By Biko Agozino

Ruben Abati made very insightful observations in his analysis of the failure of the Nigerian national football team to inspire enthusiasm from supporters at home and abroad during the World Cup in South Africa. He concluded that the outing has brought more shame than pride to Nigerians given the Nigerian preparations for the competition were characteristically shoddy, while the South Africans distinguished themselves by organizing an efficient competition at a level that Nigeria could not manage, the way they effortlessly introduced a new equipment to the game, the vuvuzela, while Nigeria has yet to bring an innovation to the game we love so much, and how their national team played well even when they lost or drew while the Super Eagles are praying that some other team should suffer misfortune at the hands of some other team in order for us to qualify by default the way we managed to qualify for the finals.

Two months have passed since the night she lost her son Andre, and still she could hear him all around the house. Whenever she’s in the kitchen preparing supper for her husband, she sees him standing there beside her, tugging at her apron, wanting to see what she was preparing. He often asked a dozen questions, and it was usually a miracle for her to keep up with him. Time after time she wanted him to save his questions for his father when he returns from work, but now, in the deep quietude of the house, how she wished to hear the sound of him once more. At least just once, she would love to open his bedroom door in the morning to get him ready for school and find him smiling and laughing while jumping up and down on his bed. He once said he wanted to be a pilot, later on he changed it to wanting to be a cowboy, just like the good guy in that western classic The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

I am staring at a blank Word page on my laptop. I feel the need – the urge – to write down something, and yet I know not what to write about. It’s weird; never once have I suffered from Writer’s Block as I do now. It’s been a near two weeks since the thought of writing down anything crossed my mind. The doctor seemed pleased about this. He advised I try taking much time off and try my hands on something – anything – else that’s different rather than reach into my head for something to write about. He means well, this doctor of mine. Sometimes I can’t help but think of him as full of shit.

By Umar Abubakar Sidi

The trees, shrubs, gallops, ditches and streams interspersed all over the plain slowed down my speed, that however didn't deter me, I was still running. My heart was thumping as if it will break my ribs and forcefully jump out of my chest, my legs were weak like drought-affected corn stalks in the Sahara, but I was still running...

By Patrick Tagbo Oguejiofor

It was not the power failure that worried him.  Though it had thrown the whole house into darkness and ended his romance with a new movie.  Something else was eating deep into his soul. The sudden power failure with its attendant heat and song and bits of the mosquitoes only made his world more unpalatable.

By Nana Fredua-Agyeman

In memory of Ken Saro-Wiwa

(Only the weak fight with Guns)


Between the cockroach and the cock
All disputes are settled with a peck.You eat the gods’ sacrifice
And you owe them twice;
No crow to bring you kernels
No stone to crack them;
The pigeons’ pinions are wet
Their legs tied to their nests.

Across the borders of mental rage,
Our eyes open to a new life like a flower
On a gentle summer morning
And fear becomes only a state of mind.

When memory brings back to us,
Our own words of wisdom lost,
Only then shall we read sorrows Written in our history's eyes.
To see that glory lies beyond our fears Beneath our courage.

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