Story 1
We were strolling down the street of Oluyori when we heard a loud bang. It was loud enough to shift the grounds beneath our feet. It was Friday and the first joke that broke out of my brother's mouth was that the world was ending. We wouldn't still be talking, would we? I said. They were crushing rocks at a nearby construction site. We concluded it was from there. At this time, we didn't know 8 people’s heads had been crushed, 6 people injured and over 2 million worth of properties lost. So we laughed it off.
Story 2
The wall clock inside his room had just stopped working. It was a sudden, calculated moment of halt. He knew because the clicks from the second's arm was the only sound in his room. He shouldn't be awake, there was school tomorrow, but the rejection news about his MFA application he received the night before had swept sleep from his eyes. He rose from his bed and turned on the lamp. From outside, he became a silhouette as he moved around in his room. The old lady sitting outside the building could see his figure move around behind the blurry white curtain. She was smoking a cigarette and cuddling her jacket. She had just found out that her beloved husband had been having sex with another woman on their matrimonial bed for the past six months. The boy did not know about the presence of the woman, but of course, they were neighbours, so he knew about her existence. They were both miserable beings, trying now to find new purposes because the previous ones became buried.
Story 3
It was minutes after the customer left that she knew Bisi had been stealing from her. Last year, she felt Bisi had spent enough time with her to trust her and made her the manager. Last week made it 7 years since Bisi had been with her. Several apprentices have come and gone. From when she started as a small shop in Shomolu, to a wide shop in Ikeja, along the Airport Road to her latest shop in Victoria Island, glistening at night in diamond-like chandeliers, welcome welcome blinking red at the entrance. Bisi witnessed her transformations so she expected Bisi of all people to know better, to understand why stealing from her was deadly for the business, especially not this time when market no dey sell. When she compared what’s in the bag to the receipt Bisi gave to the customer, she felt a hole drilled deep inside her stomach. She waited for the customer to comot before staring sternly at Bisi. Bisi knew. She knew everything had come down to this. It’s 5 p.m. Bisi went inside and carried her bags. It’s her last day at the office.
Story 4
There is enough time to hold on to joy before it fleets. Happiness is a kinikan that disappears before we get a grasp of it, I know. But if you hold on for a while and let it sink in your body, you'd realise that there's enough space in your room to roll and walk around, that the leaves outside are still green, that the rain just wet the ground and walls are soaked in water, softening, quenching the fierce dryness sprinkled by the sun. What are you doing tonight? You don't have to read a book. You don't need to open your laptop and work like your life depends on it. It does, I know, but can you pretend it doesn't? Just for tonight? The pretense does not take the work or book away, but it allows you to remember the days when joy mattered. Joy matters too. As much as you allow yourself to dwell inside the bucket of unachieved dreams, you should allow yourself to swell inside the bowl of little wins. Dance tonight. Walk tonight. Sleep tonight. Eat healthy tonight. Take it slow tonight. Because it's very possible you die tonight.