I laugh when people say their lives are nothing to write home about.
Because as depressing as they make that out to sound, I wish that were my case.
I have no home to write nothing to.
Oh, and did I mention that I can’t write as well?
She told me she was feeling very blue because her boyfriend wouldn’t pick up her calls.
‘It must be nice to know what blue looks like.’
That was all I could think about as I fingered the handle of my walking stick.
She was frantic.
‘My body clock is ticking. I don’t have time’
I lost my mind thinking if it was the same type of ticking my cousin in Borno heard before the bombs went off.
He called me aside. It was obvious he had been crying.
‘What do I do Faisal? I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place’
It’s interesting he put it that way. Because I began thinking of the kidney stones and tumor the doctors found in me, last week.
‘Are you stupid?‘ I heard my neighbor shout at her son. ‘Don’t you know that blood is thicker than water?’
I miss your younger sister.
I hate the water that drowned my sister; my blood.
I could heard what the old man was thinking when I slapped my son and said ‘How could you have undertaken to turn in 100 agbadas in two weeks. You have bitten more than you can chew?’
The old man was thinking, ‘At least he has teeth to chew’
‘Everything that can go wrong is going wrong’ she shouted at her team.
Well, apparently she has a warped sense of ‘everything’
Some people just don’t know how to be grateful.