Author Archives: Uche Okonkwo

About Uche Okonkwo

Writer. Editor. Homebody.

Death is a Happy Face by Uche Okonkwo


With eyes and blade glinting, they come at me. I strain against the ropes, try to bite as she unties me and asks the evil child to hold me down.

I feel my blood run as the woman slits my throat. She drops the knife and they stand back, satisfied.


I spring up and bolt, my head flailing about, painting the ground red with life and defiance. They clap and squeal their enjoyment. My eulogy?

I fall. The last thing I see is the child. She is peering into my face with a smile.

“Mummy, it has died!”



I come out from the dream clutching my neck, my mouth open in a soundless scream, and I don’t know where I am. I look out into the blackness that fills this place. It is a thick, malignant black that looks like it could kill any light. I can still feel it throbbing in my neck, the bottle the mad man had stuck in it, and so I cannot take my hand away. I blink, trying to make out a wall, a window, but the darkness won’t let me. So I close my eyes, take deep breaths and count the numbers off in my head till the pain stops. At forty I can take my hand from my neck.

I open my eyes and I remember where I am. The darkness hasn’t given way, but the pain in my neck is gone now so I can hear his gentle snoring. It was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep last night, that whisper of a snore that had begun almost as soon as he’d rolled off me. I grope on the floor around me in the dark. When I find my phone I press a button for light. It’s three forty-five. I slide off the mattress and to the floor and notice that my head is pounding. I crawl onto last night’s condom just as I reach my hand bag. It sticks to my knee and I brush it off with an impatient motion. Still holding my phone for light, I rummage through my bag till I find my lighter and pack of cigarettes. There’s only one left. It will have to do till he wakes up. I light it with shaky hands. Read the rest of this entry



Hi guys. Here’s something I wrote for the Farafina blog. My first of (hopefully) many contributions to our blog.


They all liked to call themselves bad guys, but she knew Toju; he wasn’t one of those bad ones. He only talked tough and acted like them when he was with them, so he could fit in. With her he was gentle and sweet and sensitive, just the way she liked her men. He had only joined Triple X for protection; he didn’t want anyone to ride on him. And he wasn’t even that active sef. He just coasted along; present enough in their midst to be seen, absent enough to be forgotten. She didn’t bother to ask how come, then, he was the Capo’s right hand man. Read the rest of this entry

WS 15: Blame it on a yellow dress by Uche Okonkwo


She knew nobody was allowed to touch her there; that secret place where even she felt ashamed to look. But Daddy wasn’t nobody. Huge, hairy Daddy, whose deep voice always surprised her when he spoke; Daddy with his preoccupied air and intimidating collection of professors’ books; Daddy who never seemed to see her.

Read the rest of this entry