The Words Finesse

Titles announce authority, but they rarely tell the whole story. In this intimate archival conversation, Dr. Usman Oladipo Akanbi, President of the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA), scholar, policy thinker and public intellectual, steps beyond office and ornament to speak as a man shaped by discipline, community, and an abiding faith in the moral force of words.

In a wide-ranging exchange with AbdulHafeez Oyewole, Dr. Akanbi bares the inner architecture of his life: a Spartan childhood under an incorruptible judge, the quiet strength of maternal influence, the moment writing revealed itself as both calling and instrument of change. He reflects with candour on fear and hope, on literature as witness and resistance, and on the uneasy labour of leading Nigeria’s foremost writers’ body in a time of national strain.

Moving seamlessly across literature, leadership, agriculture, public policy, civic responsibility and global power shifts, this conversation captures a thinker alert to his moment and conscious of posterity. It is less a defence of achievement than a meditation on duty- on what it means to write, to lead, and to remain humane in a world increasingly hostile to truth.

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The Man Beyond the Titles (For Posterity)

1. Before we speak of offices held and honours earned, let us return to origins. What are the aspects of Usman Oladipo Akanbi that the public rarely encounters, those inner convictions, private struggles or formative experiences, that you believe history ought to know about you?

Well, I come from a family that values education and community service. Growing up with my late Dad was quite tough. He was a strict disciplinarian who brought us up in a Spartan way.

We lived on whatever meagre income accrued to him; being an incorruptible judge meant that he lived within his means, And what's more? He bullied his family to conform to his standard, and none dared confront him for whatever reason.

But then, he taught us some invaluable lessons that have endured with us till date; particularly regarding me, I learnt to be content with whatever Allah bestows upon me.

As a family man, my dad was deeply rooted in his community, and I believe that also helped shape my perspective on the importance of social responsibility, hence impacted on the various roles I later played in life too.

However, I must not fail to mention that my greatest influence in all my accomplishments in life remains my late mother.

2. Looking back across your journey, from the classroom to public discourse, from the literary space to national leadership, which moment most profoundly altered the trajectory of your life, and why?

For me, it was when I realised the power of writing to inspire change. I was involved in various rural/community development projects, and way back I faced resistance from some quarters. But through sheer determination, I engaged with the community, and was able to shift the narrative and bring about positive change.

No doubt, those experiences stayed with me and shaped my approach to writing and public discourse.

3. Every serious thinker has a silent fear and a stubborn hope. What is the greatest fear that has shadowed your intellectual journey, and what hope has refused to die?

My greatest fear is the erosion of critical thinking and the rise of misinformation, particularly, in a world where social media can amplify falsehoods. I worry about the impact on our collective future.

But my hope is that, we can build a more informed, empathetic, and just society, where writers and thinkers can contribute to positive change.

4. If your younger self were seated across from you today, what hard truth would you insist he accepts, even if it unsettles him?

I would tell him to be more patient, to listen more, and to prioritise relationships over achievements.

I think we often get caught up in the rat race and forget what's truly important.

I would advise him to take time to reflect, to nurture his relationships, and to stay true to himself.

Literature as Calling, Weapon and Witness

5. Literature in Nigeria has often been both a mirror and a machete, reflecting society while cutting through falsehood. How do you personally conceive the moral responsibility of the Nigerian writer in this era?

As writers, we have a moral responsibility to speak truth to power, challenge injustices, and amplify marginalised voices.

We must use our platforms to promote empathy, understanding, and social justice.

That's what literature is all about – using the power of words to shape our world.

6. Your body of work straddles creative writing, social commentary and policy analysis. Do you see yourself first as a writer who analyses policy, or a policy thinker who writes creatively, or is that distinction false?

For me, writing is a way to analyse and address societal issues. I don't see myself as just a writer or a policy thinker – I am a writer who uses various forms to engage with the world. The boundaries between genres are blurred, and I think that's where the most interesting conversations happen.

It is interesting that my primary calling- agriculture, and my passion- literature, both play significant roles in shaping my perspectives. I teach project planning and implementation and of course, policy and development under agriculture in the university.

Having an inclination towards the literary sphere offers me the platform to aerate my views to a broader public.

7. Which of your literary works best captures your philosophical essence, and which one do you believe remains most misunderstood?

That's a tough one! But I think my works in this regard are these two: "Midlife memoirs: Connecting with my past", prose and "Verdant Verses", a poetry collection.

They both capture my concerns about social justice, inequality, and the human condition.

But I guess some readers might misinterpret my intentions. That's the risk we take as writers!

8. Nigerian literature has produced giants whose pens unsettled empires and governments. Do you believe contemporary Nigerian writers have lost some of that radical courage, or has resistance merely changed form?

I don't think contemporary writers have lost courage; I think they have adapted their resistance strategies, particularly, when those they currently face were at a time their fellow comrades who are now active in the political realm.

We are facing different challenges now, and writers are finding new ways to engage, challenge, and subvert. The pen is still mighty, and I still aver that Nigerian writers are using it to shape our world.

Academia, Agriculture and Public Policy

9. As a lecturer in Agriculture, a field often perceived as distant from literature, how has your academic discipline shaped your worldview as a writer and public intellectual?

Like I earlier mentioned, my background in Agriculture has given me a unique perspective on various aspects of human endeavour like food security, climate change, and rural development - many thanks to my mentor in this regard: Professor Abayomi Omotesho, former Deputy Vice Chancellor Academic at the University of Ilorin. As a writer, I have been able to explore these issues in a way that's accessible to a broader audience. It's a fascinating intersection of disciplines!

It was while I was the Relationship Manager Agriculture and Food, in charge of Kwara, Niger and the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja with the First Bank of Nigeria PLC, that I began to pen down my experiences on the field, thereby adopting the story telling strategy to express my thoughts.

Good enough, a close acquaintance introduced me to the Association of Nigerian Authors, Niger State chapter around 1998, and indeed, that affiliation has been quite rewarding.

My coordination activities activities while I presided at the Kwara State Fadama Development Project was also helpful in providing insights that influenced my writings too!

10. Nigeria’s food security crisis, climate pressures and rural poverty are deepening. From your professional standpoint, where has policy failed most tragically, and what is the cost of that failure?

We have, without doubt, had stories of policy successes, but more conspicuous are policy failures, arising from oft-repeated policy summersaults, particularly in supporting small-scale farmers. We do, however, require sustainable solutions that prioritise the most vulnerable and promote agricultural development. The cost of failure is too high – we must get this right.

The incessant insecurity is the greatest threat today. What's more, we have a burgeoning class of uneducated individuals, itinerant with their begging bowls, who are readily recruited to subvert security.

Hence, we continue to import foodstuffs that ought to have been produced domestically, owing to an inability to contain the scourge of kidnapping, banditry, and other manifestations of insurgency, variously fomented by religious zealots and ethnic jingoists.

11. Do you worry that intellectuals in Nigeria are increasingly confined to classrooms and conferences, rather than shaping real policy outcomes?

Of course, I worry that we are often marginalised or co-opted. But I believe intellectuals have a critical role to play in shaping national discourse. We must stay engaged, challenge power, and promote critical thinking.

The ANA Presidency and the Question of Leadership

12. Your re-election as President of the Association of Nigerian Authors was widely interpreted as a vote of confidence. How did that process unfold, and what do you believe made your leadership worthy of renewal?

I am humbled by the trust members have placed in me. I believe my leadership has been about promoting reconciliation after a long drawn battle among ANA members post 2015 and 2019 Association's elections.

Gradually, we improved upon relationships, initiated programmes that promoted literary excellence and social engagement like the ANA book party and literary bootcamp camps; we also strengthened existing programmes like Mbari quarterly discourse event, the Yusuf Ali Literary Awareness Campaign and the annual convention programmes.

We also collaborated with the Pan African Writers Association through the indefatigable Secretary General Dr. Wale Okediran and of course, the collaboration with President of the World Organization Of Writers (WOW) Ms Margarita Almukhametova. The collaboration effort was further boosted with Abuja being declared UNESCO's city of literature for 2026. All these wouldn't have been possible but for the support of the generality of ANA members.

I am particularly indebted in this regard to Emeritus Professor Femi Osofisan, Chairman ANA Board of Trustees; Emeritus Professor Olu Obafemi, Chairman College of Fellows, and of course the appointed Developer for the Mamman Vatsa Writers Village, Col. K. K. Shaw. On the list of influencers are also past presidents of the association upon whose legacies, I have been building upon. I am certainly committed to continuing this work that has been assigned to me on trust!

13. Leadership often reveals more critics than admirers. What were the most difficult moments of your first tenure, and how did they test your convictions?

There have been challenging moments, particularly navigating conflicting opinions within ANA. There are however some persons who tried to undermine me during my first tenure of office but thanks to the unflinching support of my executive council members, I was able to overcome them. More importantly, I tried to stay true to my values and prioritise the needs of our members.

14. In clear terms, what is your vision for ANA in the next phase- institutionally, creatively and globally?

I envision ANA as a vibrant, inclusive community that promotes literary excellence, advocates for writers' rights, and engages with the broader society. We must be a voice for social justice and a champion of Nigerian literature.

15. How do you intend to protect the welfare, dignity and economic survival of writers, particularly younger and emerging voices?

Our first task on assumption of office was to stabilise ANA, coming after a long period of altercations, here and there. So far, we have succeeded, in exception of a former presidential aspirant of the association, who took us to court and is requesting for a settlement of five hundred million naira! Notwithstanding this, I am working on initiatives to improve writers' lot, as best as we can, particularly, in areas of writers' works visibility and advocacy for better royalties. We must recognise the value of creative work and support our writers.

16. ANA has historically been a moral compass in Nigeria’s cultural life. How do you intend to ensure it remains relevant, fearless and financially sustainable?

We will continue to be a voice for social justice, promoting critical thinking and challenging injustices. Thankfully the land bestowed on us by late Mamman Vatsa has metamorphosed into an elaborate facility that will no doubt continue to aid the association's financial stability and its sustainability.

Writers, Survival and Nigeria’s Tax Reforms

17. Nigeria’s evolving tax reforms have generated intense debate. From your policy lens, what do these reforms mean for ordinary Nigerians, particularly those in the creative and intellectual economy?

We are certainly concerned about the impact on not just creative professionals but Nigerians as a whole. We have made a public advocacy through press releases in this regard. We however need more nuanced policies that recognise the unique realities of creative labour too.

18. Writers often earn irregular incomes, royalties and freelance payments. Do current tax frameworks recognise the peculiar realities of creative labour, or do they inadvertently punish it?

Exactly! Current tax frameworks often overlook the peculiarities of creative work. We need fairness and flexibility.

19. Should writers and creative professionals be granted special tax considerations, and if so, how can this be ethically justified within national revenue needs?

Yes, considering the societal value of creative work, I think special considerations are justified. We must balance national revenue needs with the need to support creative labour.

20. Has ANA engaged government on fiscal policy as it affects writers, and what outcomes should members realistically expect?

We are still struggling to get government attention, for they hardly give us audience, on like in the past. I believe two things must have been responsible for this: our recent internal squabbles; and secondly, the politicians these days often behave arrogantly towards or is it loathes writers, a contrast to what is obtainable in other serious climes that I have visited, where writers are given a pride of place.

Of course, the politicians acknowledges a few writers who they seek to befriend for ulterior motives. What we expect from any reasonable government wishing to promote its arts and culture enterprise is concrete outcomes that support creatives.

The association of Nigerian Authors, the foremost and biggest writer body on the African continent is a veritable body they should be engaged with to achieve this objective!

Nigeria, Governance and the Burden of the Moment

21. Nigeria stands at a crossroads of economic hardship, democratic anxiety and social distrust. In your assessment, what is the single most dangerous illusion Nigeria is currently living under?

Poverty is a growing menace in Nigeria, thereby engendering a concomitant proliferation of insecurity. Unfortunately, we are living with the illusion of quick fixes.

We therefore need long-term, inclusive development strategies that prioritise the most vulnerable in the society.

22. Do you believe Nigerian intellectuals have failed the nation by retreating into silence or caution, and how can that trend be reversed?

No, but we can do more. Intellectuals have a critical role in shaping national discourse. We must be more courageous, more engaged, and more committed to social justice.

23. What role should writers play in rebuilding civic trust in an era of disinformation, propaganda and shrinking civic space?

Writers should challenge disinformation, promote empathy, and contribute to informed public debate. We must use our platforms to shape our world.

Global Politics, Power Shifts and the World Order

24. The global economy is witnessing renewed protectionism, populism and ideological rivalry. What do the Trump–Venezuela dynamics reveal about power, sanctions and moral consistency in global politics?

We are seeing a shift in global politics, and Africa must adapt. We need equitable international relations, regional cooperation, and strategic engagement. Unfortunately, Mr. Trump is creating a world in which international rules and etiquettes are seriously being undermined!

25. Are we witnessing the unravelling of the post-World War II global order, or merely its mutation?

Of course! The global order is evolving, and Africa must assert its interests. We need a more just and equitable world order. Like earlier noted, Trump under America isn't helping with his new theatrics that keeps befuddling the world. When Professor Wole Soyinka warned about his monstrousness during the November 2025 Association of Nigerian Authors' convention, I was somewhat bemused but within space of a month, I became alarmed. Obviously, Prof. knew more than what we thought - America under Trump has become something else!

26. How should African nations, and African intellectuals, navigate a world increasingly shaped by economic coercion, geopolitical hypocrisy and transactional diplomacy?

We must prioritise regional cooperation, economic diversification, and strategic engagement. We must also promote African voices and perspectives.

27. What lessons should Nigeria learn from Venezuela’s economic experience, particularly in managing resources, sanctions and governance?

We must diversify our economy, strengthen institutions, and prioritise transparency. The dangers of over-reliance on oil are clear.

We must stop treating insecurity issues with kids gloves; otherwise, we will be far from the curve of changing for the better!

The Writer as Citizen of the World

28. In a globalised yet fragmented world, how does the African writer remain rooted without being provincial, and global without being alienated?

It's a delicate balance, but I think African writers must stay connected to their communities and cultures while engaging with global themes and audiences.

We must be aware of our unique perspectives and experiences, and use them to contribute to global conversations.

At the same time, we must avoid being parochial or isolated, and instead, seek to understand and engage with the world around us.

29. What responsibility do Nigerian writers in the diaspora and at home owe each other in shaping a coherent national narrative?

I think Nigerian writers, regardless of where they are in the world, have a shared responsibility to promote our literature and tell our stories.

We must support and collaborate with each other as well as one another, and work together to showcase the richness and diversity of Nigerian literature.

Whether at home or abroad, we must stay connected to our roots and contribute to the development of our national narrative.

Legacy, Memory and the Future

30. When history finally writes its verdict, how would you like to be remembered: as an administrator, a thinker, a writer, or something else entirely?

I would like to be remembered as someone who used his talents and platforms to make a positive impact on his community and society.

I would want to be remembered for my contribution to the literary environment through ANA and of course, my pet project, the Imodoye Writers Enclave (IWE), a writers residency and resort.

If I am remembered as a writer, thinker, and advocate for social justice, I will consider that a great honour!

31. What institutional legacy do you hope your leadership will leave within ANA long after you are gone?

I harbour the aspiration to contribute meaningfully to the endeavour of cultivating robust and resilient future generations of writers and leaders.

It is my ardent wish that, long after my tenure has concluded, the Association of Nigerian Authors will persist as a bastion of social justice and a stalwart advocate for Nigerian literature.

32. If Nigerian writers fifty years from now study this era, what warning and what wisdom would you want them to extract from it?

I would want them to learn from our mistakes and successes.

I would want them to know that many of us, preceding them, stayed true to our values and used our platforms to promote positive change.

And I would want them to remember that literature has the power to shape our world, and that they have a responsibility to use that power wisely.

33. Finally, what question do you wish journalists would ask you more often; but rarely do?

I would love to be asked about my vision for Nigerian literature, and how I think writers can contribute to national development. I think we have a critical role to play in shaping our national narrative and promoting social justice. Let's have that conversation!

An Archival Interview Series is a series for The Words Finesse (TWF) in partnership with Factual Naija News (FNN)

These words are famous like Lincoln

Erudite and oratory as Luther King

Heavy like Sullivan and Fury-

Jabs you would gladly pray miss you

Spittle and sparkle

Spewing that bubbles

Raging that troubles like

The stomach rumbles-

The trait of wordsmith

Watch a fate like the weather

What a solitary and enduring trip

Like clouds in the heavens...

- Abdulhafeez Oyewole is a multi-media journalist and a Nigerian poet with two poetry collections: Tides of Verses and Air Around Us.

Ayuba Big, where are you?

(For KWASU Deputy Bursar whose departure keeps hurting)

Big is the echo of your death
Mighty man of accountability
Integrity was your armour
Diligence, your sword

Why would you sneak away in triumph
As bees moved away from popo
And buffalo migrated from the hinterland

Like the sea waves which tremble before the shore
Few days to your shadowy evasion
Your ebullient frame was hovering in the bursary’s corridor
Flowery were the vouchers welcoming you to the office
As you counter-checked balance sheets

Little did we know you would saunter into your paradise so soon
At your rear were Death waves in fluffy velvets blown by wailers’ tears
Throng of sympathisers in dark apparitions trailing your ghost
A multitude of your fellows in moody celebration of your sudden departure

Weary our souls, our souls weary in painful memory of the gargantuan loss
Your death sweeping off our feet as a hurricane does to buildings
Our owls becoming dumb in the face of your hasty announcement

Ayuba Big,
Benevolence was your birth
Like princes and prophets of hallowed days
Infectious was your service to mankind
A rare gem in the administration of KWASU
A worthy descendant of Alamoyo

Tandi Tandi, your dance steps

Now that we have condemned Tandi
For playing the devil’s advocate
With his wobbling dance steps on the stage
Indeed it was an eyesore to behold
As if I was seeing mucus running down a toddler’s nostrils
Such nauseating steps as offensive as the ill-disposed excreta
Scattered by the playful toes of the hen

Tandi Tandi has volunteered to take up the dance
You would think a leprous horse was displaying

With the dog squatting
We decided to go for a monkey
Between monkey and dog
Who squats most?

Tandi we say does not know how to dance

*Tandi---- moron

Chorus of Hope

Let’s hear each other
Fellow caravan in the wilderness of hope
As we wander from furrow to furrow
In desultory chase of shadowy rendezvous
Or is ours a seasonless toil?

As we trudge on in the labyrinth of the famished

Like scavengers of the modern time
Our pace is neither slow nor fast
Our step-in wobbling crisscrosses

Lend me your ears
Let my chant minister to your restless legs
My cerebral ballads, an ointment for your swollen ankles
When windy words bear my mission to the weary and the thirsty

I sing to their hearing
Power mongers and warehouse centurions
Who turn deaf ears to the bloating of their captives
With tuneful parables and proverbial cacophonies
My healing song for their swollen conscience

*Kehinde Reuben Akano, is a Professor with the English Department of the Kwara State University, Malete. He is an award-winning poet.

A keen observer would have noticed the apolitical pretentions of the writers that populate the Nigeria's writers body.

The first thing you observe is some kind of grandstanding, a pretention to a non existent political piety.

It is said that the writer is the conscience of the nation. This is however one of those numerous unexamined expressions that only massages the ego but 'signifies nothing'.

The writers of any nation are either as good or as bad as the institutions that produced them. The snake cannot cease giving birth to lengthy offsprings.

Here in Nigeria abound numerous examples of fine (even great writers) who took up political offices and have not been any different from the regular Nigerian politicians. They write beautiful literatures in defence of evil.

Perhaps, it would be safer to say that the writer in a country with the culture of sanity is the conscience of the nation while the writer in a country with the culture of subversion is the albatross of the nation. In Nigeria, it appears the latter prevails. No doubt there might be few isolated exceptions, they do not form a substantial pattern to be called the conscience of the nation.

One therefore is often quite bemused when, at every election year of the Association of Nigerian Authors, some 'politicians' unleash all manners of blackmail to either win or help their candidates to win. Every election year these writer-politicians conjure this 'conscience of the nation' cliche to whip up false sentiments.

This holier-than-thou posturing of the Nigerian writer has not helped the writers' body because anything founded on false pretenses cannot be sustainable. Other organizations like that of the lawyers, doctors, journalists, teachers, actors, etc make bold to play their politics without pretences. And these bodies are recognised by the Nigerian state. In the Association of Nigerian Authors, the politics of succession is played the Nigerian way with all the accompanying vitriols, bitterness, slander, calumny, intimidations, blackmail, underhand manipulations and rampaging impunity. The only difference is in the bare-faced denial of the obvious by the writers. It did not start today. From Makurdi to Yenagoa to Owerri to Minna to Zaria to Illorin to Uyo to Abuja to Enugu, etc the story is the same.

We have seen 'acciuntability,' ANA Land, identity revalidation, etc weaponized every election year. We have seen the police, the courts, the DSS and even the army used exactly the same way they are used in normal partisan politics in Nigeria, yet the writers pretend they are not like the regular Nigerian politician.

At Enugu Denja was accused of all kinds of criminal acts, Camillus was labeled Denja's stooge and Maiwada was accused of importing non writers and even using his position as legal adviser to do some shady things on the ANA Land... Now at Abuja I hear that Denja is no longer the criminal, Camillus is now the 'embezxler of funds' but no longer Denja's stooge, in fact, I heard the new president was labeled Camillus' stooge.

Perhaps, Maiwada didn't feature quite prominently this time because he did not come out to campaign.

Some platforms masquerading as preaching unity were actually being used to advance certain political interests. Nobody was spared in the onslaught. Even the good Dr Gomba who meritoriously won the NLNG Literature Prize was subtly blackmailed and asked to abandon his quest to be vice president for a fictitious 'unity' conversation. All was politics!

The sad part is that amidst all these shenanigans nobody is taking note of the real concrete gains. Nobody seems to have noticed that this year's electoral contest was very keen and balanced. Nobody appears to have noticed that in spite of the bickerings on the side by the one-eyed mourners who mourn more than the bereaved, the contestants themselves tried to make their campaigns issue based. No one seems to have noticed that the avalanche of congratulatory messages pouring in to the eventual winners, particularly the president, cuts across the pre-election divides. These are gains. It means there is hope for the association. No matter how slow paced, the association is making progress.

My only fear is of the vicious cycle where every election year the writers are dragged through this tortuous route that leaves injuries that take long to heal, sometimes they never heal.

Now that the elections are over, can the writers take out time to focus their writings on self examination? Let the writers first purge themselves of the daemon of denial, tell themselves through their writings the bitter truth that there is no difference between them and the regular Nigerian politicians, then begin to speculate and imagine how they can make the politics of their association a model.

If a writer is convinced that a leader of their association betrayed the trust of his/her office then it must be followed up with proper judicial prosecution and not the same media trial always deployed by regular Nigerian politicians.

Perhaps, this is the time for Nigerian writers to sheath their swords, go back to the drawing board and see if they can give substance to the phrase 'conscience of the nation' or just let the phrase remain an empty expression that signifies nothing.

Congratulations to you Mr President and your new EXCO. I wish you good luck.

- Chidozie Chukwubuike writes from Owerri, Imo State.

Àkànbí, dance like the small snail!

Path to victory, like
the red road to freedom...
splinters of bottles!
heavy load of horns
with an image of lion's head
the length of an ìrókò
is a boulevard of terror
when the beast of road
roars like a lion,
how many hearts dare wait?
it's only the tough griot
that chants
when the rhythm of music goes cryptic
triumph is a twin brother of shellacking...
one,
slim...
the other,
fat!
Don't you know that:
(Ayọ̀ a bí ara tí!ntín!)?
victory is an idiom of the hunter's win
at the twilight... Ships of victory
do not sink at the instance
of the tempest of gremlins
Usman Ọládiípò Àkànbí,
your victory is the proverb of ọ̀kẹ̀rẹ́
who climbs the high ìrókò tree
and shames the foes!

Àkànbí, wield your victory wand!
001 of ANA,
you perch on the roof:
your ears grasp every word!

- Dr. Sàngódáre Àyìnlá is a member of ANA and Information Officer with the Kwara State Ministry of Communications.

All hail Usman Akanbi
Omo Baba ICPC
Omo ojumokan, ofin kan
Akanbi, icon of Mustapha
the legal wizard

In your hand is a winnowing fork
As you salvage the savages' dungeon
As your elephant marches on a wet ground
Your steppings digging up Oasis of fortune
Your priest providing for acolytes and initiates during harvest

All hail ANA's standard bearer
In his hand is the gavel truth
the healing staff for the weaklings
In your hand is ANA's legendary optical
Its lens sharper than binoculars or microscope
Its diagnosis fairer than aiyekooto's
It's elegy passionate than the owl's

All hail Usman Ola
for his offer humane service
Its ANA's benignity to mankind

Akanbi, ANA''s guardian servant
In his mouth is an ode
Chorusing the anthem of his predecessors
ANA's avatar and living ancestors

All hail Usman Akanbi Oladipo
In his chest is a breastplate of words
It is his stinging armour
His tongue sharpened by Achebe's anti-colonial vibes

All hail you Akanbi Oladipo
Icon of the legendary ICPC pioneer helmsman
Pious is thy mission in ANA of Nigeria
Our ANA of humanity

- Dr Kehinde Rueben Akano, an award winning poet, is an Associate Professor in the English Department of the Kwara State University.

Dr Obari Gomba, winner NLNG Literature Prize for 2023

Obari Gomba, an Associate Dean of Humanities at the University of Port Harcourt, has won the Nigerian Prize for Literature 2023.

Gomba, a poet and playwright, who teaches Literature and Creative Writing at University of Port Harcourt, won with his Drama book, Grit.

He emerged from 145 entries, 11 Longlist and later Three Shortlist, beating two other playwrights in a fiercely contested finals at Eko Hotel and Suites, Lagos, on October13, 2023.

The other playwrights are; Abideen Abolaji Ojomu (Ojuelegba Crossroads) and Henry Akubuiro (Yamtarawala – The Warrior King).

With his victory, which is coming after five attempts at the prize, across three 11 Longlists and two Three Shortlists, Gomba takes home $100,000 grand Prize in the winner takes-it-all contest.

The NLNG Finalists

In his acceptance speech, he commended the NLNG for the prize platform, which he said has positively impacted Nigerian literature and creative industry at large, while commending other two contestants, who he described as winners too.

Apart from the highly coveted Nigerian Prize for Literature, the NLNG also announced Eyoh Etim, a lecturer at Akwa Ibom State University, as winner of Literary Criticism Prize. Eyoh takes home $10, 000 for his literary prowess at the contest.

As well, Hippolite Amadi, a professor of Medical Engineering & Technology, Imperial College London, won the 2023 Nigerian Prize for Science.

Earlier in his opening remarks at the ceremony, Philip Mshelbila, managing director/chief executive officer, Nigeria LNG Limited, noted that the 2023 prize ceremony holds on the theme ‘Redefination’, in line with the need to reevaluate our priorities, visions and to push for change that will make the world a better place for businesses and humans.

Speaking on the prizes, the NLNG boss noted that the authors have used the power of words to redefine values, institute change and call attention to things that need to be preserved in a fast changing world.

He commended all the writers for exhibiting a high level of literary ingenuity, while assuring on sustained support for the prizes.

Who is Obari Gomba?

Obari Gomba (PhD) teaches Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Port Harcourt in Nigeria, and is an Honorary Fellow in Writing of the University of Iowa (USA). He is a recipient of Rivers ANA Distinguished Writer Award, Halogen Award for Poetry, and Kangaroo Poetry Festival Poet of 2018. He is a two-time winner of both the Best Literary Artiste Award and the First Prize for Drama of the English Association of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. His works include Guerrilla Post (Winner of ANA Drama Prize 2018/ Shortlisted for the Nigeria Prize for Literature 2018), For Every Homeland (Winner of ANA Poetry Prize 2017/ Shortlisted for the Nigeria Prize for Literature 2017), Thunder Protocol (Winner of ANA Poetry Prize 2016), Length of Eyes (Shortlisted for ANA Poetry Prize in 2013 /Shortlisted for the Nigeria Prize for Literature 2013), and Pearls of the Mangrove (adopted as a ‘Book of the Festival’ for the 2011 Garden City Literary Festival and the 2019 Festival Poetry Calabar). He curated an anthology featuring 35 writers from 33 countries, entitled A Piece of Daily Life, for the International Writing Program of the University of Iowa (USA) in 2016.

His poetry has been featured in Re-Markings: A World Assembly of Poets and The Second Genesis: An Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry. His poetry has been published in international journals such as Prosopisia, Sentinel, Maple Tree Literary Supplement and Eleven Eleven (which listed his ‘Gun Policy’ in the 20 Best of the Net for 2016). He has read his poems in the United States at Shambaugh House (University of Iowa), Dubuque Museum of Arts, Oaknell Retirement Centre, and Kirkwood. In Nigeria, he has read his poems at Alliance Francaise in Enugu, Lagos International Poetry Festival, Lagos Book and Art Festival, Abuja Writers Forum, Nigerian Institute of International Affairs, Port Harcourt Book Festival, Art Republic/Art-in-My-City Exhibition in Enugu, History Concourse in Port Harcourt, and CORA Book Party for the Nigeria Prize for Literature, etc. He has also read his poems and discussed literature (and politics) on media platforms such as Radio Rivers FM, Nigerian Info FM, Rhythm FM, Radio UST FM, Garden City FM, Unique (Uniport) FM, NTA, and CCTV Africa.

His poems were performed by the Portland Stage Company in Maine USA in 2016. His other writings have also appeared in Matatu, African Review, Africa Oil+Gas Report, Tydskrif vir Letterkunde, Oja, Third Text, Jeltan, ANA Review, Culture Digest, Crucible, Working Papers, The Muse, Mgbakoigba, New Age, Lagos Review of Books and Society, This Day, The News, etc. There is a chapter on his writing in Masterpieces of African Literature; and his works have been reviewed/mentioned in 234 Next, The Guardian, The Guardian Life, This Day, The Sun, National Life, Punch, Nigerian Tribune, The Nation, Ago, etc.

His work, as a teacher at the University of Port Harcourt, has deepened his interest in human capital development. Beyond teaching in the classroom, he also offered service as a moderator for Christopher Okigbo Foundation/Conference; as a facilitator/resource person to the International Writing Program’s MOOC; as a panelist for Iowa Book Festival; as the LOC Chairman of the 3rd International Conference on Tanure Ojaide; as the Festival Coordinator of the Gabriel Okara Literary Festival; as a moderator at Lagos International Poetry Festival; as a moderator at Lagos Book and Art Festival; as a writing workshop facilitator for Port Harcourt UNESCO World Book Capital, Port Harcourt Book Festival, and Niger Delta Creative Writers’ Workshop; as a judge for Port Harcourt Carnival and Bayelsa State ANA; as a book reviewer and editor for Hornbill House of Arts; and as a resource person on advocacy to the Ministry of Economic Planning of Delta State in conjunction with ODA/UNDP. He understands that a knowledge-based society is crucial to development in the 21st century.

Dr Obari Gomba is the 2021 Global South Visiting Professor

This brief was culled from: TORCHOxford.

Photo credit: Oziel Gomez

David drove to his office in a daze. Glad that work had ended for the day and most of the staff had gone, including his secretary, he flung himself in his chair, stretched his legs on top of the files strewn across his desk and shut his eyes.

Man, he had not expected such a hot brickbat. But then perhaps it was what he needed. Nagging fear clutched his heart: was there still any hope left for him and Njideka? Had they gone too far down the slippery road to the point of no return? Reverend Adolphus had assured him that all hope was not yet lost. ‘As long as the signals have not completely died out you can recharge the batteries. If you still love her make the move. Like you did when you were chasing her. In spite of all this women lib stuff the ladies still want bedroom warriors. At least most of them.’ David had come away rather amazed that a man of the pulpit could talk so forthrightly and knowledgeably about matters of the flesh. But then the young Anglican clergyman was one of the most maverick pastors in town. In addition to his degrees in theology and Biblical studies, he earned a first-class degree in Psychology from the University of Ibadan. Male members of his parish often held up his wife as a model of godly sexiness to their wives and girlfriends.

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David sighed and let the Technicolor slides of the past five years with Njideka play in his mind. It was all as fresh as yesterday and now as sad as a bleak rainy day. He met Njideka at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Whether it was love or lust or a combination of both at first sight, neither could say. None of them cared either because they ended up in David’s bachelor pad after the party, tearing off each other’s clothes and burrowing into each other in a sheer wave of carnality that made them forsake the bed and take to the floor. It should have been a one-night stand but apparently they could not get enough of each other. Both had so much in common: they were Anglicans; their home villages was just three kilometres away from each other in Imo State; they got their degrees from Abia State University, though David majored in History while Njideka started off with Economics before switching to her dream discipline, Law. Both were top students, amazingly missing first-class by cat’s whiskers. Both were driven and super-ambitious. Both were opinionated and relished challenges.

And both felt they had found the one who would meet the needs of their hearts without any yeye compromise. When they got married, David was a middle-level manager at Straight Kings, the leading HR firm in Lagos and clearly headed for the top. Njideka was already making her mark as one of the dynamites of Femi, Kanu and Iroko Chambers, the undisputed leading light of the private legal enterprise in South-Western Nigeria. Within two years of marriage, the bedroom was replaced by the office. Files, phones and laptops took the place of pillows, duvets and bedsheets. Sex, whenever it happened, was a pain in the ass and a clear obstacle to planning the latest Power-Point presentation or preparing briefs for those legal fireworks. But then certain marital duties had to be performed. After two years during which they prospered financially from their exertions, subtle hints came from families and friends about a little boy or girl in the house. Njideka would not deny her brooding but she was also hungering to be a senior partner in the illustrious chambers and possibly be in charge if the head honchos set up a branch in the East. A baby would not be convenient for now. She was glad her man was the modern, yuppie, career-driven New Age husband who would not be tied by traditional concepts of the marital life.

Alas, it was not to be. David was still a man and his machete demanded a farm to weed. Rebuffed repeatedly, he called Njideka in for a serious talk. He got the shock of his life when his wife made it clear her fast-track as the female power house of Femi and Associates would not be derailed, even by konji. The resentment and quarrels got too much for both of them. Soon they talked only in monosyllables, and only on the most essential and most mundane matters. Somehow, despite all the hints he got from attractive female colleagues and clients, David held out, temporarily quenching matters with porn and masturbation. Anger seethed in him. One night, he got home and had an awful fight with Njideka, turning into an almost demented tiger. ‘Fuck the career-climbing. I didn’t bargain for this.’

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‘Well, you have it and you better live with it. Dick and pussy doesn’t bring the good life,’ she thundered back, a sexy hellcat at that moment.

‘My learned friend, go get the divorce papers. I can’t go on like this.’

‘What did you say, David?’

‘You heard me. This is no marriage; it is a goddamned board meeting.’ He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the house. He returned to the office, thankfully free of staff, and for the first time in ten years, cried his eyes out. He did not know that Njideka was also soaking her legal briefs with tears and struggling with her personal demons and desires. David ended up in a night-club and in the arms of a big-breasted escort who confessed he nearly ‘killed’ her with his wild waist sciences.

The home front was now broken. Each passed the other tight-lipped in the corridors. Each went out for days on end without keeping the other informed. David half-expected divorce summons any day.

Hot guilt over his repeated sweet trysts at night-clubs filled his heart. One night, after a rollicking session with another escort, he went into the bathroom to clean up and broke down in tears.

‘Why are you crying?’

He turned. It was Marcie, the escort. He doubted it was her real name. She was dragging on her cigarette, her lush tresses falling wildly down her shoulders, her most suckable breasts unbridled beneath her towel. Her long legs were raw sex on the move.

David knew he should just shut up and leave but he so badly wanted to unburden his heart.

‘My marriage is gone.'

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘Why should I?’

Marcie‘s smile was sincerely sympathetic. ‘It will do you some good and at least clear your head to drive home without tears blurring your eyes. Come.’ She led him like a mother guiding her troubled son to the small but neat sitting-room. She retired into the bedroom where they had turned the earth upside down in a frenzy of coition and returned, decently dressed in a T-shirt and knee-length skirt. She handed him a Coke and sat opposite him.

‘Talk. I will listen.’

David could not believe her disposition. But then he had read somewhere that prostitutes give men far more life-saving services than mere release of konji. He sighed and talked. When he finished, an almost visible silence filled the room for a couple of minutes. Marcie looked up and smiled enigmatically.

‘No wonder you were thrusting like tomorrow will never come.’ She paused, apparently ignoring David’s discomfort which he tried to hide with gulps of Coca-Cola.

‘Go home, take her in your arms and give it to her as you gave it to me.’

David looked at her as if she was a bundle of idiocy.

‘Haven’t you been listening to me?’

‘Sure, loverboy, I have.’ She reached for a cigarette, noticed the flicker of disapproval in his lovely eyes and decided to humor him. ‘See, I am a woman and I can bet you all you paid me tonight that right now your lady is in deep torment. She wants her career badly but her body craves for you, the man she loves. Be her man. Love her till she is healed; then both of you find the balance. The golden mean, as good old Aristotle said.’

The high-flying HR expert did not know his mouth was wide open in sheer amazement. Sure, things had so degenerated in Nigeria that undergraduates and graduates were taking to prostitution, popularly known as hustling, to make ends meet. But he never thought the day would come when he would see a commercial sex worker tossing off Aristotelian philosophy.

‘Jesus' was all he could say when he regained control of his mouth.

‘Indeed. Now go and do it and may the one you called just now help you.’

David sighed heavily. His guilt-riddled countenance was as readable as a CNN headline. Marcie guessed what was troubling him.

‘You have made the mistake. If things were okay between you two, you wouldn’t be here. Who knows what she might have done since you guys became Iran and Iraq? Healthy women love to meet the needs of their clit, you know.’ There was no element of vulgarity in her voice. ‘Go, and good luck.’

They stood and stared at each other. Marcie ‘s hazel eyes looked so much like his favorite late aunt’s that he had to restrain himself from hugging her. At the door, he turned and spoke softly.

‘You are much more educated than me. Why are you doing this job?’

‘Because somebody has to do it. I have served you a great purpose tonight, abi?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

As soon as the door closed behind him, Marcie went into the bedroom, lit a cigarette and let her tears flow. For herself. For the man whom David reminded her of; the man she loved like no other and had been killed fighting against Boko Haram as a Lieutenant and member of the Special Anti-Terrorist Squadron of the Nigerian Army.

After two days of mental struggle David went to see the funky but wise man of God.

~~~~~~

Njideka sipped her cognac and smiled humorlessly. She had never been much of a drinker, even socially, but recently she had taken to relaxing with some cognac after the day’s labors. Loneliness at home inevitably increased the quantity she downed. ‘Watch it, Nji girl, or you might end up a shayo mistress,’ she said to herself. She closed her eyes to imagine herself in an inebriate state and laughed bitterly. She set down the glass on a side stool, stood up and glanced at the wall –clock. 8.30p.m. She was not expecting David home but a heart-breaking pang of sorrow hit her hard as she reflected on how they came to this sad pass. She shivered as she vividly remembered those x-rated texts David used to send her towards the closure of work. Texts that got her wet between the legs and made her silently but venomously curse anyone who dumped any work on her desk at that time. Those days when they discussed work and ended up fucking on top of files.

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Where had it all gone, she wondered for the millionth time. Where is the spring and the summer, as the hit Swedish pop band Abba sang in their heart-tugging masterpiece ‘Hasta Manana.’ She began to pace the elegant room. It was the master guest-room in their de luxe six-room bungalow; she had moved into it shortly before the conflagration that was consuming their marriage. Initially she had not intended to remain cooped up there at nights, just pausing to keep sexual heat away from the growing demands of her job. But David had gone beyond reason so there was no point returning to their bedroom. But now, as she took in the expansive bed, the beginning of tears formed in her eyes. Without any deliberate plan to do so, she stopped before the in-built full-length mirror situated in the far left cream-colored wall. Her eyes fell on her reflection which was amplified by the bright light overhead.

Photo credit: Kelly Sikkema

At twenty-nine years, she had the figure of a woman nine years younger. Endowed with a beautiful ripe-pear complexion, average height and a small, neat, curvy body that could excite unholy thoughts in a priest, her oval face could not be described as classically beautiful. But the sum of her impish dark eyes, the well-carved nose, smooth and immensely kissable lips and high-cheek bones gave her demeanour an arresting attractiveness. Her breasts were by no means the typical big African mangoes but they always looked like determined rebels whenever she was on the move, even in her legal attire. Whatever she wore sat neatly on her compact backside. It was the movement of her backside under her denim skirt at the party that got David into trouble.

She sighed deeply and looked at the small mesh of lines at the corner of her eyes. Where had they come from? She had not seen them before. Or perhaps they had been there but she had apparently not noticed them. To think there was a time these lines were not there and her sunlight had not dimmed. She returned to the sofa beside her bed and reached for the bottle of cognac. At that moment the front door bell rang. She paused. The bell rang again as she got up.

‘Who is it?’

‘Me.’ It was David.

Njideka glanced at the clock. 9.15p.m. The rat was rather home early today. Steeling herself to look unbothered; she approached the door and unlocked it, then walked back to the room wordlessly. David entered, shut and locked the door. In the natural order of their war, he would not bother to greet her. He would retire to the bedroom, bathe and either go to bed or catch the news from Aljazeera or BBC from the portable TV he had moved into the room since she moved out. There was no question of dinner. He took care of his stomach outside though he faithfully credited her account with family upkeep money and kept her informed when he did this via whatsapp.

But now he went to the shut door and knocked gently. Njideka looked up from her mobile where she was trying to engulf herself in, of all things; the Brittle paper bestseller erotica by Obinna Udenwe mischievously titled ‘Holy Sex.’ The knocking was persistent. She ignored it.

‘Darling, please open up.’

Silence. Njideka’s heart and head danced with a cocktail of barely restrained emotions.

‘Nji, I am not leaving here till you open this door. ‘ David’s voice was low, calm and sad.

‘Didn’t you see your whores tonight? You can mount sentry for all I care.’ Njideka was chagrined at the strident note in her voice.

‘There is no whore, nne. This madness has gone far enough. Please, open the door.’

Silence for what seemed like a century. Njideka dropped her phone on the sofa as tears filled her eyes. She knew her self-control was virtually gone. But somehow she remained glued to her seat. David began knocking again.

‘Leave me alone!’ she shrieked. ‘You want a divorce; you will get it.’

David took a deep breath.

‘Nji, I am sorry. They were the words of a frustrated man. I love you and will never leave you.’ The words rang true. Njideka broke down and cried openly. David’s heart bled as he heard her sobs.

‘Nji, o zugo. Please.’

The door flung open like the released entrance to Aladdin’s cave. A sobbing Njideka turned to go back to her seat but David caught her with gentle ease and held her arm fast. The months of pent-up anger, frustration, guilt and passion raged in her struggle to let go but David gathered her to him and virtually crushed her in an embrace. Gradually she ceased and sobbed heartbrokenly. David could not restrain the tears in his eyes and voice. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he said repeatedly. ‘Forgive me. I love you.’

Njideka looked up into his eyes.

‘Davi m,’ That was her pet name for him. A name David had longed for like mad. ‘I hurt you badly. Gbagharam, biko. Can you pardon me?’

‘For calling me that, I can forgive you anything.’ He was not kidding and she knew it. He sighed. ‘I have to tell you something.’ The difficulty in his voice gave her the message.

‘Later, Davi m. I know what it is and heaven will not fall.’ She took his right hand and led him to the bed. David followed her obediently. They sat side by side. ‘Fuck me till I faint,’ she said hoarsely, the pool in her eyes almost drowning him.

‘Are you sure about this?’ David tried to ignore what her words, her scent, her desire, were doing to his loins.

‘Yes, I can’t go on like this. I’d rather get drunk on you than cognac.’ Before David could reply she pushed him on the bed with surprising strength. David had removed his shirt and vest in the bedroom but had his trousers on. Njideka wore shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. David’s engorged manhood nearly burst as she swiftly peeled off the shirt and her swollen mammaries jumped at him like a commando’s knife. Was it his imagination or had they grown to the size of medium paw paws? Njideka smiled at the flare of lust in his face.

‘Want some breast milk?’

David pulled her down and pressed her body hard on his. Njideka gasped at the tip of his iroko touching her womanhood; his chest burrowing into her painfully ripe mangoes; his male scent mixing with her womanly sexy aroma.

‘I wan chop,’ he whispered gutturally.

‘Your wish is my command,’ she replied, giggling with unbridled happiness. Only Hymen knew how much she had nearly tumbled into the chasm of depression because there was no-one to eat her ikpu since she and her husband went to war. David watched, transfixed, as she got rid of her shorts with the subtlety of a strip-tease in heat, cupped her boobs and lay back on the bed. Anticipation and something akin to sweet dread engulfed her being.

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David‘s lips and fingers went to work. While he kept his hands on her breasts, his fingers playing her nipples and all the circumferences of her aureoles, his mouth researched her genitalia with the dexterity of a PhD candidate writing a thesis on a subject dear to his heart. By the time his lips dug into the candy of her clitoris, Njideka was making sounds very much like those of dogs fighting over a plate of juicy meat. The sounds and crazy mix of Igbo, English and gibberish emanating from her mouth could have set an eunuch’s head on fire and David was no eunuch. He ate and ate till she let out an unalloyed scream which must have pierced the sound-proof walls.

‘A nam abia ooo!’ Neither of them bothered why she was announcing her arrival but somehow David’s head remained burrowed between her almost unhinged legs as she reached the destination of her orgasmic journey. Her husband raised his face, bathed in female juices, and watched as Njideka convulsed rhythmically on the king-size bed, a beatific smile on her face. Then he held her tight and let her tremors pass through him as she calmed down. They remained still for what seemed like years. Then Njideka opened her eyes and kissed her husband on the nose. ‘I needed that,’ she whispered.

‘I am sure you did.’ David wondered if the throbbing of his penis was real or imaginary. He gasped as his wife’s right hand snaked out and took charge of his shaft, sneaked to his balls. ‘You are killing me, babe.’

Njideka smiled wickedly and made him lie on his back. She propped herself up on her knees, bent and descended on his manhood with sweet savagery. David was no stranger to blowjobs and back in the old days Njideka had been one hell of a dick-sucker. But this one was unique. She did not shut her eyes for a moment as she devoured shaft, scrotum, testicles; the entire package. David’s head seemed to erupt as she unexpectedly went slow, then fast, gentle, then almost rough, light, then amazingly heavy with both mouth and fingers. At one stage, her alternately cool and hot lips ceased their mission of mercy. Almost at the door of Nirvana, David opened his mouth. She smiled her wicked smile again.

‘Say nothing. Just enjoy the ride.’

She formed her right hand into a circle, wrapped it around the trembling manhood and gently lifted the skin at the base of his erection. David knew he was a goner. Two more of that and he would come. He gritted his teeth in anticipation. Njideka tugged once more, and then abruptly took him almost savagely in her mouth, letting her lips encase his entire velvet, compelling the JT to travel as far as it could down her throat. The sky burst open. David could not help the rough cry that escaped his lips as he bucked and exploded. White milk gushed as if from a broken tap. Njideka’s face was rinsed with perhaps the biggest man-goo she had ever sampled during coition. She paused very briefly to give her dribbling mouth a little respite before getting back to work. She sucked and licked till there was nothing left in the pipeline. Almost perfect silence reigned, only interrupted by the sound of the in-built split-air-conditioning unit.

‘Are you still alive?’ Njideka asked mischievously. She had adjusted her position to place her naked trunk on her man’s inert form, making no effort to clean her face. David wrapped his arms around her and she purred like a contented cat.

‘Guess BJ 101 was a compulsory course in the Law Department.’

‘Of course. That’s why I am a first-class bongi advocate.’ The sultry way she spoke made David resolve never to have such undue period of abstinence from her again.

He looked into her shining eyes. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘All the way to paradise. Remember, you must fuck me till I faint.’

David sighed. ‘We must go to work echi.’

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She smiled as if reassuring a little boy who forgot to come home from school with his assignment notebook. ‘Today is Friday. Not that I care.’

The realization that the weekend with its sweetly unholy potentials stretched out before them activated David’s juices. He swung her up and laid her across his lower regions. ‘Let‘s get to work.’

~~~~~~

They did not step out of the house that weekend. In fact, only the need to bathe and eat made them engage in non-erotic movements. All phones were switched off or put on silent. They unleashed every device of erotic enjoyment their minds could conjure. David was happily shocked by his wife’s unorthodoxy and more than once wondered whether their unplanned celibacy had brought forth the beast in her. On her part, Njideka rejoiced in her man’s ultimate willingness to recognize her needs and incorporate her pleasures in his.

No sex style was left unattempted. When David sought for a condom, Njideka firmly shook her head. He hesitated. She kissed him reassuringly. ‘I know you fucked outside during our fight. I also know you used protection.’

David could not hide his surprise. All his trysts with escorts, including Marcie, had been with packets of Gold Circle. He insisted on it and the commercial sex workers, more used to the average Nigerian client who preferred skin to skin, happily obliged.

‘Who told you?’

‘I know my man. Now shut up and give it to me like those dogs that roam about in my village market.’

They downloaded X-rated stuff from the internet together and tried out what they watched. At David’s suggestion, they took to bedding like bunnies in all the bedrooms in a sex game he called ‘Bongi the Rooms’ and ended up in their abandoned marital bedroom. Njideka could not restrain the emotion that overwhelmed her as she lay on the bed. Her tears flowed with the surge of her husband’s groin in her thighs and when he took her in the wildest jack-knife style on the bed, she sobbed and screamed unashamedly. When she finally regained her senses, she hugged him.

‘If you don’t share this bed with me again I will shoot you.’

‘Never, Nji.’ He meant every word.

On Saturday evening, in spite of her insistence, he joined her in the kitchen as she dished out food. The exercise lasted longer than usual for some reasons. First, Njideka went into the kitchen wearing the shortest and most pussy-defining bum shorts she could lay her hands on and a bra the late queen of American porn, Linda Lovelace, would have killed for. Second, when she opened the fridge and bent to collect a cooler of stew, something drastically shoved her from behind against the cool fridge. Something hard and rigid in her hole. All thoughts of food were suspended; indeed the thrusts suspended her memory as David gave her raw fireworks in the kitchen. They ended up eating in the kitchen naked.

Later, well after midnight, after an exhilarating 69 session which culminated in a good pounding in sensational missionary-style, they lay in each other’s arms, spent and swimming in unmatched bliss. Abruptly, Njideka gently nipped at David’s left ear. He opened his eyes.

‘Emm?’

She sat up, a pensive look on her face. David guessed she wanted to download some information and also sat up.

‘My bosses offered me headship of their newly established branch in Onitsha.’

David felt an invisible cloth covering the glow that had taken hold of his soul since their reconciliation.

‘And have you accepted?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I must give them an answer this week.’ She suddenly put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

‘It is one hell of a chance in a lifetime. But I don’t want us to go to war again or worse.’

David smiled and took her in his arms. When he released her after a tight love-lock, he focused a warm gaze into her beseeching face.

‘Do you really want to go? It will be tough but we can work things out. You deserve to get to the top of your career.’

She spoke quietly.

‘I know. But after this weekend, I guess my priorities have sort of been readjusted. I know what matters.’

David held her arms. ‘Don’t be hasty, Nji. Onitsha is not on planet Jupiter. We can come to an arrangement which will suit us fine.’ He sounded so sincere that tears sprang into his wife’s eyes.

‘No, darling. I don’t want a weekend husband, a cold home and a colder bed. One shot at that nearly turned me into a dependant on cognac. And what if the kids come? No, Davi m. I am not that liberated.’

Her man took a deep breath. He realized his duty was to support her in a decision that would be good for both of them. What an unbalanced world, he thought. If the shoes were reversed I, the world, would expect her to move with me, probably give up her job, just because I am the husband. He kissed her long and hard, only stopping when passion began to quicken their heartbeat.

‘Easy, babe. You are my wife, and your happiness and fulfillment matters to me. Take a decision that you can live with.’

Njideka asked him quietly, ‘Who or what transformed you, honey? It can’t be our bed-creaking exercises, though they helped.’ She grinned. David took a deep breath and told her about Marcie and Reverend Adolphus. She listened patiently. There was a short interval of silence, and then she took his right hand in both of hers.

‘Thank you, Davi m. I love you.’

He gave her a blatantly evil look.

‘Prove it.’

‘How?’ She asked with deceptively child-like innocence.

‘By giving me a dangerous lap-dance in the sitting-room.’

She giggled.

‘Glad you want a dangerous one. O ya, make we go.’

Njideka politely told her bosses she would not accept their offer. Barristers Femi Okoduwa and Kanu Eze listened to her reasons and watched her intently as she spoke. When she finished, Okoduwa smiled knowingly.

‘Hope you don’t mind my saying this but you radiate a brightness that I have not seen in you for God knows how long.’

‘And a relaxed beauty, I must add,’ added Kanu.

Njideka could not help the laughter that bubbled up from her insides. The two doyens of the legal profession in Nigeria told her they would get back to her and assured her of their highest regard for her contributions to their chambers.

On Friday, she got a letter promoting her to senior counsel in the chambers of Femi, Kanu and Iroko, putting her in charge of the research section at the Lagos head office.

###

• Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema is a Lagos-based author and historian. Email: henrykd2009@yahoo.com