The Arts-Muse Fair

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...

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad We are trees With leaves that leave Whether seasons beckons Or not We are trees Stretching to the sun In search of chlorophyll For most leaves Are vain and restless We are trees Some floral and full Some scanty and frail And at each dawn We expect the rain We are trees Sown in different soils Some loam, porous or adhesive But then we grow And spread warmth and tranquillity We are trees With contours Deep, permanent or shallow We are trees Trying to love ourselves And to pave paths For what we fruits we birth Or love we spread, like roots. *** Zainab Manko is a Chemical Engineer, Writer, and Fashion Designer. An adventurer and a carefree butterfly, she is shy in her own way and loves deep thinking.  

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad GENESIS in the beginning there was music of moaning and of a creaking bed his lips quivered not with fever but with minty words her lids slid shut not in sleep but in daydream there was light from the mercury-vapoured lamp coating the sparsely furnished room in a blue film                  in the beginning I was there on that creation night crouching at the edge of the room aghast as I watched the duo spin the potter’s wheel mixing water and clay moulding me into being LIVING ON AS DUST because you loved to sprawl and roll on lawns   to kiss the grasses’ fresh lips and stroke their dewy limbs I demurred when they made to box you and to dump you six feet under the ground because I recalled the night we kissed by the campfire just before you marched out to war how your eyes glowed with the live coals ...

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 I STAND Here I stand in the secret place of my emotions under the shadow of my thoughts wondering: when are we going to enjoy the promises promised by these promiscuous politicians? Grey hair, married to the seat of power Yet, claiming we're leaders of tomorrow, but, when really is tomorrow if the labours of our heroes past seem to carry last these days? Today is the tomorrow we waited for yesterday like a watchman waiting for another day; We've been positioned to write night test with bloody ink putting us up to sit and think - CHANGE: truly a constant in life's equation. But, how do we fight this frustration forming fuming fuse of hatred and religion? We get started from the beginning like *Dó ré mí* scoring spitted words the way it should be; discarding sounds of silence buried in voices of audible men For "we begin to die when we remain silent to things that matter" Martin Luth...