by Vivian Dindu Esimoleze

I remember vividly the vigorous moans mother made each night she washes my small penis while bathing me. I was five then, very aware of the situation. I didn’t know the meaning of that action and I didn’t ask her.

The Final Hiding Place

by Innocence Katung Katricia

‘I love you, Mary,’ he said and as he rushed out of the room, too afraid to look at the misery in her eyes, he did not fail to hear the last words she spoke:
‘Tell your father, the eyes of God, only God knows the smell of sin.’ And her laughter followed him as he dashed into streets of Lagos, to dare his father one last time before he would take control of his destiny.

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