One of the messages I intended to pass across is the importance of education. I’ve since realised that education is a key factor in every person’s life, so in all my writings you will find that in one way or the other the importance of education is the central theme. The Undesirable Element in particular is a reflection of what obtained in the Northern Nigeria of that period. The situation was that older men who were well-to-do were marrying young girls. And some of these girls were in school. They had to be brought out of school to marry. That was the social trend that time. It was money. Marriage were based on "I’m rich, I can marry young girls.’’ Once you were rich you could do anything in the North at that time.

By Sumaila Isah Umaisha (May 19, 2007)

All that the old writers can do is to help with editing the works of the young writers. Beyond this, I don’t think they can do much because, writing, you have to do it yourself. -- Labo Yari, Writer

LABO YARI, author of Climate of Corruption, the first novel in English language to be published in Northern Nigeria, is one of the renowned pioneer Nigerian writers. He is particularly famous for his highly imaginative narrative style that portrays the social realities of the Hausa/Muslim community vis-à-vis the Nigerian society in colours that scream for a change. Yet, the soft-spoken novelist and short story writer, who is one of the founders and life patrons of Association of Nigerian Authors, is among those who believe there is a limit to which writers can change the society. He made this and other observations on literary issues in this interview with me.

Thereafter, the relationship grew rapidly. His rugged handsomeness and caring nature drew her irresistibly close to him. Soon she began to spend most of her weekends with him. And though he hadn’t mentioned it, she knew the relationship would eventually culminate into marriage. She also knew it would be difficult to convince her parents who would be vehemently against her marrying a Christian. But somehow she felt there would be a way out. The problem would surely be tackled at the appropriate time, maybe after her studies. For now her utmost concern was his safety. How could she stop him from endangering his life so? Maybe if she knew why he was taking the risks he could do something. But she had absolutely no idea.

Eze Amushie is a storyteller and poet. This poem was an introduction in one of Amushie's books. We did not hear the footsteps of the crumbling mountain. We began to see evil, in our brothers' tongue.

Around 10 a.m., Carlos came riding his bicycle leisurely. He wore white trousers and flowery, navy-blue shirt. Many people ran towards him. "I will come back to you," he assured the surging crowd. He then disappeared inside the many security rooms at the airport. When Muslims were going for their afternoon prayers, he reappeared from a narrow gate with two long lists accompanied by two military police officers. About two hundred people were waiting to hear their names from the lists. "The first group will board at 2 p.m. while the second will travel at 6 p.m.," he announced. We had given our money to someone close to him. I and two of the youths in our group were among the second 6 p.m. batch. Since we had plenty of time before boarding the plane, like a herd of goats we milled around the airport except for the military site with several tunnels. Some trenches were like underground houses. Below the airport tower, was the officers' bunker.

By Sumaila Isah Umaisha

The story is a critical statement on Nigeria's socio-political experience since she gained independence from the British colonial rule in 1960.

It had been quite hectic in the office. Writing the murder story had been as tortuous as the millionaire’s strangling of his wife must have been. They said he did it out of anger, but I still don’t know why he did it. Nor do I know why I chose that particular day to see the man at the roundabout when I should have gone home to rest my tired brain.

I am Fredua-Agyeman Nana from Ghana. I have lived in Suhum a town about eighty kilometres from the capital, Accra, for all the twenty-five years I have been in this world with the exception of the time I spent pursuing higher learning. I attended Star of Suhum International School from kindergarten to the Junior Secondary School and continued to Adisadel College, in Cape Coast, to read science—a continuation that began the break in my long stay in Suhum. From there I moved to the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, Kumasi, to study Agriculture.

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