I built the Nigerian Literature Archive for the books many of us grew up reading and the ones we may have forgotten.
From Ige Adubi to Ralia the Sugar Girl, Eze Goes to School and more, itโs a small way to preserve and rediscover Nigerian literature.
https://t.co/c1PJNqpXeL
I hope that at the end of the day. We donโt deny a man who gave up his life for us because we want to sound nice and politically correct. The truth is the truth and with no variable.
Jesus died and rose again. Never to die again. Happy Good Friday! Happy Easter! Happy eternal life to all who believe in His name, and to all who will, soon!
Lmao ๐ this is always so funny, because I'm constantly paying attention to the terminology they use. Takes nothing to understand the industry you're trying to portray.
I used to count things on my body that had once touched the same air as my father.
I would randomly remember him and start counting...
"Daddy met my hairband, this gown, he met this ribbon, he bought us this cassette, this book..."
"Daddy met this plate, this curtain..."
As the years went by, I would barely find 1 or 2 things, that was here while he was still with us.
The skirt I had on when he passed, I hoarded for years till I gave it out.
It got to a point where I could no longer find a personal item, I had outgrown all of them and the rest had worn out.
When it was over 7 years, the only thing that had touched the same air as my dad, that I had left, was my shoulder length hair.
We still had household items: clothes we wore as babies, plates, even my Dad's special plate and cup, curtains, my Dad's car, my mum's too.
Our house got burnt to the ground a year ago and I no longer have things to count.
His car was packed in our compound for over a year, and even when my mum got a new car, she would refuse to sell her old rickety Golf that "her dear" got for her.
I've forgotten Daddy's smell, his voice too, and somehow his face, I keep looking at pictures tho.
Daddy would dance in front of the TV, and because he was a huge man and covered most of it, we would all be giggling and begging him to stop (he was a bad dancer, I got it from him).
I wish he stayed longer.
He was as busy as he was available, he was such a dancer, a bad one, but a dancer.
I hope he's still dancing wherever he is, I hope he has little children to dance with and for.
Daddy's smell is now very faint in my memory.
I can still remember his hands tho, his dentition, His feet, faintly.
I have his feet too.
The only thing of his I have left is his name.
It's been 13 years without Daddy, I wonder if he has children there to help him scratch and pick his back.
I wonder how he has been drinking water without his stainless cup, is there suya there? He must really miss it.
Was he scared in his final moments? Not even of death, but of dying in front of me and breaking my heart?
I often wonder if he knew he wasn't going to make it through the night and if he was sacred or heartbroken by the knowledge of that.
When I told him that night that things were going to be better, I hope he saw the strength in my voice.
Adolphus would have been such a playful grandpa, we'll all miss him, our children too.
Rest well my Angelโค๏ธ