Tag: Writing
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Born for a prince
When we are growing up, we have these grand illusions of what we wanna be, places we want to go and whom we want to marry. Many of these illusions are birthed and kept alive by movies we’ve watched, a favorite song, some picture in a newspaper, book or magazine, spiced by our imaginations. At…
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Traces of the virus
I used to crave for attention. I would do anything to get it, although at the time I didn’t realize it was an obsession, tainted with subtle pride. It started in my childhood when a neighbor’s wife used to call my brother and send him on errands. She would sometimes give him gifts for being…
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Everything matters
I used to think of waiting till I am excellent at what I do before I begin, waiting to be perfect,waiting for the perfect conditions. I didn’t know perfection is a lifelong journey that only begins when we decide to start unprepared. I used to underrate the things I did. They seem to not have…
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The Blast
It was a normal day just like anyWe were busy about our activities It was even the anniversary of a giant telecommunications network All over town people were in their colours, jubilant It was probably late afternoon Suddenly, there was a blastLouder than a bombOr anything that could be imaginedIt was the sun itself that…
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My blogging journey
When I decided to start blogging, I was simply looking for a place to track my creative writing journey. I used to write on pieces of paper whenever I felt inspired to write a poem, story or idea down. These papers disappeared after a while thanks to carelessness. Even when I write in books, they…
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Married to the Game
I saw him everyday. In the mornings. Very early. Between 6 and 7am. The place I met him varied depending on the time I left the house. But so far as I stepped out around those hours, I surely bumped into him. He seemed to have no holidays, no breaks. Always in same clothes, soaked…
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Married to the Game
I saw him everyday. In the mornings. Very early. Between 6 and 7am. The place I met him varied depending on the time I left the house. But so far as I stepped out around those hours, I surely bumped into him. He seemed to have no holidays, no breaks. Always in same clothes, soaked…
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The Outcast (Page 47)
It was one late night. We were sitting in the dormitory, chatting. This was after preps, a time all students revised their lessons or did assignments. I was no longer a student. But I stayed in the school’s hostel to help a staff with evening lessons for adults. It was the time Blackberry phones had…
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I fear these dark valleys
I fear these dark valleysWhere echoes of footstepsHaunt meI dread these lonesome journeysWhere pieces of broken promises Jab meI fish these empty spacesFor something to fill the emptiness withinPalpable emptiness, all I catchI’ll revere these formative yearsAnd the tears, uncertainties and testsThey fed me Email:Benjaminnambu1@gmail.com WhatsApp: +233 541 824 839
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Fatigue
Traffic jam. I check my time. Probably won’t be home as early as planned. The driver is contemplating changing his route. “Anyone alighting at Third Gate?“ he asks without turning to the conductor. ” One passenger, ” the conductor tells him. The driver seems annoyed by that piece of information. I shake my head staring…
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