Tunde Oyebode

Outside, spring had finally arrived. The sun flooded my room as I sat at my table, staring at the man on my computer screen. I wasn’t up for it—10 am Saturday sessions. But it wasn’t a case of being up for it or not. It’s something I needed to do. I didn’t want to be outside anyway, where my skin sticks out from a mile away.

They took what they needed—ate until something, or someone, disturbed their meal. Resilient things. They returned—swooped down in a dark cloud on the paved podium of the little park and continued eating. Kunle sat at the bench many times, watching them in the cold dark London winter. He rarely cycled straight home from his job

Last week I promised Elisha I’d never do it again. My sleep was going to shit. My social life was going to shit. My relationship and mental health were also going to shit. Plus, I had a headache. And my body creaked as I stretched. It was nine pm. The office—a converted Victorian industrial building—was

You don’t fully remember. You think you were thirteen when you heard Sade screaming in the courtyard of your boarding school. Your father often drove over two hours to get you and your brother there. It was one of the best schools in Lagos City with state-of-the-art facilities. Immaculate education. You only had one year