You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
I DON’T WISH TO BE GOD! He spat the above words like they were a fire in his mouth, hoping to find peace afterwards. U nfortunately, the cries, complaints, demands, declarations; all in different languages, from diverse places, in many corners, from so many places of worship, by different age grades; kept tearing his eardrums. He was approaching insanity. On the 20th of September 2021, my friend was still in search of that dream job, that ideal wife, that gigantic mansion, that visa, that latest car but all seemed to hate his gut. Life had not been sunny with him but the hope was never quenched, even after losing a job opportunity all because of his state of origin as revealed by the interviewer. My guy kept the faith; attended all vigils heard of, googled all prayer points relating to breakthrough, fasted till his ribs shouted out aloud and sent out his CV to as many firms as possible. But… Mary-Amaka as she was called did not want to receive his calls anymore so she gave ...