On the NLNG Sponsored Prize for Literature by Gimba Kakanda.

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 short-list, it's only because the prize isn't their birthright. And if you're out to caricature the prize, at least enable your brains and come up with critically sound arguments in assessing the crafts. It's possible you're not sufficiently schooled to appreciate a diversity of styles, programmed to see your local champion of a mentor or friend as the standard.

Well, you don't need a book to be a writer, you only need it to be an author. And what's the essence of producing hurriedly-stapled papers that hardly get beyond the shore of your father's or girlfriend's residence?

It's easy to write. I can finish a novel in a month or less, but God has not tasked me with torturing any innocent soul. Don't let the applause in your locality mislead you. Hone your skills, write, rewrite and edit. And even when you are about to declare yourself master of the game, contact a real editor to deflate your ego. Often, a writer is only as good as the dedication of his editors.

One of my model writers Arundathi Roy has, until 2017, only a book. She produced her second book after twenty years. During what you may call her "hiatus," she didn't stop being a writer, she was writing, columns and being human(e) - an activist. She didn't let the Booker Prize hype and her readers' never-ending praises fool her to rush. Her new book is not a disappointment. With just one book, she became a model for your mentors with 15 books and yet known only in their Local Government.

In Nigeria, among my contemporaries, one of my favourite writers is Oris Aigbokhaevbolo. He doesn't have a book. But believe me, it may take your mentor a lifetime to produce a sentence as decent as what this maverick crafts. Whether effortfully or not, at least he writes intelligently. It amuses me that my "non-writer" friends - functioning in banks, hospitals, and state bureaucracy - write better than these self-admitted prolific great writers.

The Perfect Lagosian by Osagie Robert.

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 round to observe if he was being watched. As he turned to go, he saw me and knew I saw what he had done. He flashed a menacing smile at me and uttered some words and waved in acknowledgment. Revealing his teeth suffering from malocclusion and urgently needed the attention of a dentist. At that very moment, I returned an exaggerated smile and muttered, "My guy your cup go soon full!". I had been a perfect Lagosian by minding my own business but I went home feeling sorry.

That night, I could not sleep. My mind kept on replaying the incident and I felt like an accomplice in that petty crime. I was caught up in the middle of two unpleasant situations. She was careless and her loss could make her more careful tomorrow. That is if she learns her lesson. And I hope she does. On the other hand, if the young man had been caught courtesy of me and had probably been killed by mob action, I would never be able to forgive myself. I protected a thief and allowed the lesser evil to be punished. I hope someday he would heed the few words I spoke to him and leave the trade before my prophesy comes to pass.

Women are the victims of this kind of activity. Some of them are not mindful of how they carry their bags. Most women are not security conscious. How would one person tail you from somewhere for about five minutes and get your bag opened without you noticing? That to me is the height of carelessness. I will never walk for two minutes even in a crowd without looking back to observe those around me.

What the eyes don't see, the heart does not grieve after. Be security conscious.

Ghost of Dalmos (The Beginning) by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren.

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 midnight has a little nose, a strong square jaw and thin lips were hidden under a heavy line of the mustache. Dressed in a coat that has seen its better days, he was like a medieval statue in a desolate city.

As I stared at the hellish creature from the little opening on the wall, the monster rose to feet and let go a yawn that took some time to mix with the air. My jaws dropped when I saw how much height the devil has to his advantage. As the enemy carried himself to a distance, he paused and turned his fiery eyes to my direction as if he suspected a meal was lurking. There was much to the balls in the sockets of his skull, for they were daring and my hearts of heart died within me. Before I could blink, the enemy pounced and his treachery shattered the walls. 

Before the tormentor could emit destructive powers that could have left a trail of waste, I found my feet and made the best use of them to the old cottage on the farm. Frustration almost embraced me as I race across the cornfield. He could have sniffed life out of me, but the fireballs he threw could not humble my languishing soul. They fell about and ravaged the farm.

Running like a bat out of hell was the best because I was on the highway to hell. My legs were almost touching the back of my head and I could not count the number of times I stumbled and fell as the monster chased. The building welcomed me to her mysterious world, to be tortured by the cruel hands of an unjust fate. Breathing like a terrified lizard, I had nothing better to do than secured the door, which I doubt would serve her purpose few years to come.  

After battling to stabilize my breath, I looked about the room whose beauty was a deafening silence. There were images on the walls, furniture begging for renovation, rickety tables drowned in the sea of dust and cobwebs spread over them like the blanket on the bed of roses! Out of the belly of the cold night came a miserable rat, not comfortable with my presence, it squeaked and disappeared into a hole.  

There were six or more wooden doors before my large innocent eyes; on them were inscriptions I could hardly decipher. As I tasted confusion as my meal for that day, I was lost and the cruel monster was lurking like a rushing wind. Dismayed in the doom as mischief threatened my place in the scheme of things, I decided to hide behind one of the doors. But I did not know what would be my fate there. I was two or more steps away from the nearest door when one of the doors at the extreme opened as if it was an invitation from a friendly creature to wipe away my tears. Then I paused and offered the opened door a harmless look. In the midst of the confusion, a thought flew into my head that I might be secured in there. In addition, hiding in such a place that was a distance away from the monster would mean freedom from a predator whose filthy blows have begun to torment the rickety wooden door.  Before he could find his way into the abode, I rode few steps to the extreme, disappeared into the room and shut the door behind me. As soon as I secured the door, rivers of joy strolled into my heart, and I felt as if I had reached my promise land! Happy that freedom had embraced me; I stood like a majestic mountain and heaved a sigh of relief.

One thing I did not fail to do immediately I set foot in the world, was carefully looking to every direction in the room. But my countenance fell, and I was disappointed when I saw that the room was not better than the highway to hell. The place was creepy and dreadful like the hole of an enemy whose belch could kill a dove. Drowned in the sea of fear, my wondering gaze fell on a clay pot at the extreme, oozing out smoke. As the smoke went up to high heaven, it formed into a human that was as slim as a beanpole. The ugly creature floating on the air flashed a menacing smile at me and disappeared through a little opening in the window. As soon as the truckload of misfortune was gone, and Lady Tranquility returned to her esteemed seat in the house, I received a blow to my head. I yelled as if I had mistakenly crushed my thumb with an anvil. The anticipation of death stood before me like a giant troll. As I fell to my knees, languishing with my hands on my head, someone coughs a bit and cleared his throat. My heart jumped into my mouth as I threw myself at my feet as if I have never fallen. Immediately I looked around the room, my large innocent eyes saw a wicked face on the wall. The man's face was cold as if he has never clothed himself with the tender affections of compassion. 

"What are you doing here?" the fiendish creature questioned and wore a frown as if he has never set foot in the corridors of wealth. 

Before I could respond, the creature came out of the wall and buried a slap into my face. I lost my balance and fell as a leaf tossed about by the wind blown rain. As soon as I regained my footing, I began to retreat to the door. The atmosphere was not friendly. But just as it was eager to take life, I had the luxury of looking straight into the devil's eyes. The balls in the socket of his skull were full of fire, and they could set a hundred legs on the run. Apart from his long tail that had enchanted spikes that were six inches long or more, he was horribly dressed and four arms stood out of his scaly body. Dressed in a dark garment and his head like an egg, his shoulders were almost reaching the head that sat on his neck. Shivering as tears gathered in my eyes, I fell to my knees and pleaded. "Please, don't kill me. Someone was after me!"

"That is none of my business. Is that why you should disturb me?" He sounded like a thunder, stood over me, and crossed his arms over his body. "Who is the fellow?"

"I don't know him," I stammered.

He took a deep breath and threw a wicked glance at the door. Then he turned to me. "Whatever the case may be, my home is not a hide out for sycophants." As he raised his hand to strike me, the creature on my trail burst in and distracted the creature. The giant was sweating profusely as if he had spent hours in the gym. Red with rage, the creature with the tail of enchanted spikes waved one of his hands at me. Before I could blink, a wicked force carried me to one end of the room where I fell in a heap of bones. Then he swallowed hard and rode two or more steps closer to the interloper who had been on my trail. "Sam, how many times have I warned you never to break into my home?" he fumed.

Sam the giant chuckled. "Sodus, almost a million times. But you know I always have a reason to come here."

"Yes, even fools do. Let this be the last time you will disturb my peace." 

"Alright!" He pointed at me, "I chased that meal in here and I can't wait to have him," said Sam. He smiled.

Sodus clenched his fist. "Sam, I know that fortune smiles on the brave. But it will be difficult to have your way today. Leave this meal for me as a compensation for invading my privacy."

Sam wore a frown. "NO! An opportunity like this does not present itself all of the time. They come like the dutiful season that wrapped itself around the quiet hands of the earth."

"You are right. I know how painful it is to lose a good thing. It is a man that lost a vital part of his. But the way things are, you have to accept my request and leave my house."

Sam ground hard and looked at me coldly. He coughed a bit and returned his gaze to Sodus. "Any man in want should not frown at the troubles therewith, because out of such will he be measured."

"So be it!" Sodus charged him; his bulk like a battering ram. He pounced and unleashed a blow that swept Sam off his feet. Before the big man could regain his footing, Sodus grabbed hold of him by the neck and suspended Sam in the mid-air. As the big man battled to free himself from the devilish grip, Sodus smashed him against the walls. So part of the building collapsed and Sam was lost in the rubbles.

As Sam battled with the cruel hands of fate in the rubbles, Sodus roared, beating his chest vehemently. Then he pounced to fetch Sam and possibly sniff the life out of him. He had barely removed a stone or more from the rubbles when a devastating blow from the rubbles fell on his jaw and sent him the other way. Falling like a pack of cards, he quickly threw himself on his feet as if he had fallen with style. Standing before him was Sam who was red with rage. Before Sam could snatch a breath from the wings of the cruel night, Sodus turned to the clay pot on the extreme and made some incantation. In a moment or so, vile creatures, about nine inches tall or more began to pour out of the pot like a boisterous wind on the highway to hell. Chanting warfare songs and brandishing their weapons--swords, spears and short-handled battle-axes, the little devils attacked Sam. 

As they punished the giant with their weapons, the big man smashed a number of the creatures with his feet. Running out of patience, he drew a wood from the part of the house that collapsed and began to use it against the little devils. As soon as the little men fall stone dead, they would form into smoke and disappear into the pot. Sodus, not satisfied with the turn out events, pounced and transformed into four large mysterious birds. As I watched, shivering in the corner that the devastating blow left me, Sam could not stomach the onslaught of the birds. They tormented his flesh and the giant groaned like a man humbled by the manipulations of his fishwife. Sensing he could be stopped from swallowing, and that would make him a slave to Sodus forever, the giant began to retreat and soon he was in full flight. His pair of legs that wrote frustration on the old earth was almost touching the back of his head. As he sped off, his legs betrayed him. Because he stumbled on a table and was received by the warm and waiting hands of the old earth. Sam picked up himself immediately and faced the exit with the speed of lightning, as voices of triumph that almost brought down the apartment chased. 

As soon as they disappeared into the darkness, I crawled into the next room and slammed the door behind me. Not knowing what my fate would be in a creepy place that I could hardly see beyond my little nose, I threw myself on my feet and looked at the world as if a black goat was missing and finding it would fetch me an Olympic medal. Immediately I threw two or more steps forward, the house and all her miseries disappeared, and I found myself in the middle of a graveyard. The sky was gloomy and the stars had rested on the bosom of sudden death. The graveyard was bitterly cold and her beauty was a trail of waste. I saw the darkness. It was a monument

Before I could snatch a breath from the cruel hands of the night, a fiendish owl on a gravestone called my name with a kindly brogue and disappeared into an almond tree. I was yet to come to terms with the realities around me when a mysterious hand emerged from the ground and grabbed hold of one of my legs. Initially, I thought it was a crawling grass and tried to shake it off. But my effort hit a brick wall. The dreadful creature seemed to be happy I was lost. Because his treachery made me yelled like a blacksmith that crushed his thumb against the anvil. As I battled to free my poor soul from the cruel hands from hell, I lost my balance and found myself struggling to stay alive. The enemy began to pull me into the ground. While he dragged me to my early grave, my hands found a wood. I did not spare him a breath. I laid the club five times or more on the cruel hand. As soon as I was off his miserable grip, I jumped to my feet and raced as if my survival depended upon how I could maneuver my young legs. 

Journeying to the unknown is as evil as a sorcerers spell. As misfortune stared at me, I realized it would be suicidal to stop running, for I did not know the machination that was against my poor soul. An opened gate was ahead. I was few poles away from the gate when it shut and a grievous whirlwind emerged from the ground and began to torment the yard. The boisterous wind blew as if it was doomsday. I would have walked into silence and be happy with the comfort in demise if not for one of the trees that I held. So it prevented the wind from tearing my world apart. The whirlwind left a trail of waste, trees were uprooted and gravestones were turned. But, of course, it was to be expected.

Now the air was still, and Lady Tranquility paraded itself in the creepy place. Not long after, the ground began to crack as if an earthquake was underway or doomsday was lurking. I was yet to figure out what was going on when the ground began to vomit horrible looking creatures. Zombies formed out of the ground, carrying weapons--swords, long spears and short-handled battle-axes with heads that were larger than life. As I gazed, not knowing what to expect, the creatures stood like an army of enlightened pastors in a sanctuary praying fervently as if they were next to God! Then they began to approach me and I did not need a prophet to tell me that all they wanted was me.

As I looked to every direction, pondering how to be freed from these monsters, they brandished their weapons and made a strange noise as if they wanted to emit destructive powers. Realized my peril, my knees knocked ferociously together. As they approached me gradually, I began to back a step. Dazed by bewilderment, I stumbled on a tree and was trapped by monstrous hands that emerged from the tree. I tried to fight myself out of the devilish grip but did not prevail. The tree opened its mouth as a drudge makes a short work of a slap up meal on a cold night, and swallowed me!

Morgen's Author interview with Omoruyi Uwuigiaren (revisited).

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 of the crowd and told me that God said, “I am a writer”. And that put me on the path to a great love of books my whole life. Writing has turned out to be one of the most fulfilling things that I have ever done, and I will never stop it.

Morgen: What genre do you generally write and have you considered other genres?

Omoruyi: I write books and stories for children in a literary style with a prevailing sense of ethics. What makes my stories so very readable is my voice and writing style as soft as an African savannah.

Morgen: What have you had published to-date?

Omoruyi: My latest book is “The City Heroes and Other Stories from the Heart of Africa”. It is a perfect introduction for young readers to learn the African experience. Suitable for middle-grade readers, the stories within the collection contain messages and themes about forgiveness, charity, redemption, and loyalty all from a decidedly African perspective.

Morgen: Are your books available as eBooks? How involved were you in that process? Do you read eBooks or is it paper all the way?

Omoruyi: I have two eBooks. Apart from reading the final draft for the typo and making corrections, there was nothing else. Yes, I read eBooks a lot. Now we can preserve trees!

Morgen: :) Do you have a favourite of your books or characters? If any of your books were made into films, who would you have as the leading actor/s?

Omoruyi: The City Heroes and Other Stories from the Heart of Africa are my favourite book, and Blaize is my favourite character. I like Tom Cruise.

Morgen: He’s a great actor. Did you have any say in the titles/covers of your books? How important do you think they are?

Omoruyi: I always have a say in the titles and covers of my books. But in the case of “The City Heroes”, my publisher was king! Book covers and titles are very important. Sometimes you can judge a book by the cover. The world is a small place and people are always in a hurry. If your book cover or title is not attractive, your work might not get a second look.

Morgen: It may well not. What are you working on at the moment / next?

Omoruyi: A novel titled “Savannah Wind”.

Morgen: Do you manage to write every day? Do you ever suffer from writer’s block?

Omoruyi: I write every day and I hardly suffer from writer’s block. I will never stop writing.

Morgen: You’re very lucky. Most writers, myself included, say we need more time to write. Do you plot your stories or do you just get an idea and run with it?

Omoruyi: It depends on my situation. But most times I get an idea and run with it. I think it is convenient to engage in the latter.

Morgen: Do you have a method for creating your characters, their names and what do you think makes them believable?

Omoruyi: I have been writing middle-grade fiction for a number of years, I cannot remember if I ever used a method to create my characters and their names. To me, this aspect of writing is the simplest. The level of your imagination at work will determine how believable your characters will be.

Morgen: Do you do a lot of editing or do you find that as time goes on your writing is more fully-formed?

Omoruyi: I don’t do a lot of editing now. The more you write, the better you become. And the easier it will be for an editor to edit your work.

Morgen: Do you have to do much research?

Omoruyi: Research is inevitable if you want to have an excellent book. I do much research.

Morgen: What point of view do you find most to your liking: first person or third person? Have you ever tried second person?

Omoruyi: I like the third person point of view. I have never tried the second person.

Morgen: It’s an interesting point of view, although best left to short stories. Do you write any poetry or short stories?

Omoruyi: Yes, I write poetry and short stories.

Morgen: Have you had any rejections? If so, how do you deal with them?

Omoruyi: Rejection is a major scar in writing. I have had several rejections and I took them in good faith.

Morgen: That’s a great way to look at it. Do you enter competitions?

Omoruyi: I must confess, I have never entered for any writing competition before. But I will do so henceforth.

Morgen: Oh you don’t have to. Many authors don’t. Whilst a themed competition makes me write something new, I enter very few, although I do know authors who enter more competitions than writing for any other purpose. Most prefer to submit for money/publication. Do you have an agent? Do you think they’re vital to an author’s success?

Omoruyi: I don’t have an agent. Yes, they are good and can help a writer secure a lucrative publishing deal.

Morgen: How much of the marketing do you do for your published works or indeed for yourself as a ‘brand’?

Omoruyi: The easiest way to survive is to learn how to blow your own trumpet. I am always on the look out for avenues where I can promote my works and myself.

Morgen: What’s your favourite / least favourite aspect of your writing life?

Omoruyi: The lowest point in my writing life was when I sold one of my books to a publisher in my country. It was a blunder and I vowed never to make such mistakes again.

Morgen: Oh dear. We live and learn. What advice would you give aspiring writers?

Omoruyi: Just to keep writing. Try to get the first book out and network with people. No matter what happens, don’t give up if your first book fails to hit the mark. Write more books and build your fan base.

Morgen: If you could invite three people from any era to dinner, who would you choose and what would you cook (or hide the takeaway containers)?

Omoruyi: Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, and William Shakespeare. Barbecue and ice cream!

Morgen: Nice. If you had to choose a single day from your past to re-live over and over, what day would it be and why?

Omoruyi: The day I met the prophet that told me I was born to write. That day changed my whole life!

Morgen: I felt the same when I went to a creative writing evening class. Is there a word, phrase or quote you like?

Omoruyi: A man is for himself, but God is for us all.

Morgen: What do you do when you’re not writing?

Omoruyi: Reading.

Morgen: Are there any writing-related websites and/or books that you find useful?

Omoruyi: Book Marketing BuzzBlog: http://www.bookmarketingbuzzblog.blogspot.com

Morgen: Are you on any forums or networking sites? If so, how valuable do you find them?

Omoruyi: I am on Facebook, Book marketing network, LinkedIn, Shout Life and Twitter. They are good platforms for book marketing.

Morgen: What do you think the future holds for a writer?

Omoruyi: Very bright.

Morgen: I agree. :) Where can we find out about you and your writing?

Omoruyi: http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/the-city-heroes/about.html, http://omoruyiu.blogspot.com and

facebook.com/omoruyiu

Morgen: Is there anything else you’d like to mention?

Omoruyi: I am a preacher of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Morgen: Thank you, Omoruyi.

I then invited Omoruyi to include an extract of his writing…

The Outside World

The night was as dead as a doornail and Lady Tranquility took her seat in the neighborhood. Dag, a frustrated cat in the pool of old age, had nothing better to do than lie on the rooftop of a bungalow that was begging for renovation. The cat gazed at the beautiful earth that spread before him as if it were a balance sheet under the nose of a shrewd accountant.

Dag was not alone. Other cats that had also known misfortune lay around the old cat like a pasture clothed with flocks. Dag cleared his throat and said, “I have no passion for living anymore. How can we exist without offending?”

“That is for the next world!” said Fred as he scratched his hindquarter.

Raising his head and yawning, Pork said, “It is impossible to walk through life without enemies. It may be better to live in isolation. But I have yet to see an isolated man who is happy.”

Dag sighed as if the hands of impossibility had challenged him. “Did I tell you my master has not fed me for two nights?” he asked his friends.

“No, but I have heard that bedtime story before,” said Pork as he sighed then turned away.

“I will never forget what that old man did to me,” said Dag as he shook his head.

“I have never seen you in this mood,” said Pork. “Tell us, what did he do to you?”

“Three nights ago I chased a rat into his kitchen. The little devil disappeared into a hole in the wall, which was near my master’s soup pot. I wanted to leave the kitchen, but I knew that as soon as I’d gone, the rat would come out of the hole and devour the soup. So I stayed back to keep vigil over the old man’s meal and possibly snuff the life out of the foolish rat if he ventured out of hiding. As I lay silently in the corner, hoping I would take care of the unfortunate soul if the opportunity presented itself, I heard a squeak and was not disappointed when I raised my head and saw the rat. It was heading towards the soup pot on the table…

http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/the-city-heroes/excerpt.html - top

*

and a synopsis of his book The City Heroes and Other Stories from the Heart of Africa…

Tonight during story time take a trip to the heart of Africa.

Make new friends including a clutter of cats otherwise known as The City Heroes. Follow a pair of jungle ants as they rescue their friend from a raging storm. Tag along with a country boy as he hunts wild birds to prepare a feast for his father’s arrival. Understand the true meaning of mercy and charity when a stranger is caught stealing eggs from a farmer. Help a baby named Thomas find his way home after he strays from his father’s boat. Follow Blaize and his newfound canine friend Thatcher as they thwart a group of kidnappers in Blaize and the Master of Enchantment.

Beautifully illustrated pictures help tell all six stories including The City Heroes, The Jungle Ants, The Country Boy, Stranger on the Farm, Baby Thomas and Blaize and the Master of Enchantment. Encounter adventures beyond your wildest dreams, learn about the beautiful country of Nigeria and see how easy and how fun it is to learn about a new culture in the heart of Africa.

The City Heroes and other stories from the Heart of Africa by Nigerian writer Omoruyi Uwuigiaren is a perfect introduction for young readers to learn about the African experience. Suitable for middle-grade readers, the stories within the collection contain messages and themes about forgiveness, charity, redemption, and loyalty all from a decidedly African perspective.

**

Omoruyi Uwuigiaren’s writing achievements include articles, cartoons, editorials and nine books. Guardian, Vanguard newspapers, Town Crier Times, Moronic Ox Literary and Cultural Journal, the Publicist International and other literary journals have published his works.

Find Original article @ Morgen's Author Interviews

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HATE SPEECH AND THE WAY FORWARD by Prof. Andrew Efemini.

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 predominantly racial in nature. This tension also influences American politics. Before proceeding further, I want to carry out some analysis of the concept 'hate'. I have previously argued that anybody who does not hate is an evil person. To hate is to have a deep seated dislike for something. It is the unwillingness to tolerate or accommodate something in its extreme conception.

I think if there is God, then sin cannot but be hated by God. The purest God cannot love sin and maybe evil. I used the word maybe because of the unending question as to whether God is an author of evil. The point is that we all hate one thing or another. It is interesting reading some people express love for Nigeria in spite of the myriad of pains and trauma facing us daily. To such persons, I say congratulations.

I want to make a distinction between abusive and nonabusive ways of expressing hatred. In other words, there is a derogatory and no derogatory way of expressing dislike for something. I agree that abusive and derogatory ways of expressing dislike could be inflammatory and be inciting. Inflammatory and inciting comments can result in violence of unpredictable dimensions.

I am an advocate of free expression of hatred but not in a derogatory or abusive manner. Why can't I say, I hate Nigeria's northern elite for obstructing the process of Nigeria's constitutional rebirth. It will in line with my thinking be wrong for me to call the northern elite abusive names. Decency is a culture that can legitimize hate speech. Feel free to state your hatred for Nigeria if in your judgment the country is ruining your life.

Moving forward, we must roll back plans to arrange special courts to try hate speeches. It is a dangerous assault on our democratic rights. I was thinking only military governments will pursue censorship laws. I was just remembering Decree 4 of 1984 under Buhari-Idiagbon regime that was used to sentence two journalists to jail.

The best way to turn hate speech to love speech in Nigeria is to address the underlining causes of the growing cases of hate speech. These include:
1. A growing resentment about Nigeria's constitutional disorder.
2. A growing awareness of lopsided and unjust access to public offices and political appointments.
3. Nigeria's unitary system which robs Peter to pay Paul.
4. Perceived marginalization of women, minorities, etc.
5. The mass poverty in the country of more than 60% of Nigerians living below poverty line.
6. Exclusive religious and metaphysical differences. Religious dogmas and extremism appear to have fueled serious hatred in this country.

The best way to deal with the above challenges is genuine political reforms and not the setting up of tyrannical courts for hate speech. We need to democratize by reforming our electoral processes. Free and fair elections will throw up leaders who can address the root causes of hate speeches. My fear is that time is running out for Nigeria. Ad hoc measures cannot save a sinking boat. Before the Nigerian boat will start sinking, let us fix.

I want a Nigeria I can love and not hate.

Source:  Fadilat Idris 

A Letter to Olabode Animasaun by Liborous Oshoma Gcfr.

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? Many questions you would say, but fewer answers.

Despite the certainty of my future in the environment I was, I was encouraged by the courage of the like of Chief Gani Fawehinmi and others, the doggedness of the likes of Chima Ubani and co not to mention the knowledge and frankness of youths like Festus Keyamo anytime he was privileged to speak on national issues. I decided to come back to Nigeria and contribute my quota.

As if God was driving me towards a calling, in my first month with the law firm of Fred Agbaje and Co, a young journalist, doubling also as a cameraman by name, Ayodele Ezekiel Ozugbakun came to the office to interview my boss, Barr. Fred Agbaje of blessed memory. Fred wasn't around, but the journalist insisted he must speak to a lawyer, unfortunately not even the senior lawyers in chambers were willing to speak to him for fear of harassment by security forces or government. He then asked me if he could interview me and I obliged him. After the interview, he was so happy with my contributions that he pleaded with me to be a panelist on his live program "Editors Forum" showing on Galaxy TV every Saturday. I told him that my goal was to be a lecturer and help educate the teaming loads of uneducated minds I was seeing everywhere in Nigeria and not to be guesting every Saturday on a talk show on TV. He assured me that the easiest way I could help shape the opinion of followers in Nigeria was through TV and that I shouldn't underrate the ability of the average Nigerian. I thank God today that I listened to him then, AY I salute you.

From that time till date I have been able to educate much more people than I could ever have imagined. I have seen a civil society united against a corrupt government and defeated it, I have monitored elections, I have been a mentor to so many, I have seen illiteracy and ignorance at its highest, I have also seen hitherto confused minds liberated by the compelling power of information, I have been harassed and almost detained by security agencies who later became my friends, I have been prayed for and celebrated by many, I have made many friends and few enemies as a result of my views on issues, I have been criticized insulted and disagreed with either privately or publicly, but I have and will never return insult for insults because it's your right to disagree and the approach is entirely at your discretion, but I believe also, like my friend Udeme in the Guinness advert, that I have been true to my dreams. I took out time to narrate the above so you can have the benefit of my intellectual background, as someone that has seen good governance.

Now to the issue of rats. I don't know why I laugh always anytime this issue is raised, not because it's funny, but because it is laughable. This government has made itself and all of us laughing stock not only in the eyes of some discerning minds but in the eyes of the entire world. So my darling brother Animashaun, I also think you should address your displeasure to BBC, South African newspapers and the rest of the global media world, who finds it funny in this age and time of technological advancement that somebody somewhere in Aso Presidential Villa would allow the President's office to degenerate to a level where it becomes a feasting hub for rodents and rats, it's not only shameful, but disgusting, laughable and condemnable, and should be so condemned by every discerning person.

Before the last election and in the course of the last administration, some of us who cascade the national space as a political analyst was the toast of some people, including some of those in government today, who now calls us names for daring to criticize them or their God.

They are afraid, not because we no longer speak the truth to authority but because they know the potency of information and the new media space as we all used it effectively to educate the plebeians and the talakawas, you referred to in your post, against the last administration on the need for a political change as the impunity in the then government of GEJ was getting out of hand. That education led to the "change" government of today. But rather than the government changing as promised, what we are seeing is gross incompetence and arrogance displayed with ignominy. And the some of the people at the receiving end of this outrageous display of irresponsibility are busy defending the government and calling those that dare to ask questions names. Why won't the ignorance persist?

It is your right to disagree and even call me names, same way supporters of the previous government called some of us names, but one thing is certain, the popularity of this government is waning by the day as a result of the gross ineptitude around Mr. President. GEJ had similar problems and when we pointed it out then, either through satirical comments or frontal criticism, the government would unleash their media attack dogs, who were urging them to continue, on us. But at the end, the 2015 election results told the story.

Today this government is towing even a worse part and if they don't put their acts together so soon, the political dew of life might drown them even before 2019. All through history, no nation has had freedom, either in terms of good governance or respect for people's rights, thrust on its lap. Eternal vigilance is the price you pay for freedom. The fact that you voted a man into office on the basis of his promises should not stop you from urging him, either through constructive criticism or reminders, to fulfill the promises or pact made during elections. Making excuses for either his ineptitude and/or the consistent failure of those around him will spell his doom.

Like the great philosopher Aristotle once said, He who knows and knows that he know is a king, follow him; he who does not know, but knows that he does not know, is a wise man, teach him; but he who does not know and does not know that he does not know is a fool and will end in ignorance" that is why I chose knowledge over and above wealth. On the issue of joining hands with you and the fact that those on social media don't vote, please don't fall for that old cliche as it's now obsolete, outdated and confined to the dustbin of history.

Take it or leave it, the social media has taken over as the new media space and everybody, including your almajiris, real and unreal Nigerians are all on it now. In fact it might surprise you to know that my old uncle in the village is on Facebook and WhatsApp. So for that little information you throw out there on social media, it has the capacity of permanence and travels farther than your radio and TV which are not only immediate but limited in space and reach.

And using the social media effectively, Nigerians both in the hinterlands and in diaspora have been able to communicate and update one another on the goings of not only this government, but general events around the world. That is why even the government that is struggling to occupy the social media space, using various media groups is trying to obfuscate the same social media, using hate speech as a yardstick.

Conclusively, permit me to say that our problem is not that of leadership but followership as our leaders are drown from amongst the followers (us) and we can achieve more mileage not by all rushing into government, but by helping to educate and restructure the mind of our followers who are silent in the face of everything wrong. Need I tell you that our intervention is achieving the desired education of the mind and shaping opinions which are why the awareness is massive now than ever before. Just check the number of people on social media and the information traffic.

Finally, we all can't be in government, some of us will remain as the compass to consistently point government to a better direction and the government of President Muhammadu Buhari needs such compass now more than ever before. And like Gov. El Rufai of Kaduna State (APC Governor) said to Buhari on Channels TV when he returned, it is time to rejig his government and move twice faster than before so as not to completely disappoint his remaining supporters.

Just an aside, don't you wonder why those of us criticizing the federal government are the same people praising the government of Ambode and El Rufai? Food for thought.

God bless you and God Bless Nigeria 

I remain Liborous Imoudu Micheal the son of Joseph Yakubu Edebeli Oshoma JP

Meet Liborous Oshoma.

He's a writer, political analyst and the Principal Partner at Liborous Oshoma Chambers.

(Excerpt from the novella Hard Times) Originally published by Human Change Communications Company by John Chizoba Vincent.

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!"  

She tried to walk away. Robert pushed her and she landed awkwardly on the chair. "I need you to talk to me, woman! I am your husband!" he barked. "You are not going anywhere if you don't answer my question."

Wrapped in anger, she rose to her feet and adjusted her dress. Pointing at him, she said, "Listen, Robert, if there is anyone to be afraid of in this world, it is not you. You call yourself the head of this house? Look at your children. They are all dying of starvation. Tell me, when last did you put money on the table?  When last did you pay your utility bills? Are you not ashamed of yourself? I expect you to be worried about your life. The man you saw downstairs is the kind of people we call a real man. He is the one feeding us!” she pushed him aside and walked into the room.

“Rachael, are you cheating on me?" He turned violently and followed her into the room. Red with rage, he pounced on her and they fell on the floor. He landed several blows as she remained pinned to the ground. Satisfied with the damage he had done as Rachael bled from the nose, he pulled away. Robert grabbed his shirt on the bed, he slammed it on his broad shoulder and walked out of the house.

After she had cried her hearts out, Rachael paused. Sobbing gently, she rose to her feet. She took her handkerchief and wiped her bruised face. She changed her dressed and left the house. Perhaps to find solace on the warm hands of her new boy friend. 
Rachael stayed away from the house for nearly six days. For the days that she was away, we barely had a good meal. Then one evening, she returned home. She looked refreshed and charming. Her coming was the messiah who had come to save the world. I thought my father was going to start another quarrel. I was anxious to see how the event would play out. But he tamed his demons. I guess he must have missed her too or he had been overwhelmed by his shortcoming.

One day, from the balcony, I saw Osinachi beating his wife and the woman cried for help. People gathered to separate the man and his wife, my father was among them. The disturbance brought my mother to my side. When she noticed Robert in the crowd, she hissed and said, “Birds of a feather!” She turned and walked away.

Meet John Chizoba Vincent.--He's a prolific poet, writer, and cinematography.