Welcome to Okafor Uzoamaka's blog.

On the same flower bed as roses We planted this flower, our love  Caring for it with little sprinkles through the noose,  Leaving the rest to fate. Poco a Poco Its little buds came out to play with the stars Its stiff leaves flexing to the rhythm of the wind; and when the moon was all alone It was a perfect companion The birds sang in twos,  Love songs from afar The butterflies fluttered, to our envy,  their colorful wings We wanted to be like butterflies, colorful We needed the birds to add our love song to their hymnal We needed to grow Three complete revolutions round the sun, mother earth did,  Our love growing with it Colorful leaves shooting out daily The rainbow would soon envy Still hopeful that our love won't get choked by the thorns It will grow through it Then we'd give it a name  It'd be a Sui generis For it'd be a hybrid, of your love and mine Of our love and roses.             Www.okaforstories.blogspot.com

This is my fifth JAMB', I thought in my mind as I sold akara (beans cakes) to a customer who just alighted from a jeep. He was an old customer and bought akara from us as though he were programmed- never a minute later than 10am .  "Put N400 akara for me and add little pepper", he instructed. "Yes sir." I replied.  "You did not put enough jara for me. If it were your mother she would." He whined. I always wondered why the man ever asked for jara , he seemed 'too rich' for such. He used to have a driver who came down to buy the akara for him but I stopped seeing him few months after the present administration took over. "Perhaps the recession hit him too", my mother said when we were having one of our 'packing-up-to-go-home' chats. "I have put sir", I said while handing over the nylon to him.  The jara I put would have sold for N70, quite generous of me I commended myself. I thanked the man for his

She still clasped her hands and bowed her head while processing for Holy Communion. She, who was about my age when I first received Holy Communion, whose oblong face reminded me of the flower vase in our living room. The flower vase was, unlike most flower vases, plain and 'straight to the point'. When my father brought it to the house I imagined the potter must have thought 'why distract people's attention from the flower with so much decoration on the vase?' So he, the potter, didn't do much decorating on the vase. I knew it was 'he'. I knew, the same way I knew my relationship with my ex wouldn't last for long.  On the day of my first Holy Communion, we were made to proceed in two lines. I had observed 'the priest' from the altar and stood by the side I felt he would give Holy Communion and prayed God to make my guess right. This new priest, was dark and tall. Handsome most importantly, and kept neat afro. His lips were also the same c