Stories told through male experiences, challenges, relationships, identity, and growth.
I have been rehearsing this evening in my head for weeks, not because I’m shy, well…maybe a little. But mostly because I genuinely wanted this to mean something. I’ve been in America for a few months now. Long enough to know which supermarket has the cheapest eggs, long enough to stop converting every dollar to […]
I don’t think anybody has ever overthought a train journey the way I am currently overthinking this one. I’m sitting by the window pretending to enjoy the scenery, I am not enjoying anything. In fact, if anxiety had a physical form, it would be sitting right beside me, asking if I packed my passport.I check
I’ve taken three showers already and I still don’t know what else to do with myself. The apartment is quiet, the television is on but I couldn’t tell anybody what’s playing, my food is cold, my phone is on the table, and my mind is still in that photocopy room. Still with her. I remember
There is a particular kind of lie adults tell themselves, the small and comfortable lies. The ones that help you get out of bed every morning. Mine went something like this:You died.You came back.It was weird.Now everything is fine. For three months, I repeated that lie so often that I almost believed it.Almost. Three months
My name is Kelechi Nwafor.I’m twenty-six years old.I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Ikeja that is somehow too small and too expensive at the same time. I work as a software engineer on the Island, which means I spend a significant portion of my life sitting in Lagos traffic questioning my life choices. My
There are three things I see every day. Passports.Hope.And desperation.Not necessarily in that order. I work at a visa application centre in Ikeja. Officially, I process documents. Unofficially, I watch dreams queue up before sunrise. Every morning, before we even open the doors, there are already people waiting outside.Students.Business owners.Families.Newlyweds.Retirees.Young professionals.People who have sold land.People
There should be a manual for being nineteen. Not a proper textbook. Just a small booklet. Something that explains all the things adults expect you to magically understand the moment you leave secondary school. How relationships work. How feelings work. How to know when somebody means what they say. How to know when they don’t.