There are no roses here, But there are vegetables. Here: There are rich men with Egos bigger than their cars. There are poor men with Stubbornness hotter than their brutally patched Slippers. But one thing is Sure, no one escapes this Market without the odorous finger of pọ̀nmọ́-water slipping into their nostrils. At the back of a rickety cab, there’s a basket of fresh and … Continue reading Òjé
At the backyard— There is a convocation of potties with broken and happy Faces. On the line— There is a soaked wrapper that throws the fragrance of urine in the air. In the latrine room— The chickens’ cages breed mites with biceps. There’s a makeshift kitchen at every door- step. We know what our neighbors will eat for dinner. The passage of the rooms— an … Continue reading Face-Me-I-Face-You
By the roadside, the aroma from a pot of stew overwhelms the pungent smell of the gutter whose basement offers the picture of two butchers struggling with a ballooned goat—skin the latest victim of searing water. Outside, there is an impatient queue of different bowls sizzling oil in a big pan squeezes the face of helpless bush- meat. A woman, with her jiggling underarms, sends … Continue reading At The Canteen
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