Monday, October 24, 2011

Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! REVISITED

The Life House, Reel Life is re-screening another one of the most demanded films featured at the Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! 2011 Film Festival.

This Thursday 27 October at 7.30pm we’ll be showing a very important and riveting film, CUBA: AN AFRICAN ODYSSEY. Following the screening there will be a discussion and light refreshment.

Directed by Egyptian filmmaker Jihan El-Tahri (118 min. 2008), Cuba, An African Odyssey is an absolute must see for all!

Exploring Cuba-African relations, this film describes the role of Cuba, under the leadership of Fidel Castro, in giving critical support to Africa’s liberation movements. Cuban influence was instrumental in advancing the decolonization process, which brought independence to much of the continent. Travelling through Congo, Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau, this film conveys a strong sense of what it was like to be a part of these incredible events by presenting the viewer with rarely seen archival footage and in-depth interviews with those who set the course of Africa’s recent history.!

For more information, contact The Life House Team:

Info 0703 403 0683

The Lumina Foundation: Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature

The Lumina Foundation began to receive entries for the 2012 edition of Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa on July 2011. The deadline for submission is November 20, 2011. All entries must be received at The Lumina secretariat before November 20, 2011.

For more information on the foundation and submission of entries visit the website

Monday, October 17, 2011


by Olaniyi Adekanye

Monki, my friend

You are special

Since I have been walking

My whole wide world walk

You display every lineament

Lineaments of incivility

Idiosyncrasies of the bush people

To fathom your attitude problem

I suffer mental constipation

My blood is hot

And running dry

I am malfunctioning

It is your folly

That puts me in this state

My smile gathers wrinkles

Wrinkles of bitterness

My laughter echoes anger

Anger from which I hunger

You know I don't have enough anger

To waste on minute issues

Horses are naturally meek

Men cause the horses' shriek

And bitterness

Monki, my friend

Far and wide

You have travelled

The intellectual world

You have explored your brain very well

It is now retrogressing

Maybe you have overworked it

Maybe you have too many extraneous pigments of knowledge

Only an aberration of cohabitation

Causing your slimy and stumbling tongue

May God deliver you

Grow up!

Do attitude architecture

I cannot say you should go back

To school to get

What you left behind

You might have succeeded academically

You have failed 'characteristically'.

Monki, my friend

Maybe I should remind you

That good character beautifies

Maybe you think I don't know now

That deceit lay behind your facade of good countenance

That a good woman is praiseworthy

Maybe you don't know that I know

That you are of wife age

That your contemporaries are fidel and fecund

In the chambers of the owners of the monies of their heads

But what man

What man will be patient?

What man will be so chummy?

What man will condone

Your sweltering attitude?

Your unwitting discharge?

Maybe you need to know

That if you continue like this

No man

I mean no man

Will be nostalgic

Of that home you keep

For him.

I wish I could keep my mouth sealed

but my abhorrence might strongly push me

I guess

to notoriety.

Olaniyi Adekanye, a graduate of English and literary studies from Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba-Akoko, is a native of Akure in Ondo State, Nigeria. He lives and works in Ibadan as an editor in one of the leading book publishing Houses in Nigeria. Olaniyi can be contact through: or (+234) 08060266505.

THE LAST HEIR by Larry Sun


by Larry Sun

An excerpt from The Last Heir, the first volume of the HOUSEHOLD series.

June, 1985.

The night was not the warmest one. A few stars peeked down on the world and a quarter moon played hide and seek behind the scattering clouds. Cain Martins was hungry; he hadn’t eaten any food today, not like he always had much to eat before–– he was always hungry. Even before his starvations, Cain had always had a big appetite. Often he was ravenous; at times his hunger seemed almost insatiable. He’d just been released from the hospital and he was a man without a job. Cain Martins was a nobody––he had no one, no family; the mother he’d grown to know and not love had died eight years ago. He didn’t even know his own father. Cain Martins was virtually homeless.

His wristwatch, the only property he had, revealed it was a couple of minutes past nine. The heavy rain that had come and gone earlier had left the night’s temperature almost freezing. Cain dipped his hands in his trousers pocket, aware that there was no coin on him. That impossible feeling of sorcery where a couple of coins might miraculously fill his pockets occurred to him but it was a time and world where magic refused to operate. The hunger persisted.

He continued walking down the dark street; stopped for a short moment to urinate in a gutter nearby. The street was already becoming quiet; the street crowds were already vacating the bars and brothels to their various homes. Two men walked out of one of the buildings struggling with the zippers of their trousers; on the second floor of another building, a woman opened a window and shouted down, berating her husband about the projected hour of his return. Other night owls could be seen drinking from gin bottles. In the last house, a lone whore leaned out from a first floor window, saw Cain and opened her blouse, displaying a large sagging breast that looked like a funnel. She squeezed it several times and pointed the nipple at him. Cain turned away from the view; he knew she was not for him. The street was the end of a particular section of the cities of Lagos.

Cain Martins was a twenty-seven year old man of average height with bushy black hair, dressed casually in a white shirt and black trousers, with a pair of brown sandals on his legs–everything he’d stolen, except of course, his wristwatch which his mother had bought for him about a decade ago when he was in the high school, the watch itself had stopped about a century ago. He was quite ugly, his lean hard face and hooked nose with thin lips gave him the look of a hawk. His face in particular was distended and carried a scowl that would make his face to a child look like a boogeyman’s. When he was a kid, he’d contacted a skin disease that stripped off his hair. He’d been as bald as an egg ever since. He had no girlfriend––not even when he was in the high school. No girl wanted to date ugliest boy in the school. Coupled with his bad looks, Cain Martins was arrogant and cruel. During his final year in the school, he’d brutally abused a fourteen-year-old girl sexually. He’d walked straight to the young girl and asked her to kiss him. The girl had felt surprise and embarrassment that she saw the confrontation as a bad joke and walked out on him. Cain became infuriated by the girl’s action.

It was about a week later when the girl was returning home from school that Cain attacked her. He crept behind her and hit her with a stick on the back of the head, the girl collapsed face-down. He dragged her to the bush at the side of the quiet road and turned her on the back. He gave her some few blows on the side of her face to render her weak before he roughly entered her. The enormity of the deed and the psychological trauma compelled the poor girl to withdraw from the school. But Cain Martins was never convicted of the crime.

For his plan to be successful, a cold night and a quiet street was what Cain Martins wanted. He stood under the shadow of an electric pole waiting for someone he could attack and rob. In his left hand was a thick iron rod. Hunger birthing anger in his stomach; crime is the only thing on his mind...

Larry Sun, an aspiring writer, was born in Lagos, Nigeria. The Last Heir is the first volume of the HOUSEHOLD series; his soon to be published first novel. He lives in Lagos and can be contacted through this email:

Friday, October 14, 2011


by feyisayo adeyemi 

When belly goes Choir everyday
how does a man think free?
To chomp -
 begs on another’s mercy
How will he wheel his will?

the soul goes out
run son!
                 ran some,

the master driller
bores a hole
damn soul

he howls
hunger unto his neck
scampers at your call, beck
for the crumbles he’d peck

idealism runs low
in the gutter
flood washed it off its street
Reality opened
a book called Check

heart ripped ,hopes parched

freedom ferries -

a long walk


nameless street 

Monday, October 10, 2011


Felabration and Cultural Week at The Life House starts tomorrow Tuesday October 11th 2011 till Sunday October 16th 2011.

The Felabration week will feature a vast array of art and cultural elements and activities including a weeklong art exhibition, theatre performances, numerous live musical performances, poetry recitals, book readings, open-mic sessions, a fashion, food and lifestyle fair, film screenings and discussions and loads more.

Yinka Davies, BEZ, Ayetoro, Sense Lounge, J'odie, Chica Chukwu, Ade Bantu, Sha, Lala Akindoju, Inna Erizia, Biodun and Batik, Salvador Sango, Tope Sadiq, Wana Udobang, Wura Samba and loads more are scheduled to perform at The Life House.

SHAKARA: FELABRATION AT THE LIFE HOUSE 2011 takes place at The Life House, 33 Sinari Daranijo Street, Off Ligali Ayorinde Street, Victoria Island, Lagos from 11th – 16th October 2011.

For more information and participation call - 0703 403 0683

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Lore with Yomi Edward


How is life treating you over there?
I got this tale for you; let's share...


The story is told of an old man who was being chased around the village by little children for allegedly stealing a chicken and hiding it inside his goat-skin bag.

Fortunately, for the old man, another old man appeared on the scene to enquire why his friend was being harassed. The suspect narrated his ordeal and pleaded with his friend to take "an old man's eyes" and look into his bag to see if there was any chicken hidden inside the bag. His friend looked into the bag, saw the live chicken, but declared to the angry kids that there was no chicken in the bag...

That was comradeship of the old men...

Though, this story belong to the folklore, I just cannot separate it from Nigerian politics...

or what do you think?

Friday, October 7, 2011

Meet Extraordinaire ArtStar - Kehinde Wiley

In one of my merry-go-rounding around the internet, I came across Kehinde Wiley, one of the world's most sought-after urban artists.

Looking at his beautiful collections and achievements, I wonder why I haven't heard of him earlier.

Kehinde Wiley

Kehinde Wiley is a Nigerian-American visual artist based in New York. He is a master in the art of portraiture. PUMA partnered with him for the Spring Summer 2010 PUMA Africa lifestyle collection of apparel, footwear and accessories.
Etoo painting for PUMA Africa Campaign
Check out Kehinde Wiley's amazing paintings and those for PUMA Africa Campaign


Wednesday, October 5, 2011


by Yomi Edward
Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
their hand-prints shall eternally gladden the sky...

Those who made the world smooth
would never depart
in silence
their legends shall
eternally rock
generations unborn...

Those who made the world beautiful
would never parade the street unscented
their deeds shall
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
the songbirds shall hum their names
the wind shall provide the rhythm
the trees shall dance
along with us
when we unveil
their names

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
their handprints shall eternally gladden the sky...

Those who made the world smooth
would never depart
in silence
their legends shall
eternally rock
generations unborn...

Those who made the world beautiful
would never parade the street unscented
their deeds shall
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
the songbirds shall hum their names
the wind shall provide the rhythm
the trees shall dance
along with us
when we unveil
their names
like rainbow
in the sky...

would be
like rainbow
in the sky...

would you dare be
a rose to this world?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


by Olaniyi Adekanye

Even when the moving eyes
Effect their coyness of denial
The watching moon was my witness
The scorching sun also autographed
The sweeping rain left uncertain scars
The scattering wing garnered nothing
From the four-corners

"Don’t we have people up there?"
I asked the ageing father
The ageing breath chorused misery

"We are walking without legs, my child."
Was after a l-o-n-g l-o-n-g silence
My heart became busy...

"And we climb the ladder without the rungs."
And my being was still-life

"God wards off the tormenting flies
For the tail-less cow."
That tilted my passive aggression
That He steers the man
And not the people up there.