Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Nike Campbell Fatoki's Bury Me Come Sunday Afternoon - Welcome to the Online Book Tour!

It is day three of the Blog Tour with Nike Fatoki and her engaging collection of short stories, Bury Me Come Sunday Afternoon
You can read details of the other tour stops HERE.

I first encountered Nike Campbell Fatoki in her historical novel: Thread of Gold Beads, and I knew at first read that this is one woman with a penchant for story telling. That book was un-put-down-able, and this new collection of short stories is no different. Don't let me convince you about the fact; find out for yourself when you read the excerpt and listen to Nike Fatoki read from the book.

We are glad to have Nike with us today and I'm sure you have questions for her, just as I do. I am sure too that she will be happy to answer all your questions about her writing journey, publishing experience, the possible motivation behind the stories in her collection, and a lot more.

In this tour you stand the chance to win prizes. And all you have to do to get a prize is partake in the tour by dropping a word or two (errm, I really don't mean that literally) in the comment section, or asking the author questions after you have read and listened to the excerpt.

First off, lets have a small 'gist' about the book:

Bury Me Come Sunday Afternoon was released on the 6th of July 2016 in Lagos, Nigeria.
In this short story collection, Nikẹ Campbell-Fatoki filters the lives of contemporary Nigerians through a colourful and vivid prism, where past sins come to upset settled lives, where lost lives fuel a campaign for a better future and nothing is as it seems.  She explores well-known themes but delves a little deeper, questioning our ideas about people, our impressions and prejudices.  Bury Me Come Sunday Afternoon depicts the struggles of a young ambitious and hardworking Nigerian abroad with the same insightful candour as it does the tale of a brilliant but broken woman struggling with mental illness.

Excerpt and Reading:

I knocked on the door of apartment twenty-four for the third time. The smell of iru (locust beans) filled the hallway. If I do not get this food in soon, occupants of the second floor will call Mr Theodore, the building manager, about the odd smell in the building. I shook my head and knocked louder. Footsteps approached the door. Tamuno opened it, his towel wrapped around his waist; dark hair covered his broad chest. When he looked down at me, his shaved head glistened. He looked well-groomed with a goatee. 
                “Bros, good evening,” I said, handing him the plastic bag of food.
                 “You try for me, Ade. I swear! Ever since you introduced me to this restaurant I’ve been hooked! They put something for the food?”  Tamuno joked.  I chuckled.   
He invited me into the living room. I walked in as he grabbed his wallet on the arm of the recliner. He pulled out a wad of dollar bills and began to count them. I looked away. The living room was furnished with expensive furniture – the dark brown recliner complemented the seven-seater leather sectional and ottoman. He pressed the dollar bills into my hand and walked me to the door.
                “That’s for your transportation and for tomorrow’s lunch. Please buy me the stew with cow feet and ponmo next time.”  I chuckled and teased him about the weight he would start gaining. When we got to the door, I reminded him of the IT position I applied for at his workplace. “Did you have a chance to talk to the HR. manager yet? You’re one of my references, bros.”
                “I haven’t had a chance. You know I just got back from this business trip, and I’m in the middle of bringing my wife over.”
                “Oh yes! Congrats! When does she arrive?”
He smiled.“She’ll be here in less than a month!” 
                “You said she’s a minister’s daughter, right?  Which one?” I asked.
                “Not that it matters, but she’s the daughter of the Minister of Works and Housing.”
His phone rang somewhere in the apartment. He said he had to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He closed the door in my face before I could answer. 
And here's Nike, reading the excerpt you just listened to:

Nike Campbell Fatoki was born in Lvov, Ukraine. She is the second of four children born to Nigerian medical doctors in the old Soviet Union.A graduate of Economics with a minor in Political Science from Howard University, she also has a Master’s degree in International Development from American University.
Nike juggles writing with her day job in budget and finance management at Prince George’s county. Her first novel, A Thread of Gold Beads was published in 2009. Her latest work, Bury Me Come Sunday Afternoon, was released in July 2016.
Nike lives in the Washington DC area with her family, where she is writing her next historical fiction novel set to be published in 2017.

Hope you enjoyed this tour, which was organised in partnership with author and blogger, Chioma Iwunze-Ibiam, of
You can order the book online by clicking this ORDER FORM

Remember, the book is available in Lagos at the following bookstores:
Patabah bookstore: Shop B18, Adeniran Ogunsanya mall, Surulere.
Quintessence: iPlot 13, Block 44, Parkview Estate, Ikoyi 
Unilag bookstore, University Of Lagos, Akoka.
And In Abuja at :
Salamander (Abuja), 5 Bujumbura St, Abuja


  1. Hello there Nike!
    Thanks for dropping by here on the blog tour.
    I wonder, which form do you enjoy writing more- Short fiction or the novel? Or do you find both writing processes to be the same?
    Once again, Welcome!

  2. Thanks Iquo. I enjoy writing both. Both have different writing processes equally interesting.

    1. I especially enjoyed reading the title story: Bury me come Sunday afternoon. My heart was beating fast throughout, waiting for the outcome at the end. And then you ended it, leaving us readers panting for more.
      Pls tell me, Nike, was that story inspired by true events?

  3. Thanks! That was deliberate.I wanted to give the reader the opportunity and creative space to end the story the way they liked.

    The story was 100% fiction Iquo :-)