Ruyi's World of Books & Stories

One develops a sharper sense of shame reading these semi-literate tirades shared as criticism of the NLNG-sponsored $100,000 Prize for Literature. One is ashamed not because of the quality of thinking exhibited by these self-identified writers, but by the atrocious grasp of grammar revealed in pretending to decide what is and isn't great writing. If, as a writer, you are incapable of producing decent sentence or coherent criteria in measuring the Art of your "fellow writers," shouldn't you be more concerned about that deficiency? It's ironic that you find it convenient to ridicule others for poor-quality production when you are the actual victim. Unfortunately, some of these entitled clowns and bitter failures masquerading as literary purists and critics, are only reacting to the absence of their friends and mentors in the grand contest. It's a proxy war the puppets clearly don't get. If your literary gods fail to make the long-list, or now the s...

Human traffic was heavy on this fateful Friday evening. It was one of the busiest bus-stops on the Lagos Badagry express way. I had alighted from a bus to board another one that would take me to my destination. Tired of standing at a spot, I decided to move forward a little closer to where the road leads to Egbeda. I was at Iyanaba to be precise. A bedraggled young man was in the crowd. He had a criminal look on his face. That caught my interest. He was tagging along with a woman with his eyes on her purse. He had a dirty handkerchief in one hand to conceal the activity of the other hand working on the woman's bag. The bag was half opened revealing things that should not be to the public. From my angle, I saw a few one thousand naira notes. They were not crispy like biscuits fresh from the oven but they were spendable. To cut the long story short, the thief succeeded in picking a few notes- maybe three or four. He quickly tucked them inside his wretched pocket and turned r...

On a night, the wind blew with vengeance and my heart sank, the ugly movement that wrapped itself around the warm hands of the darkness wrote frustration on the face of the earth. I saw the darkness standing taller than the pair of legs that carried me. As I stared at the mysterious figure whose head is like the avocado pea, it dawned on me that confronting him is like walking on the wheels of fire. Drowned in the sea of confusion, I did not need a prophet to tell his blows could sink the Titanic!  Moreover, causing any disturbance would mean I have presented myself a meal out of which he would sniff life. So, I left a yawn in the air and took cover like a militia in the wood.  Hiding behind the fence, saved my neck from a devilish zap because when the monster raised his ugly head and looked about, he thought no eye was watching. Then he lowered his head like a crook in the wilderness of doom and continued to munch noisily. The figure that is as dark as the midnigh...

Back in February 2013, I interviewed author Omoruyi Uwuigiaren for my  interview-only WordPress blog . I hope you enjoy it... Welcome to my blog interviews with novelists, poets, short story authors, scriptwriters, biographers, agents, publishers and more. Today’s is with children’s author  Omoruyi Uwuigiaren . A list of interviewees (blogged and scheduled) can be found  here . If you like what you read, please do go and investigate further. Morgen: Hello, Omoruyi. Please tell us something about yourself, where you’re based, and how you came to be a writer. Omoruyi: My writing achievements include articles, cartoons, editorials and over nine books. Guardian, Vanguard newspapers, Joeypinkney.com, Town Crier Times, Moronic Ox Literary and Cultural Journal, the Publicist International and other literary journals have published my works. I am based in Lagos. As early as I can remember, I attended a crusade organised by a church in 1998. The man of God called me out o...

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Philosophers have a duty to guide society in resolving moral dilemmas. Unfortunately, we plunge into the false assumption that certain challenges facing us are purely legal in nature. The assumption that hate speech is a crime and that it is equivalent to terrorism is the real threat to the emerging revolutionary pressures in Nigeria. In my judgment, nothing has aided the rise of revolutionary thinking of late in Nigeria like the social media. The era of turning to one national media or the other and being suffocated by official doctrines and propaganda is disappearing. The social media is the hub of free speech and genuine political education of the ordinary people of this country. I have made the point severally that every literate Nigerian should be on social media. Hate speeches are a reflection of the character of conflicts in any given society. This is very crucial for understanding how to proceed. In the United States, for instance, the hate speeches are predominantl...

Dear  Animasaun Olabode , I thank you for your views, expressed on my wall, on my perception about the affairs of our dear nation Nigeria. Kindly permit me to respond here, as the write-up is too lengthy to be included as comments on your essay/message or advice. After my compulsory national assignment with NYSC, I had the rare privilege of traveling to London. Day and night, I was consistently torn between two conflicting decisions, should I stay put like a lot of other Nigerians and kids from the home of our political leaders, and continue to enjoy the sweat and labour of other political leaders or come back home to the hardship of my country? Apart from that, I had a lot of questions burning my young mind. Why and how did we as a nation drop the ball in terms of democracy and development? Why is there so much illiteracy in my country compared to the UK, in-spite of the fact that Pa. Awolowo and Prof. Ambrose Alli gave some of us free and qualitative education...

Immediately she walked into the house, he buried a slapped on her face and she lost her footing. Before he could blink, she jumped to her feet, grabbed his trousers and almost knocked him over. “Robert, what's the meaning of that?” she protested. “Who's that man?” He yelled at her. “Which man?” she shot back. “Don’t take me for a fool, Rachael. I saw you hug a man down there. Who is he?” She chuckled, let go of his trousers and shifted her weight to one leg. “You are not ashamed of yourself!” She hissed and then began to  walk to the bed room.  Robert pulled her back. “Don't walk out on me! I am the head of this house. You need to explain to me what happened down there! I saw you hugged a man!” Sighed, “I have a sore throat. I cannot talk for long, Robert!” She flashed a menacing smile at him and continued, “But if you push me to the wall, I will answer you roughly. It will be wrong if your miserable kids see me as a bad wife. Excuse me! I must rest!"  ...