Ifenimi makes me feel like this

Time and again, I’ve known the peculiar tenderness of arriving at the edge of myself; stripped of definition, suspended in the soft blur between who I am and who I might become. The vastness of possibility hums around me. The world feels wider here. The air is lighter too.

I have a complicated, almost combustible relationship with writing. I’ve been sitting at my desk for nearly three hours now, wrestling with sentences that refuse to be born, and the only thing I’ve managed to put down is “God abeg.”

When it comes to letting people close, there is no foolproof way to avoid walking straight into your own undoing. No checklist can save you from the mysteries of another soul. But I do know where you must never linger, and it is beside someone who delights in tarnishing

“God abeg,” she muttered under her breath as the curtains swayed alongside her emotions. The evening sun strode into the room through the pocket of space the half-open window had created, spilling a deep sepia warmth over everything it touched. Dust motes floated lazily in the

"If a child is throwing stones and it does not end, there is a supplier"

My inbuilt disc jockey wakes up before I do and immediately starts wilding. It curates a soundtrack that makes no logical sense yet insists on announcing itself like a chaotic little maestro. Because how else do you explain opening my eyes in the morning only to find that the

Yesterday, I listened to someone speak about themselves in such a deprecating and casually cruel manner, and it scraped against my senses with a grating sound. Right there and then, I made a vow never to speak of myself in such a diminished tone; not even as a joke. Because

OVER A HUNDRED ABDUCTED AGAIN IN NIGER JUST THIS MORNING. DO YOU KNOW HOW INSANE THAT IS

My mind keeps replaying the image of that old woman in the church. The way she tottered toward a possible escape, her body failing under the weight of its own frailty. That helpless, staggering attempt at survival has lodged itself inside me. She feels, in every sense, like a

Here’s what I’m suggesting- every citizen contacts their reps & senators with coordinated emails, phone calls and WhatsApp messages with the following - *Dear Hon/Sen, as your constituent, i am urging you to call for a PUBLIC hearing to address the strategy to defeat terrorism,

When the world melts into watery shapes and nothing holds steady, remember the weight of your own legs anchored to the earth. Remember the way air slips into your lungs and loosens itself again on the way out. Remember the steady thrum of your heart, beating its timeless

I’ve come to fervently believe in the power of imitation, which entails the deliberate adoption of traits and rituals we find admirable or life-generating. None of us moves through the world with a perfect blueprint of what we ought to be doing. We are all, in some way,

How am I? I am oscillating, my friend. I’ve been dwelling in the liminal space between riotous ecstasy and being emotionally waterlogged. I’ve learnt valuable life lessons but hated some classes. That’s about the sum of it. Oscillation. Oscillation. Oscillation.

It’s something I’ll keep harping on: we, as Nigerians, must learn the discipline of sustained aggrievement. These momentary flare-ups of anger and short-lived outbursts that dissolve into resignation are no longer enough. We need to unlearn the survivalist curse that makes us

becoming yourself is violent work. you must kill the versions that kept you small. transformation is self-destruction done consciously.