The Familiar Places My Parents Call Home The places my parents call home feel strangely familiar — not because I know them well, but because they live so vividly in my imagination. Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about those places. There’s a peace that clings to them — a calmness in villages where time seems to have paused. Especially my mother’s village. My mum is a storyteller, and I hope I’ll be able to share her stories with the world someday. When she describes scenes from her childhood, it’s hard to imagine that a place so slow and seemingly forgotten could hold such colour, adventure, and life. Visits to a Forgotten Time I have been to my mother's village at least three times in my life, and if it was more than that, I must have been too young to remember. What captivated me was how it seemed like everything had... stopped.  Youth, vigour, adventure, and even  hope — they all seemed to have quietly left. Between the beach-like sand, the scent of r...

Something has changed within me.  A yearning for the first time for more.  Is it greed? is it ambition?  For a life I know is out there.  I dream of the days when my days will be enough.  When I'd laugh without any hindrances and perhaps even love.  Yet, a resistance in my soul holds me hostage from these things within my grasp.  I wrestle every day for my happiness.  If you pass by me you might feel a warmth you never felt before.  I had resigned myself to my fate, that I could only do so much as she let me.  Perhaps I now believe the words, I have heard all my life.  It has occurred to me, how much I have denied myself.  Is it the devil whispering "master be kind to yourself?"  Should I take his hand and perch on his wings?  Or is it just my time? A time that I glued its hands together waiting for another's time to strike. The gates I once thought were shut have been opened wide ajar.  I am grasping the suspend...

What if hope was but a forgotten song, Silenced by the cacophony of our worries. Unaware of how our story would unfold, we sought solace in the familiarity of our pain and raised our hands in solidarity, Only to be broken by defeat. And then we grasped our pitchforks and hoes, marching into battle we couldn't name. Imagine if we'd trusted the system  of potbellies, grey heads and crafty tongues. And rooted our hope in the transient, in tales left incomplete. Imagine if we'd had no one to listen to our cries, petitions and prayers. what if we had no supreme being to grant us understanding, then we'd all take turns at the altar of despair to end our worthless lives.

Feelings, a delicate dance of fear and admiration. Why do they stir such dread within me? When directed towards others, a rush of excitement and joy envelops me. Yet when turned inwards, or aimed at my very being, a wave of panic crashes over me. These emotions, so precious, seem too weighty for my fragile grasp, akin to offering a child to a towering dinosaur. What end awaits them? A grand display like Mighty Joe Young? A wild embrace akin to Tarzan? Or a swift consumption, like a lion upon its prey? Will they be devoured like paper to flame? I grapple with the notion of why one would entrust me with such priceless sentiments. Should I nurture them? Protect them? Admire from afar, then bid farewell when the moment fades? In the ballads of love that shaped my youth, I glimpsed the profound essence of affection, moving me to tears. To think such depth of emotion could be bestowed upon another human, not bound by blood. I marvelled at this capacity, witnessing the eternal cycle of love r...

Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise -  Thomas Gray I grew up as a very aware and observant child. The cloud of innocence and naivety of childhood dispersed very quickly, from being aware of what death meant from age 6 to realising that money doesn't last forever. I believe my upbringing has shaped who I am today. Despite being sheltered by my parents, growing up on the streets of Lagos exposed me to different realities. I saw homeless people on the streets, some of whom were naked, but not necessarily deranged. On the other hand, some wealthy individuals talked about their travels around the world with their families during the summer. It was challenging to fit in, on one end I enjoyed trips when my mom would take my siblings and me to (what I thought were) really nice restaurants where we would eat Jollof rice, Chicken and Salad. While my neighbours never got that opportunity and their parents were spending late nights burning candles at mami night markets to fini...

No, I don't hate children! I just give them a respectable distance! Fascination with Babies: Yearning for a Sibling I should begin with my fascination with babies. Though not the last kid in the house, I was the last child birthed by my mother, my cousin who lived with us was born barely two years after me. So I never really had exposure to babies, my earliest memory is at five years. All my aunts and uncles were really old, already in their late 30s-40s by the time I was born, so there was no expecting any new baby in the foreseeable future. For a time, I thought my mum would be that glimmer of hope, bringing forth a new baby that I could call my own. Yes, I said it " my own". But that hope was quickly dashed when my mum realised that she had fibroids and in hindsight, my dad wasn't particularly interested in another child anyway. Why was young Tobare obsessed with having a younger sibling anyway? The Outcast: Searching for Acceptance in Childhood Now, for some self-...