Nubian

Your Doctor will give you drugs without properly labelling them. You will not bother to ask him, 'Doctor, what is the name of this drug you said I should take?' You'll foolishly take the drugs home, take a picture and finish them. Then you'll carry yourself to me to say, 'Pharm, please help me identify this drugs.' Sorry my dear, I will not do that. There are thousands of drugs in circulation with many looking like other members of different class. Some of these drugs come with no markings on them. You are then asking me to do guess work so that when you kill yourself, you'll say I killed you. No my dear. Go back to your Doctor and ask him to tell you what he gave you. Some even go, 'You should understand na. The Doctor is always in a bad mood. I was afraid to ask him.' Me: Lol. And you are not afraid to ask me abi? Go back to your doctor. Just as I am here to serve you properly and courteously, he is also there to serve you in the same m...

We are all aware of the happenings of the past two weeks. A nationwide protest calling on the government to #ENDSARS turned into a movement of demanding for accountability, better life, reformed institutions and above all, the right to live. It was beautiful to watch. The youths had finally found their voice to take over the nation and effect change. Their weapon was their voice and another beautiful and remarkable thing was that THE MOVEMENT HAD NO LEADER. But things started to unravel really quickly. We started seeing young persons (thugs) with matchets, knives and batons trying to disrupt the peaceful protests. We believe that they were paid peanuts by the government (and as despicable as their actions are, I wouldn't judge them too harshly. It is very easy for a poor person to sell their soul for a piece of bread). Some were caught, beaten, fed and handed over to the police (who didn't arrest them btw). I believe the police might have done more but, you see, we,...

I've loved this story for two years now (or even more). Sometimes, I forget that I can find it on Granta so I've decided to post it on my own blog so I'll never forget. Enjoy! 🤗  ******************************** If you go inside Nnam’s house right now the smell of paint will choke you but she enjoys it. She enjoys it the way her mother loved the smell of the outside toilet, a pit latrine, when she was pregnant. Her mother would sit a little distance away from the toilet doing her chores, or eating, and disgusting everyone until the baby was born. But Nnam is not pregnant. She enjoys the smell of paint because her husband Kayita died a year ago, but his scent lingered, his image stayed on objects and his voice was absorbed in the bedroom walls: every time Nnam lay down to sleep, the walls played back his voice like a record. This past week, the paint has drowned Kayita’s odour and the bedroom walls have been quiet. Today, Nnam plans to wipe his image off the ...