I have set up a blog: My City Journeys. Here, I blog about my travel so far in the city where I got my BA. And other cities I have visited. Just my daily encounters not travel guides.
Please do visit, read and comment. I love you.
This is my third suicide attempt this year. This is an uncountable number of times I have housed or nurtured the thoughts of suicide. This is part of the weeks I have lived behind my locked door without seeing anyone outside neither did I eat as well as drinking anything – it is part of the days I have thought myself to be a failure or probably a disappointment to my mother and all the persons that expected me to be better.
I am no good and it is killing me slowly.
When I look back I seem to remember singing.
Impenetrable, those walls, we thought,
Yet, for all it was quiet and warm as a hand,
But for a while the dance went on –
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I took this photograph when I saw these kids playing close to an abandoned hut.
I officially start this photo speaks series today. I spent a lot of last month moving from place to places in Search of stories.
With my Nikon’s camera, and most times, with my Android phone I unearthed some of these stories scattered all over the place waiting for storytellers to come pick and narrate.
I pressed the shutter when I saw the excitement in this guy’s eyes.
His mood reminded me before the shot that they are some moments that do not matter in our lives which were actually the best, but because we are very busy, we do not take notice of them until they are gone.
My sister’s words resound in my ears each time I go over this. Ije is a genius, did you not so say so yourself? Lol.
When you arrive in America
You must not forget the language
We gave to you at birth
Do you remember the daughter of Ahmed?
She returned after two years there
Speaking through her nose and
Rolling her eyes at her own father!
Do not come back, sneering at us
Remember to call your mother often,
The recession has swallowed half
Her once full cheekbones
And she does not laugh
As often as she used to
When you arrive in America,
Do not forget to cook like your mother taught you
And do not eat their food
I heard it tastes like cardboard,
Baba Abdul told me,
You know his son was there for four years
He said the food tastes like cardboard!
You must remember you are a woman
Do not let yourself run wild
Like the daughter of Ahmed
Do not allow men touch you, keep yourself
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God ’tis not raining
God we’ll die
OMG are you listening?
The climate is changing
And we are dying