The birth mark at the back of my neck was from cigarettes stubs that Baami pressed on my neck when I first came to this world. They said I died a lot of time, more like a premium Abiku, I’m sure you must have heard about us too.
african writing competition
“Go tie your wrapper well, can’t you see, you have started growing breasts?”, Said ubunkhei, my 14-year old male best-friend. Mami and Papi always told me to tie my wrappers well too, especially when going to the stream because “evil spirits were always looking for people as wives and husbands” I never took any of them serious, I always felt safe in my village.
That day the preacher-man went mad, everything he did was against the church itself. When he preached, he stamped his feet on the white tiles and clasped the microphone between his palms. When he sang, the church muffled and swayed from here to there like an Iroko tree blown by the desert wind. He called out verses – he carefully picked the verses – the ones that were long, long enough to throw the congregation in disarray of whispers.
Literary competitions abound in the literary space. There’s no limit to the number of contests that exist. But, winning these competitions is the main thing…