Monthly Archives: May 2019



Like the youthful consistency of a Swange dancer,

On this parallel line of life’s inconsistencies;

I see black and white. Pain and peace

All to a journey to self-discovery


I reclined in my thoughts and ask these questions

Upon this temple of liberation:


How do I skanky-leg my way to the truth

How do I dance uncontrollably towards peaceful protest?

How do I sway from side-to-side, smiling at the emergence of false reality?

Will this unsuspecting audience applaud my false bravery?


I reclined further, then I asked again

Why is the world a monotonous cacophony?


Why are seeds planted upon the earth, and not in our minds?

Why do babies announce their arrival with a loud cry and not a lullaby?

What is natural when natural is as natural as can be; organic?

Why do cows eat blades of grass and not spears of metals, guns or grenades?

Why does fire start on this dry land ravaging all in its path?


Why does biology determine the sex of an individual; male or female?

Why does social media teach our girls to be Medea against our boys;

boys who never cared if love is freeborn

Why does rain drown itself in its tears, flooding the earth?

Why is depression an option that blinds the feeble

pushing to sue men in death’s court?

Why do we spend years arranging alphabets only to spread them as suicide notes?

Are these men of letters the perfect voice for these lost boys who sojourned?


Why do the sun and the moon avoid each other before the strike of six?

Are their words like clubs and sticks by day and by night?

Why do children prefer moonlight but not the stories of old?

Why do they forget the history told at the footstool of our ancestors?

Why are the old too strong for giving up their weakness?

Why are the young now too weak giving up their strength?


What is this world without you and me?

Why does the world seek you and I daily?

How often should we fight the universe and the universe pretend to not exist?

Do monkeys go to hell for their selfishness?

Do snakes eventually have hands to keep the heart warm?


These questions are the meaninglessness of life

This life is engraved in meaningless questions

If you ask me why I asked these questions

I would tell you about the river drowning itself

I would tell you how the ocean came to its rescue;

Their bond is a challenge that is deeper than the eyes can see

This bond is a challenger deep not many can reach


These questions

are deep…




© NEO.Flo.Etry





Picture credit:



Remember me?

I was the one created out of you from the creator

Remember, you were made with the finest of clay;

God’s ultimate achievement on the sixth day

You were packed with wisdom, strength, love, and care

Before time, you expressed creativity

You knew how to name things; and how to till the land

until the harvest came swiftly

You were friends with beasts; knowing no fear

Your boisterous resilience made you number one;

waltzing creation to your command

You spoke and things changed for the best, moving mountains

Birds sang at your beck and call all day

You were joyful, reigned in your kingdom; Eden

A hidden life clothed in the finest of gold

You frolicked with the expanse of the ocean; no flood knew you

and never run dry of option; fruitfully multiplying out of the

the abundance of a grateful heart

You created the perfect life you were made for;

King, ruler, Commander, General, CEO; employing all of the creation

to work in your stead

Nothing stood in your way, NOTHING

Somehow, you lost yourself

Don’t blame me. I wasn’t the spoiler alert to end your game

I won’t blame you for the crawling lies that lurked around me like a ghost

Maybe you got too excited

Maybe you compared ‘cos I looked like you

I guess you forgot to teach me how to be your true self; royalty

I guess you hid a part of you until death did nudge you apart

I guess you assumed I knew all that you knew as one flesh

I guess you guessed wrong of my take over plans

I will not play the blame game. Not to our creator.

Not even on the slithering one

But to the entrance of your churned out thoughts

The one that stayed deeply rooted in your mind

Remember I was taken out of you, inherited your fruitful faithfulness

And your fiery fears. I became YOU!

Never hesitated to bite that fruit that’s been stuck in your throat

Our action was forbidden before bidding with the enemy

We were naked and garbed in the false truth

We gave in to the lies, the hardship

the crime and travails of new good things

you gave in to the hurt and the pain

letting yourself go and strained;

we gave in to the death and forgetting how to replenish

Society gave you a tag; upper superior

Dragging me along, I was tagged lesser inferior

I was created out of you, remember?

Dear boy child

Retrace your root to God’s plan for you; to reign

His plans for you to be like him; creating your world

You are worth more than pleasant and precious riches

You are the boisterous wind clearing all negative forces

Being one with the tree of life; deeply rooted

You are strong, a king, add am to your present state

So, conceive, agree, speak, create and

manifest for this is good on the sixth day of life’s journey

and on the seventh day, have dominion, enjoy fruitfulness

multiply, subdue time in your favor, replenish all lost

inhale, exhale…

rest boy child, REST!














Food is one thing that is very essential to human life. It is the one thing that if it’s ignored can cause a lot wahala to your body, and can also cause damage when overeaten.


Let me tell you a short story.


When I was much younger, as far as I can remember, I wasn’t the foodie type of child. I was that kind of child that loved to nibble on sweets and snacks and wasn’t up for too much-cooked food. But somewhere along my growing up years, I discovered I loved to eat, and this came as a result of teaching myself to cook, learning a few cooking tips from my restauranteur aunt and my super mom. It was quite an experiential journey.


Throughout my university days, I only became addicted to cooking in my 200 Level, and I enjoyed every bit of it, especially when some of my neighbors in Fejiro Lodge (where I lived in school) requested to keep tasting my sumptuous cooking. It was like a set of winning jackpot numbers for me. I was always “scentifying” my neighborhood (according to my mum).


Back in 2002 or so, I was living with some of my aunts, and we had the whole family house to ourselves. One of them started a restaurant business, and it gave me reasons to always be around her. She had two girls then who shared in the duties, but I decided to join the train, even though I wasn’t paid in cash, I was sort of paid with an assured daily three square meals. Lol.


One day, she had to travel to the village, and one of her girls had quit, and it was just I and I the other girl left. I wasn’t supposed to do anything the next day after she had traveled, but I took up the challenge; went to the market to meet her meat customer, then bought other ingredients that were needed for the day’s business. I started out not really believing I could cook the same way my aunt cooked or let alone convince her customers of the food taste. I went ahead and gave it a try; steamed and cooked everything that needs to be done.


By the next morning (5:00am) I was up to check on the overnight cooked white beans with firewood, which had already turned brown, then prepared the stew, boiled the rice, fried the plantains, fried the fish, boiled the eggs, cooked the spaghetti, etc. Before I knew what was happening, customers had started coming with their bowls, one after another, by then the other girl helped with arranging and setting up the tables and chairs. Some customers were curious. They noticed my aunt’s absence. They asked, and I told them she traveled. They were amazed, but then again complimented my cooking.


Did I cook exactly like my aunt? I sure didn’t, but I applied her cooking techniques.  Since then, I haven’t gone back, but then, I kind of hid my cooking skills, until…


I gave this short story for a reason. There are many people who’d read this and say “I want a woman that can cook, blah blah blah…” and they go ahead to focus their attention on just the cooked food and not the person. Cooking is good, but when you make it a point of duty to punish someone because you can’t eat a day old soup, then I believe you are being inconsiderate. Although most ladies don’t mind or enjoy that, I believe there has to be some form of balance. For example, once my pot of soup is four or five days old (in the deep freezer o), I become really tired.


I love to cook, but I can’t bear to cook fresh soup every day. That is very exhausting.



Picture credit:



This might just be the encouragement a budding writer needs.

Here I am very concerned for many who call themselves writers and are also clueless of the spirit of antagonism that drives them into feeling less of themselves as writers…

“This is for the last ones left; recipients of the torture, pouring sentences to keep the flame burning
Those who do this for something more than prizes, who write past rejection letters
As long as the universe moves there will be stories to tell, and this is for the tellers…” – EFE AZINO

Dear Young writer, I have had you in my thought for a few days now, and I want you to know that you are not alone in this ‘writing’ struggle. As you have decided to drag your writing to the fore, be sure that there are those who will come for your head because they feel you are just a joke when you scribble down your thoughts into these genres of literature. There is an unseen war going on, and I just thought to let you know or remind you in case you forgot. Daily you will be confronted by more cynics than critics. They will either come for your head directly or indirectly on all platforms, even in your dream state and most quiet time. But one thing I need you to know is that you have all the inner power to fight this battle by saying NOTHING! Just WRITE! Just keep expressing yourself.

One major truth you have to keep telling yourself is that you may not always get it right at first or at all, but your power lies in your ability to keep learning, reading and ‘finding your authorial voice’ in your works that someday the world would adjust to and eventually learn to accept. Don’t try to sound like any other writer. I will not cite any examples, but there are many who are not noisemakers and are doing great things on a global level. Remember, they do not have time for irrelevant bants/rants/wars.

Someone once said to me “Edwina, your mind can go as far as you stretch it. Your mind is limitless; make good use of it.” I have never let those words go. I want you to explore the possibilities of what your mind can churn out.

Do you know one truth about this war? Many who are with the sickle are only digging out their fears and throwing them at you. Don’t be afraid when they project their fears of them not being better writers. Don’t join that trend of trying to compare yourself with others. Just write and respect other writers, and be a better critic than a cynic. Show them that you are different and cannot be influenced by the tantrums that they share like bitter tasting candy bars.

Be encouraged and trust God to guide your thoughts aright. You are worth more than a billion words written as literary works.

I will leave you with these words ” No one knows everything. Even your so-called right answers are wrong. Be fair with your words after all…”

Sincerely Yours