Daily Archives: July 11, 2011

WS 5: Single by Nkem Awachie


Probably, in your first relationship, you’ll be idealistic, fresh from secondary school, a virgin, and determined to remain one till you wed. Unfortunately, your first love keeps asking for a bite of the golden fruit. You stick to your hymen, sure that in time he’ll realise what a rare gem you are, pop the question, sweep you to marital bliss and cherish you till death. He won’t. After a calculated period of begging, he’ll write you off as impossible and dump you for the closest piece of ass available.
You’ll be heartbroken, but confident that the next man will be smart enough to see what a treasure you are. After two more eligible bachelors have come and gone, you’ll think to yourself,
‘Ah! Heck! What’s life without a little compromise?’ Read the rest of this entry

WS 4: One Chance by Emezuom Nworgu


“This is the problem with Nigeria”, said the leader of the robbers. “Nobody speaks the truth. Look at you, all of you”, he shouted. “Not even one person, I mean just one person could speak the truth about how much money he or she had in his or her pocket, wallet or handbag. And yet everybody hopes for Nigeria to be good”, he snapped. “Haba!”
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WS 3: The Cemetery at No. 16 by Funke Ogundimu


I stepped over Baba Sura to get out of my room.

He died at 69 from gunshot wounds. He was an old soldier, who fought in the Biafra war. After retiring from the Nigerian army, he joined the Nigerian Legionnaires and worked as a gateman in a bank. A gang of robbers mowed him down at the bank gate.

My foot falls echoed as I walked slowly down the dank corridor with my bucket. The water in the well would be ice cold; excellent for an afternoon bath. I walked by eight empty alternating rooms. No. 16’s rusty zinc roof creaked as it absorbed heat from the blazing sun.

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WS 2: What Friends Do by Elnathan John


I knew Melanie would leave for the Calabar festival. It didn’t matter that John needed her around.

I would miss mass with the Pope for the Calabar Carnival”, she retorted when John tried to make her feel guilty for planning a trip when he was still recovering from malaria.


Melanie was often irritated by John’s intensity. His being a poet who always discussed poetry didn’t help either.

I thought you loved poetry”, he wailed, when she was finally able to tell him she was getting bored of the constant poetry talk.


Well, I stopped liking it, like I stop liking anything when I’ve had too much of it”, she replied rolling her eyes.

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