inkit

This boy usually comes running to me screaming " Ade, hand!" Same hand stretched out to show me it's dirty, and so i can ask him to go wash it. And he would usually happily say "okay!" before sprinting off to the bathroom to wash it. Of course, I would end up going there to supervise him...or eventually scream something like "cut it out" or "please turn of the water and come out" to get him to stop playing with the water. Today he didn't sprint off. He kept repeating "Ade, Hand!" As usual, I had nudged him to go wash it but without success. I even tweaked the instructions in so many ways, but he didn't budge. He just kept his hand in my face with the same words shooting out of his tiny voice "Ade, Hand!" – He was no going to leave. It was usually never that hard. He was always waiting to hear "go wash it" so he could run off to the bathroom. "So why does he keep repeating...

So today, they got punished. The wet hands of the rain beat them to tears. It's hard to tell a blessing apart from punishment in their part of the world. Every blessing was like a curse. Their fertility would impoverish them just as the rain wetting their crops would uproot the roofs they had over their head. Rain fell today and the traffic, as usual, was snarled up. There were so many empty seats in the private vehicles locked down in the tightly gnashed teeth of the Lagos t raffic. A lot of the buses were caught in the gridlock too, so it was extremely hard to make the turns to pick up more passengers. The drivers burnt more fuel and wasted a lot of time on each trip. The private vehicles could have filled its empty seats with the poor commuters for which it felt enormous pity but for the fear of ending up without a car or an arm. The fuel in the buses would not replenish itself and the time lost on the traffic could not be recovered, so the buses would charge up t...

It’s not the time of the day. Nor the words in your say. And it’s certainly not the infantile defiance in your nay. It’s the crystalline sparkle of trust in your eyes. The sweetness in the booming smile you give when you hand me your fries. Not to mention what your tiny mellifluous voice does when it says “daddy” or “Ade”; it gives my soul wings, melts my heart, and leaves my head swooning in warm cheers like a beloved superfly. I’m in awe of your learning strides. The inquisitiveness you deploy, the kindness you evince, and the thoughtfulness you externalize are beyond my prognosis by miles. With you, the walls around my heart evaporates each time; you know just where to look and I can’t even deny.

Time, like a fugitive, flees from everyone and everything; from us all. Or maybe the evasive soul has got one heck of a dream and supersonic jets with which to chase it. How does it never stay in the same place twice? Not even for a second! Maybe time is human. Soul so fleeting like a perfidiously fickle mood. Think of mirage, façade, or shadows, then time would never be far away. You remember when you thought you had him where you wanted? When time seemed so fond of you? When he gave you so much attention that you wondered what to do with the lengthy hours that boredom and Morpheus took delight in purloining? And how you thought to learn a skill to amuse him, or a trade to impress him? He was always there, all around you as a paramour. He was such a stayer that he emptied his soul into your palms. He gave you his life. Then died. Maybe. But what have you done with it? Have you ever waited on time to keep its promise on boiling your rice, healing your wou...