Malik Ademola

Blizzard - hunger is cold Blizzard is a novella authored by David Onyemaizu, which chronicles the vacation of an adventurous auditor in chief, Terry Droop, who is consumed with the ecstasies from his recent promotion at his office and the divorced suit filed by his wife, Martha. I have mountainous reasons to be dithyrambic about the book. In an apparently congent view, if the male lead character is displaced in the book, Blizzard tells a chronological story that captures the catastrophic situations most of us find ourselves and tend to survive, emerge victorious at all cost, and not being hypocritically myopic, all sapiens will do same or more to survive irrespective of the cost attached. Also, one may wonder if definitely hunger can be cold, as the book begins with unparalleled abstruseness cum uneven exhilaration to read on, but someway doggedness and unrelenting tenaciousness has made the theme of the book fall in place in the long run of Terry Droop's odyssey. The book i...

Liver transplant was the last resort that'd keep her up and running. She was a sophomore at Obafemi Awolowo University, she had wanted to become a lawyer, to use every last of her blather to save the rights of the society and put the wrongs behind bars, she had the notion concretely buried in the mental files inside her head when her brother was accused and convicted for murder, and she had watched as the world stood still, with no aid of rescue. she had also witnessed how her father had committed suicide in his room, with rope attached to the ceiling and his neck, his atlas and axis displaced and his body dangled from the imbalance, just for the unsurmountable reason that his son couldn't die for the crime he didn't commit while he lived peacefully among the perpetrators, what magnitude of insanity! At age of ten, Adeife had experienced the sandstorms of life along with her mother. Unfortunately, the dream to become a lawyer fell short when she was diagnosed of cirrhosis, ...

The chthonic monster submerged in pool red blood awaits on the street to nurture and breed to her taste, the kids that wander around her. She is inimical, brutal, yet accommodating. She is neither ephemeral nor evergreen, she just lives as time says. She is loved by none, but the street still reckons with her intimately. Kemi was one of her victims, or perhaps, one of her adopted daughters that ventured onto her when all odds became even. She was a daughter of a Lawyer and an accountant, who not only enjoyed riches but maximum securities. She was the second child of her parents, the first was lost to sickle cell anaemia after a failed stem cell transplant. Consequently, she became the only child. But her parents on the other hand were workaholic, her father was keen on being a member of the inner chamber of the Nigeria Bar Association and her mother, was always on a professional trip. In lieu of this, their achievements left Kemi vulnerable to all sorts of insecurities. And sooner...

I don't know what has instigated me to write this, perhaps it's the love I feel for my dear country, or the hate I feel that tears it apart, or the unending agitation of the NotTooYoungToRun bill, or the endless discreditable acts perpetuate by her leaders. But whatever feelings or reasons that may have erupted in me- love, hate, concern or indifference, they conglomerate to form the necessitation of why I have to write this. Let me start with a note of clarification, or relatively, expatiation on the state of the country. I am not good analytically, especially when it involves government and governance, but my sense of realization and visualization is close to (if not at) the peak. So with the little knowledge I have in my cerebrum, I shall make a claim which probably may not be accepted by all. Everyone's claim on the current downturn of the nation is on bad governance which I'm strongly in support. Likewise everyone's most preferred solution is the youths...

Sooner than he had expected, the stormy tides of life caught up with Mr Badmus. It started with the anticipated call about the change in management of African Petroleum Plc, which was bought over by the business tycoon Femi Otedola and subsequently changed the name from the initial to Forte Oil Plc. It proliferated when his tenure in office came to end and no allowance for re-election into office. He had to live by the two trucks he managed which brought him the daily needs of him and his family. Some things had to change for his source of income had been affected, and the effect of that was utmost on Jamal.  The beautiful evening that was about to get spoilt has Its calmness at its peak, the one that couldn't seem to look gloomy afterwards, and whose breeze sang melodious song to the ears. Jamal was seated at the dinning room devouring the meal his mother had prepared, which only happened once in every millennium. Did this instigate that the evening would become sour afterwards...

Lonesome and gruesome, the days would had been if the rule of not using a mobile phone was practicable at home, but that was only applicable at The Vale College. Christine had helped Jamal had a wonderful holiday, and a day wouldn't pass without the two talking over the telephone. The intimacy had grown stronger, so also the trust and confidence. Consequently, Jamal cared not about the wrongs at home again. And once again, though the wrongs were still very much feasible but his home seemed to him, a purgatory, or rather someplace far away from the usual inferno.  Jamal had found a reason to live a happy life again. He had forgotten the trauma and thraldom of his broken home and had rather clung to the accolades and unprecedented ecstasies from Christine which had hastened his resuscitation.        "Do you know I live in two worlds?" Jamal began when Christine sat with him at the verandah of the dorm during the siesta. They were supposed to be taki...

Have you ever wondered the infuriating responses you'll receive when you ask a youth, precisely someone in his late twenties or early thirties, the question "what do you do for a living?" one of such provoking responses is "I'm a politician." then I wonder, what could have led to such a response, or perhaps, he or she is a well-to-do person who only hide behind the mask of being a politician? My curiosity withers when I realize he or she depends solely on the stipend he or she receives from these millionaires, billionaires, who only use being a politician as a cover. It is no more a fallacy that these days, almost 80% of the population venture into politics, why? Because they see it as avenue for amassing wealth and a forum to give their filthy lives a farewell. Now that their motives have changed, so does the way I view them change, from altruists whom the people call Freedom Fighters, fighting for the liberation of the minority, to egoist who only is ...