Oloture’s story is more familiar than you think.

Growing up in Nigeria, anyone who mentioned immigrating to Italy was viewed through the lens of a prostitute, as it was the thriving hub of harlotry.
As Africans, we have heard stories, and we probably know people who know others who have fallen victims to trafficking. Their experiences were so dehumanizing, they left an acerbic after taste, even long after told.
I am a human rights advocate, so I had hoped and expected a clampdown on sexual trafficking, but on the contrary, Oloture revealed the exact opposite.
I am yet to overcome the…


No Victor No vanquished

Nchedo sat under the udala tree with an enamel tray on her thighs. She stared at the brown egusi while her thoughts drifted to other things, like where the next meal would come from?
She stopped briefly and looked up to heaven, while she silently prayed for God to keep their son, who was dragged into the Biafran army.
Her husband clumsily walked out of the hut, with the radio in his hand. He wore a smile, which sheltered grief and untold pain.
She always warned him about shuffling his feet, but it had become a habit, she got…


Bridges and Light — Ep 1

Have you ever felt like you can’t get anything right in your life? When you walk into a room full of intellectuals, you are conveniently engaged because that is the place where you feel alive. You listen to people compliment your smartness, you hear positive assertions about your sagacity, you nod, and grin. You wear a vivacious look outwardly, but beneath that ebullient person lies an empty spirit, hanging on the edge of a cliff, holding on to those accolades.

When a loved one, or a random person passes on, your mind drifts to…


Existence.

Papa’s head hangs low in dejection, it is glaring how desperately he wants to talk, to mutter some words, but he is bereft of what to say.
His legs quiver, as he keeps tapping his feet on the clay floor while mumbling and shaking his head in the same rhythm.
He looks into the clear skies, stares deeper at the full moon, and back into the dark — empty earth void of any human presence.
One glance at him, I cannot dispute his ability to commune with the gods, but papa has become a convert; he stopped believing in Ani.
Four market days…


Survivor.

Bello has just been released from the detention of the task force operatives guarding the Ajegunle axis. It has been nothing more than two days of horrendous torture meted out by the brutes in uniforms.
Mama aboy was kind enough to talk to the superintendent of the Ajegunle division who let him go, but not without inflicting bruises all over his body.
Prior to his arrest, he earned a living from riding his tricycle, which has now been confiscated by the taskforce operatives. They only obeyed the orders of the state government.
His spirit is deterred, it has been…


Nothing ever prepares you for life like your first challenge, prior to this, you may have had it easy, so much so that you had gotten used to the glitz and glamour. You simply couldn’t relate with difficult situations and you attributed people’s experiences to sheer laziness and "it was not that serious".

Then it happened, the little golden bubble you created for yourself deflated, your world came crumbling and all you could do was stare: helpless, clueless, nothing was the same.

Poor you. There's no help in the world, you thought. Everyone is wicked and selfish; nobody actually loves…


My life is fairly bland, I tend to be impulsive.
I fight, I argue, I call your bluff.
I’m not the prettiest in the room but I’m the sunrise after a sleepless night.
I won’t dance to your tune, I create my melody.
My life is a broken mirror,
but everyday I piece it together and stare at my face.
My life is a train ride but I choose to live.
I choose me.


Yesterday, I battled death,

He came in form gastroenteritis, he preyed on my intestines,

his sharp molars on my stomach.

This morning she struck again,

The knots on my tyre went berserk,

I watched helplessly as it sprawled to the road.

She missed me but she took with her another.

I won today!

I exclaimed in victory.

Death wears many faces

We live to conquer, to lose another day.

Tomorrow we battle, for the day after tomorrow

For what do we say to death?

Not today.


My childhood was insipid, lanky girl with a round face and oblong head. Long, Tiny, not-exactly-straight legs. My clavicles were so hollow, people often wondered if mother fed me. On the contrary, I was nourished well and could pass for a glutton.

Growing up was monotonous; the exhausting yet vital routine of doing multiple school works, reading to pass exams and taking summer classes over the long holidays, was mundane. It was a time where acquiring skills were frowned at, suggestions about learning sewing was laughable; well, say for fixing a thread in a needle. …


Why didn’t you speak up?

I purse my lips together, I knew I had him thinking I was flustered. He is walking closer now, I want to snap, I feel the urge. I want him to realize I am in total control, but I have this planned out so I just blink and stare in confusion.

“You are scaring the child!” Aunt thunders

I raise my head, it was down, to avoid eye contacts. The tears are here, I sob and wipe the tears with my hands. He is clearly unease.

Don’t worry my dear we will get to the…

Amara Ogwuma

Writer. Data analyst. Comms/PR professional. YouTuber. Social worker. Black magic.

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