Short Stories



you say it’s over and i laugh. you think we should take it slow; take a break is actually what you say, but what’s the difference? i no longer know where you end and i begin because together we are the yellow of youth and […]

Waiting for Marcus

Ifeyinwa stood sweating under his gaze as though his eyes were stage lights. She kept her eyes on her feet, watching them shuffle in the pale yellow sand, filling the small holes raindrops had made that morning. “Senior Marcus, Mr Olayiwola said I should call […]

for all the places we couldn’t fit

Sometimes you hand yourself to a person. You place yourself in their palm. At first, you do not realize that you are uncomfortable. It’s like trying on shoes in a store and thinking that you love this pair so much, you’d take it even in […]

Beyond The Yellow Line

Beyond The Yellow Line

When you got your cousin’s Facebook message, you’d been genuinely surprised because you couldn’t remember the last time she had sent you a message. Your relationship had been reduced to Facebook status likes, likes on instagram and the occasional all-emoji comment. You were now comfortable […]


You are looking at me like you always have. Like I am the shining example of magnificence. Like you would kiss my feet if I asked you to. We are talking over ofada rice and you take a sip of water after every spoonful. “see? […]

half-full glasses

Koyefunmi is looking at me, smiling that smile reserved for people like Ufuoma who bring her moi-moi from Skippers whenever she’s having a bad day and I want to tell her that I do not come bearing her favorite thing to eat, I don’t come […]

"water no get enemy"

so I am standing, in this dream afraid to jump in the water; I can’t swim. You see, I have tried to learn this art, this art of simply letting the water befriend you, hold your hand but not pull you off course, caress you […]

The Meeting.

My aunt Oluomachi has what people call a familiar face. At least once every week, someone walks up to her to say hi. The conversations always include a muddled mentioning of dates and names of places when and where she is supposed to have been […]


The sun was feeling a little lazy this afternoon and so my hijab was not as much a bother as it usually would be. I was walking in that almost absent-minded distracted way most children do because I was looking at my freshly “henna-d” hands […]

re-tying the knot

Diyan is not like most newly married women; you know the ones who cannot seem to stop touching their husbands- a hand on his thigh or his shoulder- or saying “my husband” or those who act like our friend Nkechi; constantly whispering unnecessary sweet nothings […]