This is not art. This is a slice of a man's soul. And he would be forever grateful we shared with him this one last slice; Lying to his face, telling him it salted badly. Perhaps a little more fire. Perhaps a little more water. This is not art. Disclaimer Artwork: Unknown Location: Last seen … Continue reading A Slice of a Man’s Soul
At the Saint Louis Art Museum, while I appreciated this curious metal-piece, the petite lady in the beige fur coat yawned and spoke out loudly from her residual ignorance, proclaiming this piece of art to be for all intents lacking in creativity and direction, her audience nodded an agreement. Then their little footsteps left the … Continue reading The Scrap Metal Diary
One fears for the aptitude for inventiveness and vivid imagination in African literature, and if at all it still is exploitable for our overall cultural and cerebral welfare, what with the rigged literary palates of Africa's now contaminated audiences. And I do not shout these words from above a soapbox. Or do I? Personally, if … Continue reading An Ode to Terrible Writing: The Things I Dare Not Write In Anger.
In Nigeria, we refer to a newcomer to a foreign place as a Johnny Just Come (JJC), a play on Johnny-come-lately. This story is about one of such – a JJC to America. The story is a comical narrative on the travails of immigration for a Nigerian student who bumps into original encounters of racial quirks in America observed with some hilarity and lightheartedness - and some confusion (America is examined through the eyes of members of a family spanning three-generations). Chinuam runs a blog in America - called the JJC Diary - where he summarizes his new friendship with America. He writes back to his know-it-all, loquacious grandma who cannot read to dispel all her long-held American stereotypes. His father has a fantastically unsound view on America as well. The story focuses on a formulaic viewpoint of Black America often held by Black Africans from without, lopsided but ultimately emancipating, with a cast of unforgettable characters.
It was simply an unbecoming case of the pot and the kettle. A curious occasion of friendly-fire, if you want to be poetic about it. It had become so vilifying in novel ways to find that some members of the black community now echoed the exact same racial stereotypes of anti-black racism on fellow blacks, not from the slant of ‘Uncle Tomness’, no not that, but from a deepened sense of a misplaced heritage and the need to not further murky the waters. More black bodies arriving at airports, struggling to fathom the wrinkles of America, would invariably, result in even increased effort to, as per usual, explain and validate ones black existence in America.