King Olulu remains a pacesetter in the Nigerian poetry and spoken-word performance business. His works and their fruits speak for themselves, and it is only fitting that his name is etched in the good books of history.
FEMINISM IS ADVOCACY FOR EQUALITY, NOT A GENDER BATTLE: UKAMAKA OLISAKWE TALKS FEMINISM & RELATED THEMES IN OGADINMA WITH CỌ́N-SCÌÒ MAGAZINE
Feminism is advocacy for equality. The idea that it is a battle against a certain gender is disingenuous…people who hold onto these ideas, who underpin feminism with such harmful connotations, do not want to have an honest conversation.
SHAPES | by Mhembeuter J. Orhemba
I look up nude men on Google. A gathering pulls inside me, dies as quickly as it started. I try nude women. I soak in their fullness and curves. I wait, for the heady momentum of arousal. The fire in my chest rather grows hotter—I close the tab.
THE FEMINIST BURDEN: ATTAINING INDEPENDENCE ON THE WINGS OF UNAPOLOGETIC REBELLION | a Review Of Ukamaka Olisakwe’s “Ogadinma Or, Everything Will Be All Right” by Ehi-kowoicho Ogwiji
Ukamaka explores feminism and its subsets—the resoluteness of cultures around the world to commoditize and possess women, and female complicity in patriarchy, among others. I consider Ogadinma a very important story because of how it zooms in on areas of feminism that we barely talk about.
SELF-PORTRAIT AS A HELIUM CONTESTING FLIGHT WITH THE SPIRITS | an essay by Taofeek “Aswagaawy” Ayeyemi
Some nights, I am a wanderer. Clutched to my bed yet my mind breaking borders like nocturnal birds. Tonight, I peep through the window to see the sky– starless, moonless, with no glee except the sheen of a stray cat’s eyes.
WILL YOU MARRY ME? | a short story by Ude Vivian Chidimma
Somma is on the line. You are so glad someone is calling you at least. You would have preferred someone else to call, a man maybe? One of those you wanted to be with.
A CAPITALIST TALE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT | a short story by S. Su’eddie Vershima Agema
There was a time when she would cook only once and have leftovers to spare at the end of the day. In those days, Timbir would go in and chat with her. They would talk about anything and everything.
I SAY MY NAME | an essay by Ayomide Ruth Oluwagbenga
Somehow, I’m tired. I don’t even want to prove anyone right or wrong anymore. A simple step in front of another took me out of the chair of boredom and desperation, and straight through the doors onto the sunny passage.
BARBS ARE BARED | a short story by Reginald C. Ofodile
Ehimhen caught himself warming to Oche, even as part of him disliked the man for having dropped what he, Ehimhen, considered Oche’s proper Nigerian identity.
WE ARE MANY | a short story by Ubong Johnson
My uncle writes my name on my forehead with white chalk. Beneath it, he writes my father’s name but crosses it with a single line. I stare at my face in the mirror and release a held breath.