MohBad stamped his foot firmly in the Nigerian musical firmament with the release of his song, Ponmo, a risqué and infectious ditty featuring Naira Marley and Lil Kesh. It opens with a reference to a woman’s vagina and then trundles downhill from there. The streets loved it. The salaciousness , the lewdness and the seeming panting of rabid dogs after Ponmo which is shorthand for you-know-what.
Tam lived in his soul; wholly, for the cackle at the end of his laughter. Those who heard it knew it. He lived for the sheer joy of his work and others. Oh his work, for which he suffered, for which he tortured himself. He did not quite believe in how f-cking good he was. He sought perfection that did not exist. He discarded what others would keep and he had a great fear of success; of the opulence and attention and grief it brought.
You will write long letters home, letters that will never make it home, because if your mom ever reads them, she’ll tell you “come back home, omo mi, at least there is food in your mother’s house ”. And she will nag you until you do, even though you do want to.
The sonorous songstress Onyeka Onwenu has just passed, but my duty here...
The profundity of these presumably simple words of consolation combines effectively with his wise saying about the sun to bestow the toga of an unsung philosopher on Unoka, thus setting the stage for endless dialogue on his character.
Sad news hit me hard on Tuesday, June 25, in this year of Our Lord – my inimitable guru Tam Fiofori passed away. Tam was in his lifetime celebrated as...
Tam Fiofori, who hailed from Okrika was born in 1942 and would go on to distinguish himself as a polymath; photographer, writer, journalist, artist manager and raconteur who could hold you spell bound for hours with riveting tales of escapades and encounters around the world.
On the global music scene Protest Music is as old as music itself; a medium that lends itself as an easy and enjoyable means of mass communication. Most popular musicians have one or few songs that can be classified as Protest Music while some make a trademark of it.
By clinging to this anachronistic anthem, Nigeria unveils a disconnect between its past and present, neglecting the opportunity to forge a unifying national identity that truly reflects its people's hopes, dreams, and realities.
I am in tears as I write the words here. It has...
My father left me everything: his library, his Christian Women Mirror magazines, his face and the memory of his disappointment the first time I told him I wanted to be a writer. I remember the evening well.
You had tried to picture what Sylt life would be like, but it seemed so different from what you knew that you could not summon a proper mental image of the island, nor island life. Even the googled images did not help