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A Compendium of Excuses To Not Call In The Aftermath of Falling Out of Love

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By Onyekachi Iloh

Sorry, I was in the shower.
Sorry, my phone died.
Sorry, I was doing the laundry.
Sorry, I was at the North Pole.
Penguins were sliding on the ice all around us.
Sorry, old grief was at my door again,
rapping at it with the urgency of someone who needs bathroom.
Sorry, the emperor threw us into the arena
and we had nothing against the lions save the softness of our palms.
Sorry, Superman hurled my house at an alien barrelling in from outer space.
I am writing this from where the mantelpiece used to be.
No roof, no ceiling, nothing, just the stars spinning above us.
These dizzying dandies of the sky, sorry I got drunk
on the light spilling from between their thighs.
Sorry, my grandfather’s ghost sent a text saying:
hey boy, you need some space, don’t you?
My grandfather never spoke English while alive,
now I’m preoccupied with why he should in the hereafter.
Language has always been a concept too complex to fully cognize.
So sorry I chase after things too far gone into the past to find.
Sorry, I did not sleep all night. I was looking for a t-shirt from primary two.
I did not find it, but I’m sorry about what I found:
A hole through which the happiness we had
crawled away into the thick sludge of night;
two songs in which a fisherman asks the sea how many sunsets it holds;
The three birds from Olongo, one white, one black,
a third the color of which the song did not say.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse swinging bridles
and singing to hoofprints in the sand:
they were good boys, they were such good boys, theyweresuchgoodboys
The five stages of grief, all topless beneath the bed,
each singing a different version of Purple Rain.
Sorry, Superman returned my house but it’s been hell making things right.
The puppy has been scurrying after his ball all over the ceiling.
Sorry, we’re trying to force all the dead people back into the picture frames.
Sorry, my Uncle Amanze refuses to believe he is dead.
Sorry, he’s pouring himself tea. Sorry, he’s asking if we won the war.
Sorry, he threw the journal you bought me into the fireplace.
Sorry, all the cockroaches are asking if I’ve seen Kafka:
Small, wiry fellow. Has his own weather. We want him to turn us into men.
So sorry, this poem will cost you an arm and a leg.
How would you pick up the phone?
How would you outrun the remorseless machinery of heartbreak
cantering towards you and mowing down with unconcern
everything we once called tender?
Sorry for any inconveniences caused, but this poem will cost you a heart.
Kindly drop the spongy thumping blood-covered thing here, please.
So sorry, beloved, a lot has been happening lately.

BIO:
Onyekachi Iloh is a writer, poet and visual artist exploring photography as a means of documentation, and the re-examination of sight. He is a winner of the Oxford Brookes Poetry Prize and The Quarterly West Prize in Poetry. He has also been a finalist for the Frontier Award for New Poets. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Barren Magazine, Off The Coast, Welter, Singapore Unbound, Quarterly West, Palette Poetry and elsewhere. When he isn’t playing pretend-guitar or dancing before mirrors, he reads poetry or mourns his country.

 

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NDLEA collaborates with BUA Cement to combat drug abuse among workers

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The National Drugs Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA) has initiated a collaborative effort with BUA Cement to implement regular drug tests for drivers and other employees of the company, aiming to ensure they remain free from illicit substances.

Mr. Adamu Iro, the NDLEA Commandant in Sokoto State, disclosed this during a sensitization lecture jointly organized by NDLEA and BUA Cement for the company’s workers in Sokoto. Iro emphasized that this initiative would play a crucial role in safeguarding lives and commended BUA Cement for its commitment to this partnership.

Highlighting the importance of the initiative, Iro noted the alarming trend of some drivers engaging in the illegal use of substances, posing significant risks to their health and overall well-being. He expressed concern that drug abuse has unfortunately become a normalized lifestyle for many Nigerians, leading to an increase in criminal activities among drug-dependent individuals.

Iro underscored the correlation between drug abuse and the prevalent crimes in the nation, emphasizing that drivers under the influence of drugs pose serious threats to public safety through road accidents.

Mrs. Ramatu Sani, the Head of Training at BUA Cement, expressed gratitude to NDLEA for their support in promoting the well-being of workers and enhancing productivity within the company. She emphasized the significance of the sensitization program in fostering a healthy work environment and sustaining the partnership between NDLEA and BUA Cement.

Mr. Ibrahim Bande, the Head of Transport at BUA Cement, urged workers to heed the lectures and abstain from all forms of drug abuse, emphasizing its detrimental effects on personal development and societal well-being. He cautioned drivers against operating under the influence of drugs, emphasizing the importance of upholding the company’s integrity and ensuring road safety.

The event included a drama presentation highlighting the dangers of drug abuse and recognized staff members who have contributed to the fight against drug abuse within the company. Additionally, a road walk was organized within the community to raise awareness among residents about the hazards of drug abuse and its associated consequences.

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poetry column

Lances at the hedges of light

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By Samuel A. Betiku

With Nigeria’s economy and poverty levels worsening, abductions have become an almost daily occurrence in recent years — Reuters

Until now, you savoured the world in packets of myth, moon-
lit frolic and a cot where the soft ripple of praise succeeds the rooster’s
call and the amber flush of afterglow. What did you know of a country
flailing outside the stained glasses of your eyes, eyes your mother looked into
to relearn the curves of a hymn: what did you know of being a prey
or of a complicit knot of trees and underbrush lining a dire trail,
blanketing the gleam of tomorrow. You watch your friends trudge on,
each laboured step a prayer no one dares to say out loud. When you open
your mouths, it is to let out a wisp of stifled cry, to risk the gruff nudge
of a gun. At the end of the road, your plundered selves waiting, inescapable.
What can you give to stay a haloed house? You look down at your feet
crusted with crimson and grit and imagine your mother sitting outside
the shed, the quiet sob of petition, the drooped heft of her brow, barely able
to stare at a sky spangled with lights closer to home than her daughter.

BIO:
Samuel A. Betiku is a Nigerian writer from the city of Ondo, South West Nigeria. His works have appeared in journals and anthologies, including Rattle, The Offing, Frontier poetry, The Temz Review, Trampset, The Christian Century, Strange Horizons, Agbowó, The Deadlands, and elsewhere.

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poetry column

The Knowledge

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By Kei Vough Korede

In a dream, two bars of soap
Were handed to me—
One containing melancholy.
The other, mirth.
A voice instructed me to give
The former to my father and keep
The latter for myself.
I broke each bar into half
And handed a half of each soap to my father:
His pain is my pain. My joy is his joy.

BIO:
Kei Vough Korede, he/they, poet, fashion and mustache enthusiast. He works on his manuscript Oral History. Flirt with him on Twitter @theDilatedSoul

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