I like him. I do. I heard his song We like to party in 2012. And I liked it. I did. I saw him live later that year. And I liked him. I did. When my brother got married, the wedding party danced into the reception with On the low blaring through the speakers. The song has held a special place in my heart since. And when he dropped his Grammy winning album Twice As Tall my brother and I held a listening party in its honour. In my family we like Burna Boy. We do. Burna Boy is great at what he does. There’s not a soul in all the world that could deny it. And if a soul did manage to perform the ba ..read more

There’s a place on Earth like no other in all the world. I have journeyed far, and I have travelled wide, if not in person, then at least by the power of the world wide web and I tell you reader, there is no land stranger than the one at latitude 9.0820 degrees North and 8.6753 degrees East. My friends, my enemies, my lovers and my exes, this is the location of Nigeria, my country, my prison of the last 3 years. Just a week or so ago in this wild and unruly land there was an event to shake all events. The country’s ruling party, The All Progressives Congress or APC, which is really misnamed b ..read more

“You must form a routine.” My dad said this to me more than once. I listened, but I didn’t do anything. I didn’t have it in me. When you’re perpetually depressed, one upset away from a full on nervous break down, it’s really difficult to do things. I’d developed a terrible fondness for my bed. Bed was safe. Bed was fun. That’s all I needed, a bed, and an internet connection, all the routine I could handle. “You should think about getting into a routine.” That’s what my therapist said. “Yes! Yes!” I said to the witch doctor like figure. I think he’s a hack. The first time I met him he muttered ..read more

I have seen a video. In it there are bodies, dead, lying side by side. The camera pans quickly. There’s a woman in pink kneeling. Her hands are clutching the pews, the long seats typically found in churches. There is a pool of blood around her. Someone gestures to her as if to help her up. She raises her hands in exasperation and returns them to the pews. She looks calm. Her face is almost blank. There are no tears. There is no anger. The look is one of resignation. I understand it. The BBC says armed men entered St. Francis Catholic Church in a town called Owo in Ondo, a state in South West ..read more

When I think of the matters that arose between Amber Heard and Johnny Depp, my brain goes blank. There is so much noise that it might as well be silence. If everyone’s speaking then no one is speaking. It is a fog made up of a riotous chorus. It sounds like the typical Nigerian choir, out of touch, out of line, and far from tune. In the end I am annoyed. I am angry at myself for being accessible. Shit can only find your doorstep if it knows your address. I am the one at fault. I am also angry at America. This is not what we asked for when we made them the world’s cultural super power. I’m her ..read more

I need a minute to restore myself. How? Hours of YouTube. Do you know there’s a new YouTube trend? People… maybe bots - the difference grows slimmer by the day, summarise, condense, and explain films. They transform hours-long multi-million dollar productions into ten-minute summaries; 6 films an hour. It is perverse. I like it. With the best films, the telling of the story is frequently more interesting than the ending of the story. Most films aren’t like that. I’m frequently more interested in the ending than I am in the telling. Back to those guys, the content lords who reduce movies to 10 ..read more

It is nebulous. It is in the air. Red. My mouth is sour. Black. There is tension. My eyes have drawn tight. My teeth are clenched. My shoulders have climbed. I’m as tight as a coiled viper. How dare you. How very fucking dare you. Your mother didn’t born you well. Your poor father’s head must not be correct. It is only through the dual misfortune of a father with a discombobulated head and a mother with broken loins that you could have come out so monumentally stupid and unsuited for human purpose. You abused me. I delivered myself to your apartment that night, a chicken. I was slaughtered. I ..read more

When people say pain, I scoff a bit. “You don’t know my pain” they say. Of course I don’t. Even they told me about it, I wouldn’t get it, not if I hadn’t felt it. It’s the same way no one knows of my pain. How my heart burns from the words of my father. How it hurts, dull and sharp at the same time. It’s like I’ve been struck, or punched. It’s like someone, something, is gripping it tight, squeezing, always squeezing. I want to feel it. I think. Or at least a bit of me does. If I let myself feel it, I might be spurred to action, to change. But, there’s always a but isn’t there? An opposing ar ..read more

Is it commitment that is the problem? Do I not know my own mind? But baby steps, baby steps. I will relearn my mind. It’s funny you know. I don’t remember clearly when I first started to lose touch, to forget the feel of my mind’s fabric. My plans dissolved like salt in water. I want to use the toilet. I want to take a nap. I want to be a writer. I want to work out more. I want to be a powerhouse. I could have been a painter, a consultant, a journalist. I want to operate on a high level. I have to tidy up my room. My wardrobe needs to be reorganised. I need to get a job. I need to move out. I ..read more

My mum complains about how I speak, how I refer to people my age and those younger than me. I call myself a boy, even though at 31, I have no right to that claim. I am a man, and I’ve been a man for a while. But still, when I think of myself, the only word that comes to mind is boy. I judge myself for this. It’s part of my failure to launch, a symptom of what I consider to be my failure to adult. So when I meet those younger than me, the 27 year olds, the 25 year olds, the 21 year olds, the only word that comes to mind to describe them are boy, girl, baby, and child. I don’t mean this to be a ..read more