Inspirational Musings is a book of fifty-two seemingly unrelated chapters all of which, however, constitute a wholesome dose. You begin to feel the potency of the book from the ‘Introduction’, at which point you cannot help but make up your mind to finish the book as soon as possible rather than stick to the author’s prescription that you read one chapter a week which should see you reading the 52nd chapter at the last week of the year. Continue reading “ON ADEGBOYEGA OJUOLAPE’S INSPIRATIONAL MUSINGS”


I used to dread nightfall. Not because of the imaginary shadows I could have sworn lurked in the dark. It was also not necessarily because of the cats and rats that ran around the public toilet area. I used to dread nightfall because my mother made sure none of us children would have dinner until he or she had drank to the last drop his or her apportioned cup of dogonyaro (neem tree) juice. Continue reading “NOBODY DRINKS DOGONYARO JUICE ANYMORE”


The launch of The Torn Petal held on the 8th July, 2017 at Merit House, Maitama, Abuja. Before the programme officially began, I stood aside and watched om’Oba Jerry Adesewo and Ozioma Izuora argue over the best way to arrange the pile of books which would later be unveiled (even though it had not actually been veiled in the first place). In the end, madam Ozioma won with a far superior argument. Ozioma Izuora is a lawyer by profession, if you must know. Continue reading “UNVEILING THE TORN PETAL”


From tomorrow, Kaduna will be lit up, courtesy of the Kaduna Book and Arts Festival (KABAFEST) which has assembled a dozen literary stars. It might be premature to start wondering whether it would be just a momentary flash or an inferno that would burn on even years from now. Time will tell. Continue reading “KABAFEST: AN INFERNO OR A FLASH?”


Despite the fact that every new kitchenware that comes into the home chops off a portion of the man’s stature, today’s man has not yet realised that the greatest threat to his manhood is not the feminist movement but mechanised kitchenware. Continue reading “WAR AGAINST MECHANISED KITCHENWARE”


Seventeen years after the death of my father, I still have not met anybody that could have matched, or beat, him at whistling. I still have not met another person who could work their jaw muscles and other bucco-labial organs to produce that deep and somber moan of the accordion; that pitched cry of the violin; that bark of the trumpet or that wail of the electric guitar.

SEX WORKERS: A Marginalised Group in Nigerian Literature.

There is hardly any other group that has been – and continues to be – underrepresented in Nigerian literature than sex workers. The marginalization of this class is so obvious that one would think that every new Nigerian writer passes through some confirmation rites during which he or she swears to perpetuate the age-old policy. Continue reading “SEX WORKERS: A Marginalised Group in Nigerian Literature.”


What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes


When Walter Lowenfels and Michael Fraenkel began their short-lived publishing venture before 1930, they hoped to publish artists anonymously thereby highlighting art rather than the ego of the artist. Noble as the movement was, its eventual demise could be largely traced to a paucity of contributions by artists, a great many of whom must have considered anonymity too exorbitant a price to pay knowing that their success in the arts industry depended highly on their fame. Continue reading “THE BURDEN OF POETISING (Part 2)”


Can we agree that there exists this realm of creativity into which the artist’s mind must soar or descend before they can create? Can we also agree that this realm is a ‘restricted area’, accessed only by those minds that have found ways to locate the access ports, which might be what the music composer, Yanni, means by ‘the keys to the imagination’? Is it impossible to imagine poets as miners of imageries who have to erect derricks over the hard shell that incases the realm of creativity? Is it not reasonable to believe that the poet’s first attempts will either drill too deep, to reach the dregs, or go too shallow, to suck up the watery parts? If so, would it then not be unfair or premature to judge poets based on their not-so-impressive debut works since only through constant practice and perseverance can one master the art of projecting the shaft to the proper degree? Continue reading “THE BURDEN OF POETISING (Part 1)”