Rekya's Flavors

I stand in front of my window and stare at the expanse of land before me without actually seeing it. I don't see it because my mind's in far away Dreamland. I dream all the time. I dream of who I want to be, places I want to visit, people I want to see. I dream of standing behind a lectern or on a podium, addressing millions of people on any topic that I please. I dream of riding in a limousine, moving in an entourage, waving at screaming fans, watching in amazement as some of them swoon at the sight of famous me. I dream of anchoring a TV show, or the News. My face would be on every TV screen in the city. I dream of shopping in huge malls. I dream of owning the malls. I dream of being an ambassador to other countries and I would perform so efficiently that there would be talk of me becoming the next president. A lot of thoughts run through my mind; some very crucial and some I have no business thinking about. I think of my sister, Claire, whose wedding day i...

Coco quickly shut her mind against the howling of the harmattan wind outside. The sound always took her back to five years ago when she had hurried out of her hometown, a place where the women did all the hard work and the men only drank 'ogogoro' and impregnated as many women as possible. The wind had protested in her ears and swept dust into her eyes but she had trudged on, resolved to fulfil her mission. She had fled to Lagos to find a better life, a different life from her mother's. Her baby brother, Meeky had cried his heart out all through the celebrations because his best friend had left him. So each year after that, she would return the same time she had left. Not because of Mama, whose only concern was to make enough profit from her trade so she could provide for her home otherwise Papa would turn his "attention" to another more prosperous woman. Not for Papa who had so many other children, that it did not matter if she came or went. Not for Willy,...