- Type
- Fiction
Rumours of Abacha’s death spread through Lokoja as if carried by birds in the air to every part of the city, to Yusufu, where he stood at his office window looking out in awe of the blazing sun. He had heard it before but dismissed it, as he did now, as nothing but a pub story peddled by idle drunks like the news bearer Caleb, who came to work reeking of alcohol, lunched on schnapps, and afterwards converged with his ilk under the mango tree to barter tales from their imaginations, fable for fable.
- Type
- Fiction
Diego always used to tell me that his mother died because her dreams were too big for the life she was destined.
‘It’ll kill a person,’ Diego would say, ‘wanting to be more than you are made for.’ He says it today and shrugs dispassionately, spitting his gum onto the dry grass, where it rests beside a flattened beer can.
‘I’ve been dreaming about the kid,’ I tell him, and he spits again even though there is no gum left.