Blunt Tales and Coffee ☕️

Some people say ever since COVID which happened around the year 2019/2020, something has shifted, something feels different, like our lives have been upended in a way that feels far from realistic. Some say things have always been this way for the longest, evil did not start marinating recently, we only get to see it often in the present because we have cellphones with social media applications. Back in the days, the world’s horrors could be hidden. You'd have to visit a newspaper stand or own a television, which many people were not privileged enough to have at the time, to hear of the atrocities committed against humanity by humans themselves. Either way, these passing years, there’s no denying that we’re being plunged further into really dark times. One would think that with the influx of education and technology, our problems would lessen. Ironically, all our problems have ever seemed to do is heighten; from natural death that’s as rampant as flies, rape, robbery, sexual/non-...

By sober, Vivian meant ‘stay without getting into an entanglement of any sort’. In her opinion, none of it was worth it. Her day could start out perfectly and end drastically all because she decided to fall in love with a boy. No, no, no, no. Actually, it wasn’t love. Love had nothing to do with her keeping up with their sad excuse for a penis, attitude, and hygiene when she could have simply used the door. It wasn’t love that made her tolerate Nkwam’s saliva-infused lips drawing close to her for inseparable moments whenever they were within the four walls of his three-bedroom apartment at Orji and outside of it.  It wasn’t love that made her offer tight-lipped smiles whenever Ojong bragged to their friends about his private room expertise, when his private room expertise reeked of nothing but amateurism. It wasn't love that made her stay with Takim a while after he'd mashed her face with both his palms for disrespecting him during a disagreement that mostly stemmed from her c...

W hat Lacy remembered most were the unanswered calls and texts religiously sent once every day to avoid coming off as ‘thirsty’. He also recollected her gently touching his waist randomly in the midst of his mates during any outdoor events simply to get his attention. He enjoyed every bit of her shenanigans, but what he didn't seem to enjoy so much was that all she ever did was that. Feathery touch in public and private spaces to make him come alive a bit, and conversations about everything but how he really felt about her. She was going to come around, he told himself. No one really did the things she did with her eyes, mouth, and hands if they didn't feel a certain way towards the other person. Perhaps, she wanted to make the first move, like Prisca, his best friend’s formally sworn enemy, now girlfriend. But even then, the thought felt ludicrous. If he had to solicit her physical appearance time and time again until the thought of letting her go, no matter how painful, seeme...

  A huge chunk of Saph’s relationships ended on a Tuesday. Always a Tuesday. It was as if the universe predestined Tuesdays to be her exclusive day of doom. Its mornings were mostly coated with a jarring routine—an alarm shriek, a stretch that seemed endless, lazy yawns, and a deafening hesitation to get out of bed. She’d have a brisk shower on her bathroom floor—so slick it made her trip thrice, nearly ripping her manicured pinky fingernail in half. And afterwards, when her outfit did not correlate with what she’d envisioned the previous night, she’d wear a grim facial expression which usually featured furrowed brows and lips curled up just enough to flash her incisors and canines in nothing that had the identity of a smile. What kind of day gets so predictable and unpredictable at the same time? Its afternoons held way less pleasure. Sometimes they made her emotional . She hated that word. Most of all, she hated being associated with it when it had anything to do with her boss’ ...

Mondays are supposed to be less hectic courtesy of the sit-at-home policy in the eastern part of Nigeria. However, because the folks over here love to defy laws that do not fetch them the currency which earns the average human egotistical and psychopathic attributes, it unfortunately, is usually the opposite for me. I find myself labouring, not just on weekdays, but on weekends, constantly trading my sanity for punctuality and a few naira notes, which, if you ponder intensely about it, can be harshly mind-boggling. Why do humans have to do that? Pay for things with their strength and time instead of simply existing to enjoy? I was told to turn on the generator on one of my trade days. Let’s just say, being an adult offers you zero discount on the consequences of naivety.  I miss my mum. And my siblings. But I know I'd want to be far away from them as soon as we’re physically close for too long. Not because they are despots, or they asphyxiate me, or anything, but because there'...

I smoked until my eyes began to water. I knew I'd always been unsure about the strength of my sight, but now, without my glasses and within this kaleidoscopic room, I begin to doubt it even more. My date is in a corner of the club, grasping a tainted glass of room-temperature sparkling water within his pitted palms and stubby fingers, and staring hungrily at the buttocks of a light-skinned plus-size lady strutting past him. With each movement, the neon lights make it harder for me to hold onto the sight of his appalling attitude, and even though the raspy speakers boom of “Lambo” by Burna Boy, a song I’d typically not glower at, I find myself thinking about the artist and the background of the music in a bid to get my foggy mind off the entire situation.  Burna Boy is a certain artist who grew up on the schizophrenic streets of Port Harcourt, Nigeria. I don't think it'd excessively amaze you, my audience, to know that for the longest time, I thought this artist originated f...