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This is all about what I choose to do.

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PIUS ADESANMI: EVEN IF THE ROAD TO THE CEMETERY IS CLOSED…

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Even if the road to the cemetery is closed, We would buried our hero in the earth of Words. Uncle Pius Adesanmi, Thoughts are deep but the words are few, Humanity is paled by your gallant death, You are a deep fountain of intellect and illumination, Whose streams run through the crevices of the earth, Of which we have all worshiped and drank. For the first time in many moons , Humanity is stunned by the demise of a towering figure, The shadow of which influences our literary world, Vanguard of our fragile democracy, Shepherd of our national sanity, The mid-wife of our emancipation: Your words beautifully and humorously crafted, Nurtured the fading silhouette of our dreams, And we long to dance to the beats of your creativity. But suddenly the beats stopped… The water spilled and the gourd split! And what manner of life is this? Even if the road to the cemetery is closed, We would buried our hero in the earth of Words. Uncle...
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WHERE DO CRIPPLED CHILDREN GO?

“The connection between my childhood and my adulthood must not be lost. To lose that connection is to lose me.” Within every man dwells the little child who preceded him. Traditionally, children’s day has been misconstrued only as a juvenile convocation devoid of adult relevance and characterised by childish funfair. Irrespective of the side of the prism from which we look at it, we must not lose touch with the child in us. Every man is preceded by a boy and every woman is preceded by a girl. To understand the man that I have become, you need to meet the boy that I used to be. To understand the woman that I have become, you need to meet the girl that I used to be. To understand the adult that I have become, you need to meet the child that I used to be. Within every woman dwells the little child who preceded her. Adulthood is rooted in childhood. Many of the thoughts, ideologies and resolutions that we imbibe came from our early experiences as children. All the frui...
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THE BITTER TASTE OF LIBERTY

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David Diop, a Senegalese poet uses his poem entitled “ Africa ” to describe our independence as possessing a bitter taste after he chronicled our long-suffering experiences and plight through colonialism and post colonial era. Nigeria is the landmass composed of the remnant of many ancient empires and kingdoms. The nation was thus forged from the anvils of hegemonic tendencies, human diversity, conflict and history. Agitations for the independent state of Nigeria began in the early 50s by the likes of Azikwe, Awolowo and Ahmadu Bello. We got that liberty quite alright. But after fifty eight years, the question we should ask ourselves is: How does its fruit taste? Barely seven years after our embryonic conception, civil war broke out ! We went to war against each other; brother against brother in a senseless and preventable orgy of violence that was born out of immaturity and nationalistic infantilism. The war consumed more than two million souls. This despite the ref...
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