the dark notes


Gbagada, Lagos


There is nothing overtly unusual about the scenes in and around Emeka Okorie’s one room apartment that evening.

Neighbours mill around the house, smiling, pumping Emeka’s fists with gusto.


You’re now a man.

Welcome to the club.

He looks pleased, accepting the congratulations, slightly discoloured teeth on display, chest puffed with pride.

In the single bedroom, his wife Nkiru is on the bed, back to the wall, slim body curved away from the two swathed bundles lying next to her. The new babies are sleeping, sweat plastered hair curling on the edges of their identical faces.

Nkiru’s oldest sister is seated on a low stool beside the bed, watching over the new mother whose eyes gleam in the early evening light coming from outside the small window over the bed.

And that is where something is not quite right. Their eyes.

Outside, Emeka smiles graciously…

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About feminemdapest

I love words and how beautifully they can be woven. I have a wicked sense of humor and a mind like a sponge, so little gets past me. As a result, I have a garbage heap of a head. Did I mention I love words?
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