The Arts-Muse Fair

  "We are Creatures of our own inventions.   Possibly, we are inventions of our past, and of our times possibly even of some mad dream in the mind of fate, But in the end, we are our own Inventions. That is our tragedy and our hardest fate."  - Julia Cleaver Smith from the novel MORNING GLORY " Not to Resign to Fate is Madness" - Ola Rotimi. "A glowing nimbus of light surrounded the area where I sat, against a huge tangerine ball of a setting sun. A booming, black and red thunder-head of sound cuts across the air from the Northern zone to the South, ruling the night with a majestic zest. Calls so long and loud resonated and rumbled through the earth and bounced on the moon, roaring back in rage to the earth. Then they softened and fall, mournful and low, grieving for the pain of the evil of the night. It was an awesome night in Jos, 1999. No clouds sailed the skies. A white cumulus built on the horizon seeking a late good rain to soak the land. The gras

  The first night of lockdown, Aliyu and Hafsat sat together and talked, for the first time like husband and wife. Since their arranged, brief wedding in January, they had been living in their 3-bedroom flat, like tenants from different ethnic groups, avoiding each other, saying only salam with stoic faces whenever they ran into each other. Until today. Usually, she stayed in her bedroom when he was in the living room, watching TV or relaxing and he did the same. But this night, the brief power cut forced her out of her room when the heat of March became unbearable. She found him sitting on the couch, pressing his phone and fanning himself with a book. She wanted to turn back but she decided she wasn't ready to be suffocated by the heat because of a husband that was forced on her. She said salam, sat on the sofa across from him. From the glow of his phone, she could see that he wore only a singlet and sweatpants. She stood up, adjusted the curtains to let in more breeze and got

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad Your head was really heavy when you opened your eyes, everything was abnormal, upside down. You couldn't help but wonder if you were in the devil's land or in the human world. You decided to lay still for few moment," it will help me regain my sanity." You thought. It took a little while before your sanity was regained. "Oh no!" You shouted like you just saw yourself drowning but you just remembered that your grandmother fell off the cliff and drowned in the water beneath when you screamed out of the joy of seeing Asabe, your best friend whom you thought wouldn't make it to the hangout with your grandma. That scream startled your grandma who moved too fast forgetting that she was standing really close to the edge of the cliff. It happened so fast. "Where is Asabe?" You wondered. You were trying to stand when you heard footsteps from behind. You looked back and saw Asabe, your parents and some men, the men wen

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad December 31st, 2008 was the last time I ever went to a joint, club or bar.  That day, I had joined three of my childhood friends to  Impression,  a popular joint in Kubwa where I had bitten more than I could chew. I am not really a ‘beer person’ but I do enjoy the fellowship of my friends. I am always on the drinking table with them, in the name of brotherhood.    “Relax man. You don't need to drink beer, but we don't want minerals or malt on this table.” Santos, our ringleader told me. “We are big boys and we have to appear as such. You can at least take  Smirnoff.  It is softer than any soft drink you can think of. ”  He added as he signaled to the barman who re-appeared a few minutes later with four cans of  Smirnoff  which he placed before me. I took the challenge and before you could say, Jack Robinson, I had downed all four cans and requested for more.  “Na wetin una for don tell me before be dis. No be to dey force me drink alcohol.

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad Before Daddy returns from work, there would have been broken plates, torn curtains, a rumpled bed and the settees turned upside down. Sometimes, there would be soup stains all over the walls. I thought it was all fun but Daddy didn't think so. He would return to the usual screaming matches with mother, raging and throwing things all over the place. Most times, I ended up receiving the beating of my life from either him or mother. I was always the victim of their altercations. Sometimes, I wondered if they were forced on each other, I never saw my friends' parents act like that. Baban Indo, as my Daddy was called, was a good man, always helping me with my homework, lifting me to the backseat of his bicycle and teaching me how to operate my toy computer. He also bought sweets and popcorn for me, especially when Mama beats me. Until the Easter of 2003 when he suddenly disappeared and nothing was seen or heard of him again. Mummy was a good wom

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad              The possibility of their seeing the note was doubtful. Even as I lay on my bed, I could hear the aggressive exchange of gunfire across the River Buruku, less than five kilometers away. I knew that some of the rattling voices were theirs. What irked me most about the whole show was the thought of finding myself trapped in a hole like a rodent once the enemy crossed the river.             I found myself in the middle of the inter-communal conflict but was forbidden from fighting; I was a long-distance arrow, not to be used for small hunts. My service to the community was only to use the pen and my mind in intellectual warfare against her enemies. This position of seeing the action yet not able to participate when one’s age mates were at the heart of it all created a crack in my sanity. They would come home marching victoriously, or on the shoulders of others as corpses, heroes. Could this have been what lured Chris Okigbo to the front, abandon