We have some sad news. Nigerian writer Obinna Charles Emeka passed away on Sunday, April 2 at the age of 27. This loss is particularly personal for us because we published his work just last year. He has been a treasured member of our writing community and will be deeply missed.
Emeka was a writer, pharmacist, and cinephile based in Nigeria. In 2016, he started Scenomaniac, a movie page on Instagram, which currently has around 14,000 followers. In 2015, he was awarded the Literary Excellence Award by the Association of Nigerian Authors.
We were able to connect with some of Emeka’s loved ones and members of the writing community. They have shared thoughts about his passing and goodwill messages to celebrate his life and career below.
Read his sister Ugonwa Emeka’s tribute here.
Ibrahim Babátúndé Ibrahim, the 2022 winner of the Quramo Writer’s Prize currently based in England
In our dedicated writing group of six, we all submitted our assignments at different times, but one thing was always constant: Obinna submitted first, 100% of the time. Such was his passion and enthusiasm, and perhaps the only things I loved more about him were his kindness and willingness to help others become better writers as he grew as one himself. My WhatsApp chat with him is populated with more craft videos, submission calls, and tete-a-tete on writing than anything else. I wish I could have finished his manuscript on time so I could give him feedback as promised, much like he did with all the writing I shared with him. I will miss him sorely, but I do hope the manuscript he left behind, one that he took a year off to write, will find a befitting home so his talent can ride on his words around the world and ensure that all is reminded of how brilliant a writer he was.
Abah Onoja, an Idoma-Igbo reader, writer and lover of art
They say writing is a lonely journey, that the writer should try to reach out to other writers, to enable a bond to form, a kinship between them and other creatives. And this is how I met Obinna, on the vast space that is social media. Our first call lasted over an hour, spent dissecting what was one of our favourite author’s works. He struck me as someone with a keen eye, someone whose discernment would make him brilliantly wield words and use these words to tell gripping stories. When I met him, I knew I had found the kinship that I sought, and writing wouldn’t have to be so lonely anymore. But now he’s gone, his life yanked from him by the country he calls home. It’s disheartening and unbearable. But there is one consolation — words never die. He has stories in prominent magazines and had finished with the manuscript for his first novel when he passed. May your soul find peace, Obinna. May your light never wane.
Ezioma Kalu, a Nigerian writer and book blogger at Bookishpixie
The first time I chatted with you was last year, when you sent me a link to a post on Lithub, “Why you should aim for 100 rejections in a year.” I don’t know how you knew, but you somehow knew what I needed to read at the time, and you came through for me. And from that day, you’d always come through for me. We had so much to talk about writing, because we were both newbie writers who knew nothing about writing and publishing. Remember when we applied for that Suyi Davies writing fellowship and were rejected? We found solace in each other’s words, oh we still had time. We would attend many fellowships in future. We thought we had the monopoly of time. We knew life was short, but believed it was that way only for others, but not us. How could we have known it was way too shorter than we imagined? The news of your passing came as a shock to me. I had to chat Joey up and he confirmed that truly you passed. That truly Nigeria happened to you. I think about you a lot, these days. About how lonely you felt when you were drifting to the other side. You must have been so scared. It must have been so painful. I was going to be one of the early readers of your debut novel. You were going to read mine too. The news of your death broke me Obi. I have contemplated sending you messages on Twitter and Instagram, hanging on the tiniest thread of hope that maybe your death was a prank and you would reply me and tell me you battled with death, but came back victorious. But I guess, this is goodbye. And the final one at that. I hope the afterlife is treating you with so much kindness and tenderness. I hope you’re happy and resting peacefully. I hope you don’t have to bother about the slightest inconvenience. Rest easy dear friend. I miss you.
Hassan Taiwo Yahaya, writer and former senior editor at Zikoko
Charles never struck me as the type of person to die young. I know this sounds absurd because death doesn’t have a neat schedule. But Charles, and his dreams, just seemed exempted from that particular brand of madness. Especially not after the hurdles he had scaled (dropping his pharmacy degree) to pursue his dreams. Does the Universe no longer root for the underdog? Charles struck me as the type of person who lived forever, the exact kind who, over a shared meal, laughter, and warmth, told stories of leaving pharmacy behind to pursue and succeed at his dreams. And that’s why the news of Charles’s passing filled/fills me with anger. Anger at the unfulfilled potential that has been snatched from us. Anger that the delicateness of Charles — and his stories by extension — will not be experienced by a wider audience. Anger at the futility of existence. In clear-head moments, I ask myself: “What makes up the [re] telling of a person’s life? the conditions of their death? Or the [full] lives they lived before their passing?” I choose the latter. A part of that choice is exercising my ability to rebel and channeling my anger into remembrance. I’m going to remember Charles when I watch a football match. I’ll remember Charles whenever I see an errant mouse disturbing my peace. I’ll remember Charles when I think of cold Harmattan mornings. Most importantly, I’ll never forget how Charles’s stories always left me longing for my other unlived lives. I believe that a person is not truly dead until they’re forgotten. Charles will never die as long as I have my memories intact.
Ekere Uche, pharmacist
In a word full of peer influence and a constant craving for societal acceptance, Obinna was always different. Grew his hair when and how he wanted, would come to class tucked in with a tie in the morning and leave with the entire shirt flying out by noon, read in the most awkward of ways and had the tendency to let out the most annoying chuckles in serious situations. Obinna was one of the few people who could go toe to toe with me when it came to football arguments so it was of little suprise when he became our class coach down the line. The young man was sound, probably a bit too advanced for our small class team who just wanted to play and impress the girls but Obinna would scream out tactics from the touchline while pacing up and down like Pep Guardiola. Obinna made the likes of Jo, Ama, Ezenwa and I feel like we could take on anyone especially during his team talks before every game. That Man was Special.
He waltzed through pharmacy school with a casual brilliance and it was obvious he had everything it took to actually be a world class pharmacist. The brains, the nerdy vibes and the terrible handwriting which was pretty ironic because the boy knew how to write. I mean Obinna had a way with words. He could make the most boring situations look like blockbusters. This man had an entire Instagram page dedicated to recommending movies and he had no bad recommendations!! None!!
I could go on and on about Obinna but everyone who came across him knows how much of a rare gem he was. Death didn’t win! Obinna had to go and attend to some urgent matter in the world beyond. it was obvious he was too gifted for this world anyways. So we understand Obinna and we Love you. We always will. 017 Class loves you Man. 017 Football Team loves you Coach. Benzy, Jo Obertan and I Love you Brother. Rest Easy, Obinna “Hernandez”.
Chinwe Egbeada, pharmacist
Goodbye, dear friend…
My name is Chinwe Jane and Obinna was my colleague and dear friend. From the first day I met Obinna, his genuine spirit and contagious laughter drew me to him. His eloquence and sometimes shy demeanor were one of my favorite things about him. You can talk to him about anything in the world and he’ll have the perfect reply. He was humble and didn’t put on airs about anything. He just wanted to enjoy his classic movies, talk football and share his writing with the world. He was a true friend through and through and was never one to judge. He was the best of us, the funniest, the smartest, the nicest, the weirdest and that is why this is such a great loss.
I condole with his lovely parents, I am so sorry for your loss. You raised an amazing young man and should be very proud of all he was able to achieve before he left us. And to ugoo, your brother loved you so much, please take heart.
I’m really going to miss you Emeka Obinna Charles. I’ll miss our chats that never seems to have a beginning or an end. I’ll miss helping you edit your stories and also being hounded by you to start writing again.
I desperately pray you’re resting well with your creator, because if not, what hope do the rest of us have?
Rest well on your journey dear friend…
Emeh Prosper, pharmacist, friend, and former class rep.
Charles and I sat next to each other for years in university during exams. I noticed he was a cool, unassuming dude who never showed any nerves in the exam hall. It was almost like he was above the anxiety and stress of pharmacy professional exams.
Charles appeared reserved, but I also noticed he was popular in class. His deep voice surprised me; I did not expect that kind of voice from his physical stature. He coached the class football team and led them to many successes in university tournaments. I cannot remember how or even why, but he chose me to assist him in coaching the football team for one year. I took great pride and pleasure in that job while it lasted.
My friendship with Charles took off two years after we graduated from pharmacy school. I learned we grew up in the same commercial city of Aba, even though we barely act or look like it. We exchange lots of texts about literature and films. He trained to be a scientist, but he had a calling for the arts, something I could relate to.
I remember the day we discussed the animated series Bojack Horseman and how we felt after seeing the show. That was the time that I realized that Charles was one of us. The shy, nerdy, deep-thinking worriers of this world. Since then, I held unto him. He sent me his short stories and his competent writing and humorous and well-researched storytelling impressed me. He had a fond obsession with crime thrillers.
When he told me he had started to write his novel, my respect for him soared. I have done a bit of writing myself and have given up. But Charles trading the security of a pharmacy career to bet on his talents inspired me so much. He texted that he had finished this novel, and I replied, “congratulation on persevering.”
Charles was one of us. He saw life for what it was: it’s unending worrying, chasing, and eventual futility. But he put on his gloves and fought anyway to make his mark. Charles showed me not to be crippled by my fear of inadequacy and to dare to share my gifts with people. He worked hard to improve in private as much as he did in the full glare of the public.
I want to thank you, Charles, for speaking to me and understanding the bleak moments of our lives. Thank you for helping when I called about my Dad’s illness, and you pulled strings to get me a specialist’s contact. You are one of the best of us all, and it is cruel that death snatched your promise away prematurely. But even you would chuckle with sarcasm at this thought because you understood how much of a wily fucker life could be.
Rest well, my dear friend. Your short life brought lots of joy and good memories to your loved ones. I will remember you.
P.S. Still looking forward to reading your debut novel.
Amarachi Anoka, lawyer and cousin
We always had a lot in common. Always. We wrote and started the journey of writing at the same time, we both started wearing glasses early, we both loved and were crazy about the exact same type of movies. You would recommend to me and I would always always enjoy them. Silence of The Lamb, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Usual Suspects, The Big Bang Theory,… it goes on.
So it’s crazy
So crazy that you should leave on the anniversary of my birth.
What that thing they say about life… it’s weird isn’t it?
I’ve always been someone who believed it was hard for people to understand me, but even at the young age of 10, you would persuade me to open up to you and coincidentally, you could relate on everything. I don’t think I’ve been honest with anyone the way I have with you.
Obinna, you were such a good person. It feels like the world should stop spinning because you are gone. A balance has been broken in me, in my world.
Even till our last conversation, you were the only one that told me what I needed to hear to help me move on. I love you so much, Obi.
I will never take our memories for granted.
Strolling, laughing, gisting, watching Pretty Little Liars, eatinggggg and playing video games.
You are our brother.
You are our friend.
We will never forget you.
I will Never forget you.
– Love, Amarachi.
Chinenyenwa Anoka Asuzu, lawyer and cousin
Obiii was ‘That Guy’. The one who knew exactly what to say in any situation; the problem solver, the fixer. He had the right words for every situation, and his calm demeanor and gentle aura always had a way of soothing the panic.
He possessed so much but was never boastful, rather he’d downplay his awesome abilities and skills; and uphold that of someone next to him who had such doubts. I used to advise him to tell himself the exact words he told me whenever I was stuck in a fix; we would therapize each other; feeling so much better after sharing encouraging words to each other.
He was kind, so kind. A good listener and an amazing conversationalist. He could talk to anyone about anything and relate with everyone down to little kids. Of all the things he possessed his heart was the PRIZE. It was so beautiful; this man would never be at rest if he knew he was the reason someone else was hurting. Even when he knew he wasn’t the reason; he just always left you better than he met you. He always went the extra mile, giving more than he should, doing all he could in his power and still feeling like he wasn’t doing enough.
Sometimes when I try to console myself, I say to myself ‘ I’m happy we always said ‘I love you’ to each other; I’m happy I was lucky enough to experience him; I’m happy we were close and I was there for him in the moments I was needed’. But these are all temporary fixes because guilt finds a way to eat me up from within, and I find myself asking myself ‘Did I do enough?’
I’ve been listening to grief podcasts and reading articles, they say the ones we mourn want us to heal and be happy; they’d rather see us happy. But my happiness is incomplete if he’s not here. It’s incomplete if I can’t share good news to him. It’s incomplete because I can’t see all of his dreams and plans come to fruition.
I never imagined a life without the kind, caring, gentle, empathetic, loyal, genuine, beautiful soul I called Obiii. When I see a Manchester United football match I remember him, when I see movies I remember him, when I hear certain songs I remember him and when my mind drifts to a memory we shared I remember him with a hurting heart and the tears just flow like they’ve been waiting behind my eyes all the while.
I never imagined a life without Obiiii. I never thought I’d save up all of our memories to relive them time and time again: I just always assumed he’d always be there to make more memories, his phone number (one I memorized years ago) would always be available when I called; his deep voice , his chuckles, his jokes, his kind words…
This is a phase of my life I never imagined I’d go through. But I find myself doing it everyday and I’ll be damned if he’s not the one, whispering to my heart and telling me I could do it, just like he always did before the 2nd of April, 2023.
My dear brother, my Obiiii, Nenye misses you so much. I wish we could have a long conversation right now talking about everything. This isn’t goodbye, you’re closer to me than I know, it’s simply ‘see you later’.
– Nenye, Cousin, Sister, Friend.
Dr. Ifeanyichukwu Alex Anoka, cousin
It’s very hard to accept that Obinna’s life has been cut short. He had so much to offer the world still. But, we cannot control these things. It was a blessing to have known you. Rest in Peace cousin.
Jo Chinedu Nnamdi, pharmacist and friend
On the 2nd of April 2023, I had my heart broken in the most devastating way. Death did it, she took away my best friend. I don’t know if I will completely heal from this but I know the scar will be there all the days of my life.
Obinna! You made a convincing argument on why you should be my best man (instead of Nonso) on my wedding day, but you won’t be here to get my best man trophy. As the man of the letters we agreed you will perfectly put to words our struggles, failures, rejections, wins and our friendship journey, and now Obinna you’ve left it for an amateur like me. Now I am struggling to put to words how your death makes me feel and I could use your help on that. So, ‘helpless’ is all I could come up with.
I wake up in the morning and the first thought I have is ‘Obinna is no more’ and then it starts again. Conversations, plans, banters, arguments, yabs, and memories that we shared. Obinna believed that what is worth doing is worth doing well, and boy! did he do his things well – pharmacy, creative writing, coaching, advising (he gave the best advice), expressing love, movie taste – I was taking notes while you were excelling at these things Obinna, the lessons and memories I still have as death couldn’t take them away from me and I will continue to cherish them for the rest of my life. I will love you forever and a day more, Obinna!
Ubachukwu Ugochukwu, pharmacist and friend
I resumed pharmacy school late – three weeks after the resumption date.The class had formed small cliques as first years usually would.
I felt alone and clueless; I had no idea where to start, being introverted and shy (myself).
On my second day in school, someone tapped me from behind and said: “Hey man, you seem to be new”.
I turned around and responded: “Yes, I am.”
He went ahead to introduce himself and promised to show me around.
That was the beginning of a lifetime of brotherhood.
The first thing you’d notice about Obinna was his love for football and Manchester United. He was a huge fan of Sir Alex Ferguson and never stopped loving his team even when the glory days were over (he’d punch me if he heard me say that). With his enthusiasm for football, It was only natural he became the class football coach.
In a world where impossibilities were nonexistent, Charles would have gone on to become a Manchester United coach.
The second thing you’d notice was his calm demeanour.
Five years later, after the struggle and stress UNN had put us through, we sat in Chitis, our final results had just been published.
“We have done this for our parents. You know we were never really designed for this life, Benzy. We are meant to do so much more than just ‘Pharmacists’,” he said.
Every step of the journey since 2017 had been towards becoming all that Obinna had dreamt to be.
Obinna thought of things and then did them. I didn’t know anyone as introverted and shy, yet as audacious.
In 2016, his love for movies quadrupled and he fell in love with the idea of owning an instagram page dedicated to movies–Scenomaniac.
By 2018, his page already had about 10k organic followers.
In 2020, I visited him at University of Nigeria Teaching Hospital (UNTH) where he was an intern. That was the first time he mentioned he was going back to writing. It was really exciting.
It was the first time since that Chitis conversation “Being more than just pharmacists” became real.
I knew he had thought about it, so I was certain he was going to do it.
By December 2022, he had published a few short stories, become an integral part of writers’ communities, and finished his first book.
His determination and resilience were second to none.
The beauty of it all was that he didn’t keep this energy to himself. It was for his family and friends also.
Obinna was so down to earth, yet so kind. There was never a time you needed him; he wasn’t there. Never. Obinna embodied loyalty.
He’d fight for his own anyway and anyhow he could.
I have so many beautiful memories with Obinna that I can’t possibly talk about all of them. But my best would be last year. I had been so discouraged with my creative process and journey.
It was a really bad time.
He randomly called me one morning and spoke to me.
Obinna had his way with words. He was an old soul in a simple nerdy body. Every sentence he made sounded like he had experienced all he spoke of.
I did everything he told me to, and that same week, I had the biggest win of my career so far. I remember sharing the news with him and he laughed and said “Wow, I told you so”. With so much calmness.
Obinna, I miss you everyday. I know you’re in a better place quite alright, but it sucks knowing you couldn’t become everything we knew you’d become.
Life is fickle.
Regardless, I’m grateful to God I knew you Charles.
And it’s impossible to tell my story without you.
Stephen Ogbodo, pharmacist and friend
It is incredibly difficult to put words to the feelings, Emeka. My “four-eyed friend”, as I often teased you. My pal with a brilliant mind tucked behind a pair of 10-inch-thick glasses.You had the demeanor of a proper and smart gentleman.We were classmates for 4 whole years before our first real l interaction. Paired on the same project under Dr. Nworu, our friendship set sail. For three straight months, we would labour together at the UNN medical center, extracting data from piles upon piles of patient folders. But it’s not “work” when you do it with someone so interesting. It certainly helped that we shared the same interests – movies, music, writing, and girls. Even two years after graduation, we would travel across
Enugu to exchange movies and music, and of course, tease each other about girls. And the memes! The mutual support.The shared existential ennui mirrored in TV characters like “the Joker”and Rorschach. “The Joker gets me”, you once said, with a self-contented smirk. I replied “Me too!” We shared a connection over movies that I’ll never have with anyone. Ever. We got each other so well! Of course, life and time pulled us apart – young men finding their feet in an unyielding world, continents apart. But we would just naturally pick up from wherever we left off. I’m smiling like a fool, writing this, with tears of pleasant nostalgia welling in my eyes. I had the best time reading through our WhatsApp chat history today. Now the tears are pouring, but they’re of sadness.You’ve made me cry for the first time since I was a little boy. That video of you in distress at the hospital is the worst thing I’ll ever see. You always had this air of admirable nonchalance about you, calmly going about your business and lighting up the lives of everyone in your path. I mean, of all people that death could take, why you, Emeka? If life is even remotely fair,I genuinely ask: why not me instead?
Kachisolum Odinamadu, pharmacist and friend
To Charles Emeka Obinna, my Friend, my G. Charlsy, as I fondly called him, was an exceptional guy. The first time I met him was in pharmacy school when he walked up to me and asked if I watched Game of Thrones to which I said yes and he proceeds to tell me how Jon Snow dies in the next season. Looking back now, only Charles would do that: engage you in a conversation, dash a good series and proceed to tell you how the writer did a good job by killing off that character. Charlsy loved movies and books. He could analyze the heck out of them. Listening to him talk about them would make you want to watch and read them as well. Charlsy loved his family. We often spoke about Ugonwa and how proud he was of her. You could feel his love for her through the phone. He would sound like a proud papa bear when talking about her. Charlsy loved his best friends Nonso and Joe. He said, “I can be busy for anybody but you see Nonso and Joe, I am never too busy for them”. They were thick as thieves. He was a pharmacist but he didn’t really like pharmacy. I couldn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to practice pharmacy after studying it in school but I got my answer when I started reading his short stories. My guy was talented! The first short story I read blew me away. I couldn’t believe that he wrote that. I called him, gushing on the phone about how amazing the story was. I would go on to read more. I used to tease him that he took us (his readers) on a rollercoaster of emotions with his stories. You would feel a range of different emotions from one short story and he would leave you hanging at the end. He always said that life doesn’t always have a happy ending and that is why his stories are always open ended. He would always laugh whenever I expressed my displeasure at the cliffhangers in his stories. They were his trademark. Charly was a different person when he talked about his writing. He could talk for hours about writing. I remember the hours spent talking about his novel paper phoenix, I felt like I was talking to a different person. His voice was lighter and his laugh came quicker. It was a journey I am glad I went on. He shared every chapter with his beta readers and used our feedback. He always looked for feedback.He started reading more as he wrote. He said to be a good writer you must be a good reader. We would spend time analyzing the books he read. He also recommended some books for me. Whenever he read something that he liked, he would always call and read it to me and ask what my take was on it. We had some interesting conversations.When he started querying for his novel, he got a lot of rejections but he kept on pushing. When he told me about them I told him to “Save them so when you blow e no go shock them”. Some days were harder than others but he was grateful for all of them.
Charlsy was real and blunt to the core. He would tell you the truth without mincing words. At times it came off as harsh and he was very perceptive to know when his words were hurtful and he would take the time to explain. At the end of the conversation, you came out stronger. A lot of our conversations were via phone calls, what couldn’t Charles pick up during a phone call. He was a deep person. He also had the ability to ask the difficult questions. He was always asking questions. I think it was the writer in him.He wasn’t a conventional guy. He didn’t do things the way others would do it and he never saw things the way others saw it. He would say, “Life is not always black and white, there are a lot of gray areas”. He was free and open-minded. When you thought the world was coming to an end, he would always encourage you and show you a different side. He was intelligent and smart. He was young but my goodness was he wise beyond his years. He could hold his own in any conversation. He didn’t like bothering anyone with his problems. Charlsy had the ability to see things through even though they were tasking. Charles had guts.I remember when he said he would take one year to write his novel. It was through him that I knew that writing was a full time job. It was a trying period but he saw it through. I once asked him if he ever felt like giving up and he said yes but that giving up now would always haunt him because how do you know you wouldn’t succeed at a thing if you don’t see it through. Charlsy was so excited for this year. He said there were a lot of wins this year. He had already started research for his second novel. We had discussed the characters and the genre for the novel.Writing this is painful. Painful because this feels like goodbye and I am not ready to say goodbye. I still hope to wake up to a missed call from you. You taught me so much. When did it go from typing out ‘congratulations’ to typing your eulogy? You were my person. My G. How was I to know that that Saturday morning was the last time I was going to speak to you? You said you were going to call me back but you never did. I called you on Sunday evening and your phone was switched off. I didn’t think much about it, probably your phone was dead. I didn’t know you were gone. Charlsy, you were amazing.I’m glad I always told you how amazing and wonderful you were. I thank God we were friends.I don’t know if I did justice with this write up, I am not good with writing. How does one compress a decade of friendship into a few pages? Charlsy, you deserve the best on paper because you delivered the best on paper. The news of your death knocked the breath out of me. I don’t think I would be able to recover fully.
My friend is gone. My G is no more. We will meet again and vibe to our song (who is your guy? (Remix) by Spyro and Tiwa). From your friend, Kachisolum Ifeatu Odinamadu.
We also wanted to celebrate his work and our submissions editor Tahzeeb Akram has taken the time to introduce Emeka’s stories below along with some memorable quotes from his writings:
Tahzeeb Akram, Submissions Editor at Brittle Paper
Obinna Emeka was a member of the Brittle Paper community who gave us the privilege of starting 2022 with some of his brilliance, “Life in Two and a Half Chapters.” With a rush of comments describing our readers’ immense love for the story, it was clear that he was a phenomenal talent.
He had a lot under his belt being a writer, a pharmacist, and a cinephile while growing an Instagram platform called Scenomaniac, which currently has around 14,000 followers. He was also awarded the Literary Excellence Award by the Association of Nigerian Authors in 2015.
In honor of his memory, we are sharing a few lines from a few of his publications to remember the grace and beauty created whenever Obinna wielded his pen:
Life in Two and a Half Chapters | Brittle Paper | Read here
“Life happens to us… even if we run.”
“But as he lay in bed in his dark room that was just starting to see the first signs of daylight, he wondered if he had truly stopped. His nights were now an endless cocktail of nightmares and insomnia.”
Harmattan | Afritondo | Read here
“The birds have stopped singing, and the neighbour is sweeping, brushing the concrete for future basin butts. The wind from my window has stilled. The harmattan was a false start like my desire, shrivelled and limp.”
Brown Eyes | Kalahari Review | Read here
“I’ve become accustomed to the noises he makes. In times like this, they make me feel less alone — like two of us are midway through a grueling week of calls.”
“I take a deep sigh. A sad sigh. Is this what it means to lose a friend? In his absence, my mind goes to things it has not visited before.”
This Thing, Destiny | Kalahari Review | Read here
“I’ll be the first Nigerian, Manchester United coach.”
“But we had misread the signs that morning. Yes, destiny was in the air but she was not on our side.”
Crossroads | African Writer | Read here
“That was a time when our bodies were rife with the gift of youth.”
“Her name, Nneka, rolled off my tongue with ease. With her, everything was easy. Talking, crying, loving – all the things I couldn’t do with women. We spoke about everything and anything.”
COMMENTS ( 3 ) -
Chimdiebube Orji April 21, 2023 13:58
Charles was an amazing person. He had a deep throated laughter which was almost infectious. He was an excellent writer but he was reserved. He was a great guy.
Stephen Ogbodo April 21, 2023 10:16
Thanks to brittlepaper for putting this together. Rest in peace, Obinna. You'll be dearly missed ❤️
Ciegel April 21, 2023 02:47
The first time I came in contact with Pharm. Obinna's writings courtesy of his sister, Ugonwa (my classmate) I was like "Wow". I usually enjoyed the ironic twist and turns of his writings, which left me in suspense and all. I will really miss him. May his soul rest in peace. To the family, accept my sincere condolences.