosin is delusional about a lot of things.

She’s delusional about my feelings for her.

"I love you, but not like that." She would say in that deep voice of hers which is so at odds with her feminine curves.

How do you tell someone you’ve known practically all your life that you are in love with her, her mind, her craziness? How do you tell someone who does not see herself as beautiful that she’s the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever known? That you love her droopy tits, her round stomach and even rounder behind? How do you tell someone who treats you like part of the furniture when she’s taking off her clothes that she’s the most sensuous being you’ve ever known, that every girl you’ve dated paled beside her?

She'd be sleeping beside me and it would take a lot of self control for me not to curl around her.

I allowed my bare feet to sink into the sand, gritty and smooth, both at the same time. The sand and Tosin. Gritty and smooth.

“So there was this day I stole my next door neighbour’s chicken.” She said as I took a final drag and allowed the bit of rizzler in my hand to float to the ground.

“We are still on this chicken issue,”I said flatly.

She ignored my tone and continued urgently, “and then she started looking for it. As she searched for the chicken, I felt really guilty, I mean this woman is poor. She has a drunk for a husband and about six children all under the age of seven. She sells sweets, cigarettes and other little things by the roadside and barely made enough to feed herself, talk less of her family, and I had just eaten the wings of her only chicken. The guilt was so intense.”

I looked at her and smiled.

“So did you confess that you stole her chicken?” I finally asked as another wave hit the sand, pushing foamy water our way.

“I did, but she didn’t believe me.” She said sadly, “when she knocked at my door and asked her if I’d seen her chicken, I told her it was inside my pot, she only laughed and said I should please keep an eye out for it, she planned to serve it to her in-laws when they come visiting the next day. I felt really bad. Why is it that nobody ever takes me seriously?”

“Wouldn’t you feel like something is wrong if someone suddenly starts taking you seriously?” I asked her. She looked at back at me, eyes skewed.

“Let’s head back.” I said as I held out my hand to her.

She placed hers inside it. I looked at her slim, elegant fingers and kissed each one tenderly.

She laughed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked.

“I’m going to take you to my place and kiss every inch of your body.” I answered.

The Joy of Reading

Tomorrow being the Friday the15th of November, I shall be hosting a program tagged "The Joy of Reading" during the Lagos Books and Arts Fair. From 3.30 till 5:30 a number of young, vibrant writers will  be celebrating the sheer joy of reading with me by reading excerpts of their favorite stories. Its going to be totally brilliant.

Below is a banquet of brilliance that will be set before you:

Tolu Talabi is an alumni of the Farafina Trust Creative Writing Workshop
Has been published in Kalahari Review, 5x5 lit mag and is the fiction columnist for The Guardian's Sunday Magazine.

Adeola Opeyemi is a visual artist, a bibliophile and a writer. Her works have been published online and in print.

Poet and lyricist, Servio Gbadamosi works with young emerging writers across the country by creating multiple platforms to provide more visibility for their works and facilitates knowledge exchange between them and established culture-practitioners.

Pearl Osibu is a Nigerian writer from Cross River State. She is a Fashion designer and a writer/blogger. Her works have appeared on several publications, among which are Jetlife Magazine, Sentinel Nigeria E-zine, CharlesNoviaDaily, and on her blog (fifty shades of Me), which has been described as "fearless, brilliant and lunatic."

Others are Iweka Kingsley, who will be reading from his short story collection, Dappled Things, Kenetchi Uzochukwu, Femi Morgan and a host of others.

Honestly, you don't want to miss out on this.

LABAF 2013: BOOKS OF 2013

Like I said in my last post, I shall be hosting four authors during the book readings and panel discussion titled "Book of 2013". We will be looking at 2 books of poetry and two prose. Each book is unique in its own right.

Today I'm posting the profiles of two other panelists, Iquo D. Eke and Tade Ipadeola.

Iquo is a Writer, Performance poet and Actress who renders her words to the accompaniment of folklore, typically embellished with instruments such as drums, flute and /or strings.

She was born in January 1980, in Uyo, Nigeria, and was raised in Lagos.
She studied human resource management in the Lagos State University. Over the years Iquo has worked as a journalist, administrator and scriptwriter.

Her maiden collection of poems; Symphony of Becoming was published in 2013 and was long-listed for the 2013 NLNG prize for Literature.

She believes strongly in a continuous struggle for the betterment of her generation and nation, thus her work explores pain, social consciousness, passion, womanhood and the trials of the griots of this age.

Her past performances include amongst others:
 Macmillan Literary Night
 The Lagos Black Heritage Festival
 PLAY Poetry Festival
 Word Slam
 The Lagos Poetry Festival
 Poetry Potter
 Word and Sound

She has two children and lives in Lagos.

Tade Ipadeola, a Nigerian, was born in 1970. He has published three volumes of poetry – A Time of Signs (2000),The Rain Fardel (2005) and The Sahara Testaments (2012). He has also published short stories and essays. In 2009, he won the Delphic Laurel in poetry with his poem ‘Songbird’ in Jeju, South Korea and the NLNG Prize for Literature 2013.

Tade Ipadeola has also translated an important Yoruba novelist, Daniel Fagunwa, from his native Yoruba into English.

Tade Ipadeola is currently serving as the PEN (Nigeria Centre) President.

Tade lives in Ibadan where he practices law.

Venue: Freedom Park, Broad Street, Lagos
Date/Time: Saturday 16th November, 2013 by 4pm

Books of 2013 at LABAF

One of the panel discussions I'll be hosting is tagged The Books of 2013, on the panel are Tade Ipadeola, Igoni Barrett, Iquo Diana Eke and Sage Hassan. Below are the profiles of two people on the Panel, Igoni Barrett and Sage Hassan. We shall be discussing Igoni's 'Love is power or something like that' and Sage's 'Dream Maker'

A. Igoni Barrett is a winner of the 2005 BBC World Service short story competition, the recipient of a Chinua Achebe Center Fellowship, an Ebedi Writers Residency, and a Norman Mailer Fellowship, among others. His second book, Love Is Power, or Something Like That, was long-listed for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award.

A poet, writer, thinker, teacher and author Sammy Sage Hassan is recognised as Nigeria's premier spoken word poet embracing the genre and bringing it to the attention of the art and music savvy populace in the mid 2000s.

He went ahead to perform hundreds of major non-poetry events like 2 Hip Hop World Award Shows, This Day Music Festival, Arts Alive's Speak The Mind In Jo'burg; he has performed near a hundred brand poems - poetry specifically created for companies and products from UniLever, Coca Cola, MTN, Celtel, NBL, Diageo etc. He has organised workshops and performances for schools and cultural organisations like British Council, Goethe Institut, Lekki British Int'l, Green Springs Int'l and more.

He has recorded and released 2 albums and 3 videos.

As a music executive he has worked with a lot of musicians like MI, Jesse Jagz, Ice Prince, Tosin Martins, Jagunlabi and a rash of upcoming artistes.

Lagos Books and Arts Festival

During this year's Lagos Books and Arts Festival I shall be hosting three events, two for adults and one for children.
The first of the events is titled The Joy of Reading, during which we'll be celebrating the sheer joy of reading.
For this year's joy of reading writers like Pearl Osibu, Tolu Talabi, Olubunmi Familoni, Adeola Opeyemi, Servio Gbadamosi, Kenetchi Uzochukwu and Femi Morgan will be in attendance to read portions of their favorite stories. The two hour event will be taking place on Friday the 15th of November, between 3 and 5pm.
The next event is a conversation amongst four of the most celebrated writers that has emerged this year on the Nigerian art scene. Three of them are poets, but one of the poets just wrote a book of prose(this is going to be so much fun!).
The writers are Igoni Barrett, Iquo Diana Eke, Tade Ipadeola and Sage Hassan. During the course of the week I shall be posting brief bios of the writers and short reviews of their books.
The event is titled Books of 2013 and will be held on Saturday the 16th of November between 4pm and 6pm.
The books will be available during the festival, the audience will have an opportunity to have their books signed and also have an interactive session with the writers.
The last event I'll be hosting is a spelling bee for children and it will be taking place on Sunday the 17th of November.
The Lagos Books and Arts Festival is an annual event that has been on for the past 15years and it is ALWAYS a fun time.
All events will be held at Freedom Park, Broad Street, Lagos Island.
You can follow @Labaf1 on twitter.
The hashtag #Diariesofabookfairslut documents my experiences at book fairs and authors.

When will you marry?

"So when are you getting married?" Chika asked, she was quite serious.

I laughed, I mean here I am in bed with this gorgeous woman, whom I've just finished making wild crazy love to and she's asking me when I'm getting married.

I ignored her question and kissed her deeply, I allowed my hand to wander teasingly to her chest, I felt her nipple tighten, I swallowed her moans. Then I bent my head and caught the nipple I'd been teasing on my tongue.

I sucked greedily on it, alternating between nibbling at it and laving it with my tongue.

She screamed as I quickly inserted my fingers up her wet vulva. I sucked harder, until I felt her come, instead of letting go I allowed my fingers to search for her nub of pleasure, she was panting and begging me to stop, not to stop.

"This is why I am never getting married Chika, I was made to give married women like you pleasure." I whispered into her screaming mouth.

Miraculous Adjectives

Miracle was written by Tope Folarin who was born in Ogden, Utah and grew up in Utah and Texas. He is a graduate of Morehouse College and the University of Oxford, where he earned two Masters degrees as a Rhodes Scholar. He currently works with Google.

The story is an excerpt from a work in progress.

Miracle is a story of hope, of keeping up appearances and saving face. It is the story of the problems faced by Nigerian immigrants in America.

The whole story takes place in a church and is centered on an elderly, blind Nigerian preacher/ miracle worker and a young Nigerian boy who is seeking for a miracle.

Folarin captured the mood of the congregants perfectly, which is a mix of hopefulness and hopelessness. His take of the church and attendants was dry eyed and non-sentimental. Describing the reason why most of the congregants were in that church that day, Folarin used short, crisp sentences, which allows the reader to feel the unexpressed desperation which must have filled the church.

“We have come from all over North Texas to see him ... We own his books, his tapes, his
holy water, his anointing oil. We know that he is an instrument of God’s will, and we have come because we need … jobs. We need good grades. We need green cards. We need American passports…”

Running beneath the story unfolding in the church is the protagonist’s history, the mother who abandoned her family, his uneasy relationship with his Nigerian father who raised him and his brother as Americans.

“We need our parents to understand that we are Americans. We need our children to understand they are Nigerians.”

As well written as this story is, it is not without flaws, first of which is the author's inability to decide whether he’s writing from a First Person point of view or an Omnipresent angle. The protagonist not only uses the first person but was also able to see into the heads of everybody present as he used ‘we’ a lot (maybe it's the royal ‘we’).



“We search our hearts for the seedlings of doubt that reside there. Many of us have to cut through thickets of doubt before we can find our own hearts again.”

There were long descriptions of every occurrence, which would have been taken care of in a few simple sentences. In fact the whole story can be summed up in three paragraphs but for the (as far as I’m concerned) unnecessary use of adjectives.

“Once there, he raises both of his hands then lowers them slightly. He raises his chin and says let us pray.”

I also worried a bit about this sentence “My lids slap open, and I see the same fog as before.” Because it beggars the question, what lids? And if they are eyelids, do they slap?

In a bid to make beautiful sentences Folarin ended up with this gem “The disembodied heads are swelling with unreleased joy.” Which left me open-mouthed with amazement, (you’ll all notice that my writing is improving).

This is a story that was written carefully and with a lot of thought, I found reading the story a bit tedious because of the long descriptions, even the climax fell flat because he had given the game away while describing the boy’s encounter with the old preacher.

But then you stumble on sentences like this once in a while and, for a second, understand why the story is on the shortlist. “His prayer is so insistent, so sincere, that his words emerge from the dark chrysalis of his mouth as bright, fluttering prophesies.”

On the other hand, you wonder when the Caine Prize judges will stop choosing stories that seek to bore you to death and reinforce the image of blacks as an overly religious, miserable lot.