Fatungase Olasunkanmi
2 min readOct 6, 2021


It has been 15 months since I last saw you, my acquaintance that shares the same body as I do. Do I speak as him or as I am or have we come to share a common consciousness as We? Odachi sets his bottle of Guinness beside me grinning and initiates a conversation. I do not like Odachi and so he is left to deal with him alone, I tap my feet against the ground, his cue to come.

Odachi: How are you

Izdarasen: Tired, let me accentuate

The pathways of my thoughts are cobbled with mesquite blocks and narrow winding. The sun has refused to rise today, and so like many other things I have been left to create mine. There is an induced dizziness with each open eye moment, courtesy of a constant mental exhaustion now translating into physical exhaustion.

Yesterday morning, I heard a subtle thud from the front of the door, and so I thought to myself “that must be the newspaper delivery guy” again, now my daily ablution; getting to the door and picking up shrewdly folded newspaper, the frontline of The Punch reads a normalcy… 50 killed by masked bandits, Unknown gunmen raze buildings in the east 2 injured 10 dead. News received with Nonchalance.

Things were different for me a while ago, how long has it been? My memory is deeply not alive; it’s a mock-up, in my hands I hold a broom, in my heart — ashes, ashes. The Grim reaper hovered with his scythe, calling to me “Izdarasen join your brothers, death is a mercy compared to this living hell”, can you believe this Odachi? but still I shrug him off, because I remembered you telling me that one without life is the one without hope.

Odachi sighs, and says after some moments of silence to me “This too shall pass, everything will be alright”. These words are all the source of my problems has to offer me.

_ glossary_

Ogadinma — everything is going to be alright

Odachi — calamity or badluck



Fatungase Olasunkanmi

My interests include but are not limited to Fiction, Poetry, Nigerian politics