The Stories I Tell...

  I don't talk to strangers. What I mean is, I don't have unnecessary conversations with service people. If I have an appointment with a doctor, I don't need his bedside manner. I don't need enquiries about my welfare from the market woman at the stall where I always buy my semo or idle chit chat with my barber as he cuts my hair. Even on a bus, I don't join in on the familiar chorus of how bad this country is getting. I don't think I'm better than people. I'm just not good at verbal communication, so I write instead. I'm better at it. I eavesdrop on the conversations of people around me and reinvent them as fiction. That's how I became an international best-selling author.  A year has passed since I last published a novel. That's why I decided to go out to find fresh ideas. Public transportation is usually ripe with stories to transform into captivating tales.  As I waited on a street in my city, I spotted a keke. It was empty except for the...

I don't ever cut my hair unless Kunle is around. I drink coffee before leaving the house for the barbershop. Strong black coffee. I also carry a cap with me. My wife teases me about these rituals all the time. I smile but the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes. The memory of that day is still too fresh for me to laugh about. I also wonder if that day has any effect lurking around the corner, waiting to catch me unawares with sharp teeth and claws. It was the year before I started dating Sandra. I worked at a well-known advertising firm. For weeks, I had been working on a campaign for one of our biggest clients and the next day was to be my final presentation. The C.E.O of my company was going to be present along with the Senior Marketing Manager of the client's company. If I handled it right, I had a shot at a promotion. Impressions matter. That's why I had already sent and collected my best suit from the dry cleaner. I had just cut my hair the previous week but I...