SPECIAL CONTRIBUTORS (ISSUE 4)
TRIANGLE OF IGNOMINY by Binogun Winifred
There is a particular air of uncertainty that always hangs about when you are about to do something dangerously stupid. Like aborting the child of an affectionate, tall, black and handsome lover; throwing a pot of good meat-stocked soup away or, like me, waiting outside the closed door of a meeting of board of directors to tell everybody that the boss is nothing but a fat pot-bellied man who farts in his sleep and wears pink underwear. I’d thought too carefully about how to come back at him for leaving me for the new fair-skinned intern. I could probably have forgiven him if it were a dark-skinned woman because he always told me about how ugly every fair-skinned girl appeared to him.
As I stood at the door, armed to the leg with six-inched heels and a show-it-all cleavage, revealing V-neck jumpsuit, I knew I was being silly. The man was married, so what right did I have to him? “Damn remorse, she’s a bastard,” I whispered to myself. I really did not have any idea why I was putting up this act. Was it a desperate move to get him back? Perhaps, the sight of my long legs and half exposed bosom would melt his stupidity away and make him come running back. Or maybe not.
I took one final look at my watch and realised I was getting late for call. I was due to resume at the hospital in a quarter yet I was still away by a 45 minutes’ drive. Finally, the voices rose and I could hear rickety laughter coming from bloated stomachs. As the door opened, he came out first as though his fate was pulling him to me and I folded my arms, flipped my 22-inch weave backwards and got ready to start my speech. As I made towards him, a familiar face appeared behind him with a warm-like cold smile and came towards me with a big hug. I was trying to place the face when she said “Doc., wow, what are you doing here? I see you’ve met my husband.” After a moment of silence between the three of us that seemed like eternity, she pushed me to a corner, away from him.
Almost deafened by my own stupidity, I managed to hear her words, faintly and dream-like.
“Give me more time, you have to understand. You said you would not interfere in my personal issues didn’t you? I will tell my husband at the right time. Please.”
I had to blink and blink to confirm what was really happening. Why did they bear different surnames? Or was she one of those high-class people who received treatments under false names?
After all the blinks, I affirmed it was really happening and managed to speak, “You didn’t come for your ARV drugs last month, so I have come to find out what happened.”
Then she replied, “I did, but forgot to stop by and see you. How did you find my office though? I only left the home address.”
All my throat could cough up was, “A friend of mine works here.”
Binogun Winifred is a final year student of English who enjoys exploring the various genres of Literature. She won the Nigerian Writers Awards Best Teenage Writer of the Year award and is currently sharpening her poetry skills as a mentee under the Ibadan Poetry Foundation. While she is an unapologetic ice-cream lover, she also enjoys white wine and chicken.
***
MAIDUGURI
This
City, perforated, is brash ruined,
Edifice of thunder rumble
And fallen clouds, torn
Rafters on deserted barns
Submitting to night Owl’s songs
Of war. Drumbeats of darkness
Shredding its iron-bridges apart
Into ghost IDP’s latrines.
Bad
Smelling burning sulfur
Of human skulls re-uniting
Dark blood protruding veins.
Your children are silenced by
Tepid gun wounds, cholera and
Malarial smiles, Hungry
Swine eating their strength,
Stealing their youth in the
Very siren of livid policemen,
Livid on honour unwon that
Re-births black days casked
In perfumed coffins.
Maiduguri, awake from this night!
Let your sun
Shimmer in dust-ravaged faces.
Francis Annagu has been published on Potomac Review, Galway Review, The Squawk Back, Kalahari Review, Dead Snakes, Lunaris Review, Tuck Magazine, Bewildering Stories, Ancient Paths Literary Magazine, Calvary Cross, Ayiba Magazine, Ann Arbo Review, Commonline Journal, The Poet Community, Calamaro Magazine, Sunflower Collective, PIN, Crannog Literary Magazine, WRR and many others. He lives in Kaduna, Nigeria where he is working on his first poetry book “Rain Upon Us”. He’s shortlisted for the Erbacce Poetry Prize 2016.
NOT THE TIME…
by Veralyn Chineye
From that moment our eyes met,
You awakened my desires for a time
Of freedom to act,
Expressing awesome feelings
Preferring to see you
Through eyes unclouded by
The longings of my senses
Discovering the all that’s you
Free from premature ties.
Not the time…
I chose to tread lightly
To neither awaken nor stir
Flames of desires
Awaiting a time
Love’s fire will illuminate
And not dim.
Not the time…
From that moment your hand touched mine
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength
Letting feelings wash over
Not relinquishing their hold
Gently reassuring my heart
For that time
We will languish in love’s rivers.
Not the time…
From that moment your spirit
Reached out for mine
And our silence
Screamed louder than words
Stamping impetuous promises of tomorrow’s
Lasting love, I dare anticipate;
That moment of freedom
Of giving and receiving
Unfettered by torn consciences,
Unwise violations,
A pour of my love for you,
A crown of my caresses,
Confident we were created
One for the other
Totally, completely, justifiably
Defiled…
Not the time…
Veralyn Chinenye, a member of Calabar Literary Society, studies at the University of Calabar. She writes poetry and short stories.
Beautiful renditions as always!