Monday, 21 January 2013


Seun Odukoya’s FOR DAYS AND A NIGHT is a 54 page e-book that has the nuance of crazy meets unconventional.  The narration is simple and borders on the mundane. Yet this is not necessarily a disadvantage; the imagination and subtle psycho analysis that accompanies the reader through every page is no doubt enough to keep the reader seeking to demystify the thought processes that gave the book life.
The book starts with a rather queer story of an aspiring writer, at midnight, in conversation with two people who we find out in the end are not really what or who they first appeared to be. It does however drip with a call for belief in one’s capacity to achieve greatness without much extraneous aids beyond hard work and determination.
In a story like ‘Which Kain Work’, we are brought face to face with the dilemma of a Nigerian police man who is enmeshed in the vagaries of life as a Nigerian cop, yet cannot fathom why his young son is more proud than he is of the Police force and the job that they do.  It ends rather resignedly with “… I hate my job, but someone has to do it”
In ‘Pillow talk’ and ‘Walken’, it becomes unarguably clear that Seun lives on a special dose of crazy from day to day. ‘Walken’ presents us with yet another writer who in the middle of contemplating what story to send in for the Commonwealth prize, gets a call from a girlfriend whom he lost to Jaundice. What a story! This ending is quite memorable: “Sola was dead. Yet there she was calling me over fifteen years later, sounding as alive as a point-and-kill fish before execution. I think I peed in my pants.”
In ‘A game called Life’, one is introduced to the classical male chauvinistic mind, and in ‘Eba’, one is pushed to ask the question: Seriously? Would a full grown woman actually google how to make eba? Sometimes fiction stretches plausibility in this book, and it would seem that the author was being a bit too ambitious with some tales. But in the middle of all that one encounters ‘My Little Girl’ and reality melts your heart at a daughter’s concern for her father.
A few pieces leave the reader feeling lost, almost as if they had no place in the book at all, and just happened to get dropped there as an afterthought. ‘Looking for Hope’ and ‘A story or...’ fit this category perfectly. But with a story like ‘A moment’, where a farting moment morphs into lifetime partnership, laughter becomes the thrill.
The book is laden with exciting skits, from Seun’s confession about missing his mommy (Bless her soul) to subtle jabs on women’s ways and the sweetest of them all: a public service announcement on where to get help if one is experiencing domestic violence.
It is my sincere belief that a little more editing would have done the book some good. Such creativity and daring should not be marred by the avoidable errors which littered some of the pages. I wonder if a paper version of the book will be available at any point in time.
This whole work is colourfully laid out with interesting illustrations and art. In all, it feels like a fresh wind blowing across the literary terrain. So, this is my big pat on the back for Seun Odukoya; your crase dey read error for meter. Wish you many more endeavours ahead! If you would like to read the book, check Here

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Stare (Ibrahim Ganiyu)

Happy New Year Friends!
It's a new Year and for many its also a new beginning. Here's a toast to all my friends and blogging family that this new year holds many blissful beginnings for you all!
So, as 2013 kicks in, I thought it would be nice to make a little room for a guest writer to drop a few lines for us.
I hear Misery likes company; well forgive me, this time around, its madness (my own special brand at least) likes company.
Here's a little dose of small crase from my friend, Ibrahim Ganiyu.

I felt it as soon as I stepped into the chilly banking hall.
That feeling that someone is checking you out. A psychic connection too pervading to ignore. The constant pulling at your head to turn and seek out the eyes calling your name without words. 
I could feel the double drills through the side of my head even as I fought the urge to turn and look. I caught a glimpse of her through the corner of my eye.
Slowly, I peeled my eyes away, forcing myself to face the front as I awaited my turn on the cash queue. She couldn't be staring at me. Could she?
The urge returned.
Pretending a nonchalant glance around the hall, I turned my head to see the source of the endless piercing. I caught her eyes then. She didn't turn away. She didn't even blink. She just stood there, staring at me. Round face with slight angles at the chin, a nose reminiscent of hausa/fulani ancestry, wine-red glossy lips seemingly made for kissing. Lips that kept most of the sun hidden in her gap-toothed smile. Hair pulled back with few careless bangs scattered neatly across her forehead coyly concealing her eyebrows.
Her eyes. Those smiling sexy eyes. A tinge of blue unseen in these parts, nested in smooth brown skin. I couldn't look away. It would soon be my turn. 
She didn't blink. She just kept up that smile…and the stare.
I turned from her spell, broken by the call of the cashier. Yet as I filled out my deposit slip, I felt those eyes stripping me. I wrote and crossed out a number. 

As I turned to walk out of the hall, my business concluded, I saw her.
Now she was really staring. Longing. Inviting. I could hear her call. Her eyes said it all. It’s almost like she wished to come to me. To reach out for me. To step out of the Ecobank savings account rollup banner and give me the true definition of a french kiss.
I run through the metal detector doors. 
My imagination needs therapy, I know.

Ibrahim 'Sir Gai' Ganiyu