The Arts-Muse Fair

A man squats by the edge of the house, hands working as fast as they can. Hands working iron against concrete slab. He is etching the words as fast as he can, etching them as deep as his will: here lies a man w - just then, a scream is heard from inside the house. He dashes into the house. … 1. He began to board public buses, ditching his neatly tailored suits for khaki trousers and large formless shirts. He grew out his beard and began to dye his graying hair black. He knew the Federal Agency for Idea Dispersion and Control would be tracking him. He was trying to hide from them. They had emailed him on the first day of the year to remind him that it was his speculated year of death. They had ended the email with: thanks for your prospective cooperation . He had seen what happened to people who tried to die with their ideas. That Saturday evening in his Enugu home as he and his wife watched the news; reporters from all the news networks in the country sticking microphon