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We go through life clinging to it.
We ceaselessly personify it in diverse forms, and persons, and ambitions, and in our daydreams.
Perhaps because we are not strong enough to survive without it.
Perhaps because it is the very food which our souls crave for.
Perhaps because at the end, it is all we have left.

These were the thoughts I pondered on, as I watched her out of the corner of my eye, muttering audibly to those voices which only she could hear; her glimmering eyes looking into the distance. It had been fours…


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"I would again". Her cold eyes stared into mine. And a shiver travelled down my spine. As I sat across the table before her. And heard her utter those words blankly. To me, her lawyer. "I lost my father eight years ago, in July." She continued. "He was buried in September after we struggled to raise funds for his funeral. One morning, three days to his funeral, I was accosted by three young men at about 6am, while on my way to get food supplies. They overpowered me. And took all I had on me…

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"How much?" The vendor stared at her.
"One thousand, two hundred". She said softly. She typed the digits on the airtime voucher he handed her. A thousand two hundred. The price tag for refilling an internet data bundle.
She had spent the past 8 months refilling another bundle. An onerous one which she wished, had a definite price tag to it. For it appeared to be an unending penance for that transgression. Which began on a day like this. At a time like this. After she had refilled a bundle like this. …

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Under silver lights that illumine our gaze we both stare at the stage before us. And steal side glances donning acting faces that seek to tell differing intents. Under retinal lights that spread on themselves the glances we steal We struggle amidst the wavering walls of the coyness we wear on our faces and bodies that seek to betray our real insides. The lights tell us both, the truths we know. The truths we labour hard to suppress An endeavour somewhat amusing and yet we know, quite foolish to commonsense. But we've been bred by a World and…

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It was a little before dawn. 5.30am. His voice blasted all over the compound. "I've told you that I can't make it this morning, don't you understand?! I can't let a wordly appointment prevent me from taking the ashes today. Don't be the devil to tempt me! Nonsense!" He slammed the door as he hung up and hurried off to the church, mumbling a quick reply to my greeting. It was Ash Wednesday. I washed up and boarded a tricycle to the church a while later. Along the way, the driver stopped to pick a man who…

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"One reason why humans are complex is owing to the luggages of our dark pasts we carry around". He said with a grave look as he sipped his cognac. I gazed at him intently. Hanging on every word he said. He - one of the well touted prestigious business moguls. The exquisivity of his penthouse where in we sat, told a bit of his affluence. "I've learnt the hard way." He continued. "To cut off those who can't handle their excessive luggages. Don't be the martyr for their problems. No matter how you try…

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She held him to herself and cooed, as his shrilling voice rent the air, beads of perspiration running down her face.

And I watched them -mother and baby- as she got worked up with the singing and fretting and patting. To a random stranger it seemed quite frustrating; a burdensome cross perhaps. But in these scenarios, I always remembered. I always recalled; when Dayna Mager retold the missionary's tale.... of the orphaned babies.

"Why are they silent? Why don't they cry?" The missionary had inquired. The orphanage nurse sighed. "After about a week of them being…

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He sauntered through the ward spreading cheer. And hope, joy, life. The energy surging from him flowed around inexhaustibly, and with a pristine finesse. To I, and the others before me, the atmosphere was one of gloom. The end was rapidly ticking for these people. And yet his presence seemed to suggest otherwise. They welcomed him. They laughed and giggled at his shenanigans. The previous week when I arrived, I had struggled to hold back a tear when I heard some recount their tales; their pains, borne with dignified stoicism and calm resignation. For the…

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"Please, for the sake of these little ones, Lord". His lips moved in whispers. "Give me the blessing of another year".
His clasped hands trembled as he lay on the bed. Fighting the tumour with each laboured breath.
I felt his pulse. I wished him well, and prayed that he would win the struggle. For their sake; his wife and four kids.

And I wheeled off to the next ward to check on the other patient. His young wife was by his side, on bended knees. And with swollen eyes. "For my sake…

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Nnedi tweeted "Talk is cheap"
to one who tweeted of grand dreams.
And then the murders they began
for then the knives quite long were drawn;
their bearers pitching sides and camps
attacking, defending, counterattacking.
"Nnedi's evil, rude, disheartening"
"Nnedi's pragmatic, helpful, a realist"
Such were the chants from the warring camps.
The truth my friend, we can only tell
from times past when she said same to others.
And so be slow to pick a camp
until all contexts have been seen

That day the streets with school children filled scampering for cover, and parents…

Chris Teck

I learn lessons and I tell stories.

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