By Ainehi Edoro | Papers and Marionettes
He was only a Lance Corporal when he died. We knew of his death because his wife screamed. The nights had been mostly quiet, with the constant blackouts and whatnot. Of course, there was always the feeble chirping of crickets freezing in the cold harmattan nights. Sometimes you’d hear faint jingle of bells coming from
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
Thelyphron The dead man’s chest began to swell, his life-giving veins began to throb, and his body filled with breath.Then the corpse sat up, and the young man spoke. “Why, I implore you, now that I have drunk of the cups of Lethe and am swimming in the marshy water of the Styx, why do
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
Someone must please tell me how this painting could’ve inspired one of the most beautiful passages ever written on political theology. (see below) Klee’s painting named Angelus Novus shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth hangs open, his wings are
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
Writing about love is such a drag. But ’tis the season, so I’ll give it a try. Love, in some ways, is a terrifying thing. With all the images of violence we use to think about love, it’s hard not to give love it’s due as a rather absurd experience. If there is anything that love
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
I had a good dream today. It put me in a good mood. I smiled and chuckled all day. In fact, there’s still some leftover glint in my eyes even though it’s been hours since I first open them to the waking world. It’s funny ’cause I woke up doubting, not sure that I had
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
She wanted them to think he was her lover, but more than that she wanted him as her lover. Even if only once…The Bird was playing. She tilted her heard toward the radio and listened to the hard sounds piling up on each other, yet not touching, waiting to hold Vinnie’s hand, the strange beautiful sounds
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
Can the dead feel shame? There are many ways to die. Some are–shall I say–less graceful than others. Like when a bomb blast struck a Catholic Church in Abuja on Christmas Day. 16 dead. Or is it 17? A really nasty way to die. You lose your life but then you lose coordination. You find yourself
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
How would you describe your face or your body? The aim of this exercise is to use descriptive details to make sense of the self. Is your face oval or round? Is your mouth wide? Are your lips lumpy? Would you rather the color of your skin were different? Does your weight define you? Are
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
So Hurricane Irene is there to welcome me back to school. It’s a wet and rowdy welcome. Several people die. Things get destroyed. And some insurance guy stamps a value on the losses, saying it runs up to billions of dollars. And I’m struck by the realization that things get lost, not their value. Like
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By Ainehi Edoro | Features
The first time I had a copy of Hegel’s writing on Africa in my hands and read it, I was struck by how short it was. A few pages only. Clearly, Hegel did not want to think of Africa for much longer than he needed to. One can’t really fault him. He had his eyes
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