THE LITTLE MEMORY BOOK

    During the times I entered airplanes, I had wished to be in it with a friend or perhaps see one. it would just be as fun if  I could make one in it. I was unlucky because I had to sit beside older people who were most times usually quiet. I noticed another thing too. People kept to themselves, trying to pretend like rich people who did not enjoy the company of strangers. Although, I loved staring at the sky, I preferred staring at it when I was on the ground. This sort of misty nothingness became boring to me. I had missed the road transports. I could see so many things and even make new friends. People in the bus were usually very friendly. I also had the chance to stop and eat at strange looking restaurants and keep looking out to make sure the bus had not left. I had missed the times where there would be no time to stop to eat anything and your mind will create 'imageries' of food. Other times you might keep your eyes open, sleep and wake up to the reality that one was still inside the bus. So as I carried my luggage, I did a silent prayer hoping perhaps I found someone worth the flight. The old man had sat beside me reading a newspaper. I concluded my luck was useless this time. I watched carefully as each passenger looked for his seat. As the young man approached the next seat beside me, I hoped he had come to stay. After walking forward a bit with a rather confused face, he finally sat beside me. As i stared painfully at the seats in front of me, I tried to figure out how to talk to him. The old man who had wanted to start a conversation with me could not because we both knew there was nothing to say to each other. The time difference was too glaring and obviously both generations would have a different taste. Finally, the cold from the air conditioner incited a speech from me. 'Are you cold?' I asked the young man. The forty minutes left became a memorable one. A memory which he was unaware that he had created. Sitting in the middle, I chatted long and hard with him. After the flight, i concluded that prayers were always being answered. He became a chapter in my memory book.

Letters to my Daughter (When we thought of You) 2

Invitation cards were flying everywhere, wild publicity was made. It promised to be the best teenage birthday party ever. Segun Da-Costa, the son of Nigeria's top business mogul was making expensive preparations towards his forthcoming birthday bash. With the look of things one needed no soothsayers to foresee that the party was strictly for the children of the big names in the top business sectors and the ruling class of the country. Sweetheart, we only knew Segun Da-Costa because our parents were working for his parents. We were never allowed to be friends with Segun or his siblings because of the differences in our financial lives. But, we wanted to attend this party and we decided to persuade our parents. It took my mother, the cook of the Da-Costas about four days to succumb, while your mom's father Otunba Da-Costa driver could not bear the frequent begging from his only child and gave in just barely two hours after. The party was beautiful and full of well-to-do children. Segun (the celebrant) and his sisters were dressed in glamorous outfits. Their friends were not exempted from this setting. When the party commenced, the boys took their female partners to the dance floor. I, took your mum as we danced vigorously to the thump-thump beats of Wande Coal, D'banj, Patoranking and the rest. Soon enough, your Mum complained of. slight headache and body pain. I assumed it was perhaps because she was unaccustomed to this sort of life; parties and all. We decided to walk back to our part of the Mansion; the boys quarters so she could rest. Her room was locked because we realised soon enough that her father had forgotten to leave the keys with her and had driven Chief Da-Costa to the office. I suggested that she rests in my room since she felt her temperature would increase again if she went back to the party. After a few minutes of talking intimately,our wall of self control of many years crumbled before our own eyes. It was almost six weeks before your mother realised she was pregnant. I was dumbfounded on hearing the news. We practically did not know what step to take but we were certain that telling or making our parents find out was not an option at all. After much deliberation and critical thinking, we departed having concluded on what step to take next Your Mum and Dad. To be continued...

On account of being Idle

Sitting here has brought a lot of things; things which I have promised to remind myself. Away from the busy roads of Lagos and the haughty looks of Lagosians. Away from overtly conscious look of the bus driver and the ever threatening eyes of the conductor. I sit here with my idle pen writing; always submitting to my every call. Away from the taunts of the ojuelegba conductor who had ridiculed his driver because he used a Nokia phone when the whole world had moved on to Blackberries and Android phones. "B B laye nlo" he said to the driver who had been enjoying the music he played on his phone. Away from the unafraid looks of the passengers in a moving bus without a driver. Away from the series and series of speedy accidents and dead bodies lying quiet on the floor without the major concern of the people. Away from the porsche lives of city Men and Women. Away from the university boys and girls who take the pains in looking extra good or trying so hard to "feel among". Away from the boys who size a lady up and argue whether or not she should be asked out- or argue about her physical prowess. Away from the girls who have nothing to say but talk about their love life and their constant emotional purgations. Away from the madness of okada riders and the lone talks of the mentally impaired. Away from the very annoying passenger who had been making calls every minute using words like "wazzap!" In a very local intonation. Here I am with my pen writing about a lot of things. A fresh start to every new thing and a beautiful entry to every invitation. I am Opeyemi Ojatula and this is my Idle Pen.

Call for Entries: Write Poem on Death

If you have written, or wish to write a poem on the theme of death, you can send your poem(s) for this anthology.

The title of the anthology is The Rape of Death. Opeyemi Ojatula, Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji, and Melody Kuku will be the editors. The trio are students of the Department of English, University of Lagos, Nigeria.

We seek poems in any format, but ensure to stick to the central theme of death. Send up to 6 poems of not more than 50 lines each in a single word file (.doc/docx).

Please send your submission to any of the emails below: Celestinatargui@gmail.com Poetic.sam01@gmail.com melodykuku@gmail.com Subject of the email: Title of poem(s), separated by a comma if more than one; full name; and country of residence.

All poems must be in English, Times New Roman, point 12. Send a short bio, written in the third-person pronoun, of not more than hundred words in the body of your email, but your poems should be attached to the email. Deadline: 31/08/2014

REMINISCING HER CHAPTER ONE (AN ELERGY FOR STEPHANIE) SAMUEL OLUWATOBI OLATUNJI

 Reality rips our hearts
 Like thunder tearing the sky apart
 Unveiling the shards of a mirror
 A mirror of memorable moments.


We never imagined that your name
 Will equate a darkened dawn so soon.
 Memories of you have become
 Sprawling ashes in the shape of your
 footsteps
 On the beach of our hearts


We cannot let go of these memories
 Because somewhere between our
 conversation
 A comma or more brings back your voice
 Some periods reminds us of your fine face
 Every punctuation is pregnant with your presence


 Iku has successfully stolen a sparrow
 Under the blue-white garment of God
 Leaving us puzzled with questions
 Questions whose answers hide In the cubicle of God's heart.


 Although all i have is a poem, a farewell poem
 Share this elegaic communion with me
 As we await the breaking of the virginity of God's silence...

REMINISCING HER

On a count of one to three, there isn't much to say. July 6 had been a day filled with tragic events leading to the death of a course-mate. Although, i am not much of her friend to her, death sometimes brings everyone close together. Reminding us that we have only one life. Reminding us that we have only one fragile life. And so, the next write-ups, articles and poems shall be written for a life not so long. Perhaps for a year. Goodnight Adinde Stephanie.

The Magical Thoughts Part Five- The Awakening

And her mind kept going in circles. Deeper and deeper. That same voice that told her she was not in love with him spoke again. This time loudly "He's never going to come back" it echoed through her mind. It hurt, it hurt bad. But it was the truth and so it was good, although it did not feel good. It was good because now she knew she did not have to wait for someone that was not worth waiting for. She had met her ex Isaac on a saturday morning and he spoke to her in volumes. Not the one who broke her heart, but one of those she had dated before. She never had any emotional attachments to him. That was why they were still friends, good admirable friends. In his words she found the truth, he spoke the truth, although it was bare, sudden, intense, it was the truth. The voice kept on telling her "he's not going to come back". A voice whispered "even if he does come back to apologise to you, what would you do?.... Whatever you do make sure you make the right decision. Yes you loved him... But he might not be the best for you" the voice whispered immediately after she had left Isaac. She remembered his words about this new person in her life "he might be the best for you". Her mind shifted to him, the one who she had sat down with to watch the tree cage the moon. She smiled. This smile perhaps was meant not to last long. In a couple of days she started to have second thoughts about it all. Maybe she could not stand the controversies surrounding this boy, maybe it was too early for the feelings. She was not sure. She stared at him one day and tried to decipher what she felt for him. She felt she had betrayed him because she could not love him enough even after hearing so many stories about him from people. She knew true love knew no bounds, this she was sure of. If truly she was working to fall in love with him, she would turn deaf ears to people. But she did not know why she couldn't stand those words. She tried to find the answers to her uncertainties but they only brought uncertain answers. Maybe she was not ready to commit. Her mind wanted freedom, she was not ready, perhaps, to keep thinking of someone. She was not ready for denial, rejection, betrayal, a little love, distrust. She was not ready for the pain in gaining. She was not ready... She was not ready. THE END.