Last year, I wrote poems influenced by various fruits, melding their physical traits with cultural meanings. A nostalgic childhood memory of oranges and my mother's love for them vividly resurfaced, inspiring a haiku I greatly enjoyed creating.
And then one day, everything stopped. We felt too mature to indulge in such childishness. Adulthood slowly began to toughen the carapace of our tenderness. We were estranged from each other too as a new variation in location dawned. I relocated to Ibadan alongside my parents.
They could've raped our neighbour, and only God knows what they would have done to us hadn't for the intervention of other farmers who heard our screams.
My father passed on within weeks of me being born. I did not get to see him nor do I know if he got to see me. I learnt that he was late by going through the family album and seeing the funeral photos. We had a tradition of going to see our grandparents every school holiday.
Through the #hashtag #homeiscalling, The Tribe invites all to find solace and belonging within its embrace.
𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜. 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢? The AI instructs a petition. 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠, I modulate into a binary human. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛. I click on snapshots of traffic lights.