Uche Azinge: The Mage Who Makes your Webpage Light Up

We sit on the breezy upper deck of Vantage Hotel’s single-storey bar sipping ice-cold malts and watching waves from the Atlantic Ocean’s waters blast the beach’s shoreline. The aroma of Suya wafts up from below where a seasoned chef is busy stoking the charcoal in his barbecue grill. I have the distinct pleasure of meeting this powerful but understated Nigerian entrepreneur, Uche Azinge. He’s casually clad in a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Rio de Janeiro’ across his fashionably trim torso. Uche is among a burgeoning new breed of web developers who recognize the gradual, inevitable melding of technology and branding and who see a goldmine for companies to explore. “It’s not ju...

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Abu Salami: Making Magic Out of  Mayhem

Amid large, four-feet tall earthenware Abu Salami and I sit on solid wooden benches, with a coterie of his close associates, shooting the seraphic Lekki breeze with small talk that spans politics, society and photography. It is, as such gatherings are, a combustible small affair in which tempers rise and fall like the wave crests of the Atlantic sea just a few kilometres from where we sit. I am particularly drawn to Abu’s energy. He is the only one among the cohort attired casually in a tee-shirt underneath which a resplendent tattoo of his three children’s names are visible (they are called, Jayden, Layla, and Trey). Unlike the rest of the table, his speech at first is a small smouldering staccato that imm...

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Revolving Doors at the Love Hotel

Obiajulu sat in the hotel lobby, a cigarette pencilled between his fingers, and dialled Aduke’s number twice, and just before it rang he cut the line. ‘Sir, more tea?’ the waiter asked, lowering his small frame in a gesture of deference. ‘Yes, please.’ Obiajulu said, wondering at the spring in the man’s steps at four in the morning. He reclined his head on the velvet cushion of the arm chair he sat in, allowing his gaze idle off into the nothingness before him. ‘Sir.’ the waiter said as he returned with another pot of tea. ‘Shall I set it down or pour it into your cup?’ He looked up, his eyelids fluttering like a pair of Monarch-wing butterflies. ‘No wahala; I’ll fill it up myself. Thank you.’ Obiajulu sai...

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Bring Back Our Girls

Bring Back Our Girls Warning: scenes of violence. This story is fiction broadly based on truth: namely, the abduction of 250+ girls in the 2014 Chibok schoolgirls kidnapping (most of them are still missing), the more girls abducted elsewhere, and the murder of hundreds at Baga and elsewhere. It is not intended to be a journalistic and factual retelling of any one particular event. It is intended to draw attention to what has happened and to motivate the Nigerian government to Bring Back Our Girls. When Hauwa stood in front of all the girls with two fingers pointed to her chin in messianic fashion and said, “Who do men say I am?” we collapsed in laughter. Hauwa was the prankster in the dormitory, ...

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