She meets a guy she likes. He doesn’t call or text as often as she’d like. Yet she shrugs it off and says, “It’s nothing. English is not his first language.” It’s not a habit per se, It’s just his thing. He likes being chased, Satisfied with having her call and text him. So, she…
There are different types of cold that would catch you in this life. Harmattan cold and rain-beat-you cold. The worst cold that would ever catch you is the cold from this type of text message. Baby, I’m pregnant. It’s yours. This type of cold can never leave you. Or me. Pregnant? How can she be…
I am three. No. Four. No. I am three. Who cares, though? “Let me out,” I cry, hitting the door. praying it’ll open, save me. “If you open that door, I will beat you,” Maami says. Her face cloaked in the shadow of the kerosene lamp. She picks up the blade, “Come here.” I see…