When your father sits you down to talk about rape, lend him your ears. Offer him your understanding. Pay attention to the confusion in his eyes, seek to unravel it. When he tells you of his childhood, and the stories of his late-blooming, of how he was bigger than his peers, never forget that he was still nothing more than a child. When he tells you of the temptations of free meals and late afternoon errands, listen attentively to the quiver in his voice — for in there is the music of old pain he can yet not understand.

Of the 7 billion people on earth today, only two are perfectly capable of understanding these next few words. One of them will be blown away into the labyrinth of could haves and has beens and the other is You. If you’re still guessing what this is, it’s a suicide note. No, not mine but yours. Yours because when I’m done, you would have killed yourself on your altar of ignorance, probably by hanging yourself on your high horse of self-righteousness or drinking a chemical full of your own harmful tendencies!

We are angry, of course, we are. I mean every day comes with new records of national failure — today we are the most corrupt, tomorrow we are the country with the largest number of extremely poor people — it seems to be government’s pastime to sink us to astonishing lows. Buhari get in here! […]

They will tell you that a kiss is a harlot’s bedchamber. That the meeting of our mouths is a sinner’s filthy prayer. That the exploration of our hands on our bodies is the devil’s excursion into the depths of hellfire. That the heat of our passion is an arsonist’s wet dream. They will tell you […]