Chika Unigwe's Blog, page 2
May 27, 2020
Today's Not a Good Day
It seems like between the pandemic and racist cops, the world is trying to see how far it can stretch me before I snap. Over 100,000 dead from COVID19 in the US alone! That number is mind boggling. I can't wrap my head around it. Neither can I wrap my head around the videos I've seen of cops manhandling black men. I keep thinking of George Floyd, of him shouting, I can't breathe, shouting that he hurt all over, begging for water, murdered by the same people who should have kept him safe. Whatever he did, his life wasn't the cops to take.
I keep thinking of the 21 year old man crying , begging cops with drawn guns to please put thier guns away because he was scared. I keep hearing the voice of a woman, scared for him, shouting , "He's 21! We are black, we get killed!" I keep replaying the image of his white haired grandma coming out and allegedly being pushed down by the cops who have no respect, no respect, no respect. To live in a country where one feels that one skin color makes them a target for the police, a country where guns are drawn as easily as if they were pens. My heart is heavy tonight. May tomorrow be better
https://www.complex.com/life/2020/05/...
I keep thinking of the 21 year old man crying , begging cops with drawn guns to please put thier guns away because he was scared. I keep hearing the voice of a woman, scared for him, shouting , "He's 21! We are black, we get killed!" I keep replaying the image of his white haired grandma coming out and allegedly being pushed down by the cops who have no respect, no respect, no respect. To live in a country where one feels that one skin color makes them a target for the police, a country where guns are drawn as easily as if they were pens. My heart is heavy tonight. May tomorrow be better
https://www.complex.com/life/2020/05/...
April 14, 2020
These Covid-19 Days
Covid-19 Days
I woke up today and wasn’t quite sure what day it was
Or if it mattered at all-
In these days when each day feels like an egg that I am trying not to break-
Or maybe it is the world which is an egg
Cracking slowly so we see
Mass graves in New York and the Starbucks we used to sit in to have a latte - feeling
Like the world was a solid, unbreakable thing like a strong piece of metal perhaps- closed
And we hear of deaths and people we know falling sick and we like the Israelites- in the Bible- smear blood on our doors to guide the angel of death away from us
Or maybe it is I who is the egg, all of us perhaps
Humpty Dumpties tethered #aparttogether to walls made of hand sanitizers and soap and water
Nostalgic already for the days when we complained of traffic and the long queue at the grocery store and flight delays for no good reason and the Amazon guy who dropped off our package at the wrong door
And OMG! My hairdresser is fully booked for the month or week or year!
And I woke knowing exactly what day it was
I woke up today and wasn’t quite sure what day it was
Or if it mattered at all-
In these days when each day feels like an egg that I am trying not to break-
Or maybe it is the world which is an egg
Cracking slowly so we see
Mass graves in New York and the Starbucks we used to sit in to have a latte - feeling
Like the world was a solid, unbreakable thing like a strong piece of metal perhaps- closed
And we hear of deaths and people we know falling sick and we like the Israelites- in the Bible- smear blood on our doors to guide the angel of death away from us
Or maybe it is I who is the egg, all of us perhaps
Humpty Dumpties tethered #aparttogether to walls made of hand sanitizers and soap and water
Nostalgic already for the days when we complained of traffic and the long queue at the grocery store and flight delays for no good reason and the Amazon guy who dropped off our package at the wrong door
And OMG! My hairdresser is fully booked for the month or week or year!
And I woke knowing exactly what day it was
These Covid-19 Days
Covid-19 Days
I woke up today and wasn’t quite sure what day it was
Or if it mattered at all-
In these days when each day feels like an egg that I am trying not to break-
Or maybe it is the world which is an egg
Cracking slowly so we see
Mass graves in New York and the Starbucks we used to sit in to have a latte - feeling
Like the world was a solid, unbreakable thing like a strong piece of metal perhaps- closed
And we hear of deaths and people we know falling sick and we like the Israelites- in the Bible- smear blood on our doors to guide the angel of death away from us
Or maybe it is I who is the egg, all of us perhaps
Humpty Dumpties tethered #aparttogether to walls made of hand sanitizers and soap and water
Nostalgic already for the days when we complained of traffic and the long queue at the grocery store and flight delays for no good reason and the Amazon guy who dropped off our package at the wrong door
And OMG! My hairdresser is fully booked for the month or week or year!
And I woke knowing exactly what day it was
I woke up today and wasn’t quite sure what day it was
Or if it mattered at all-
In these days when each day feels like an egg that I am trying not to break-
Or maybe it is the world which is an egg
Cracking slowly so we see
Mass graves in New York and the Starbucks we used to sit in to have a latte - feeling
Like the world was a solid, unbreakable thing like a strong piece of metal perhaps- closed
And we hear of deaths and people we know falling sick and we like the Israelites- in the Bible- smear blood on our doors to guide the angel of death away from us
Or maybe it is I who is the egg, all of us perhaps
Humpty Dumpties tethered #aparttogether to walls made of hand sanitizers and soap and water
Nostalgic already for the days when we complained of traffic and the long queue at the grocery store and flight delays for no good reason and the Amazon guy who dropped off our package at the wrong door
And OMG! My hairdresser is fully booked for the month or week or year!
And I woke knowing exactly what day it was
April 7, 2020
To Coy-Vid 19 (Inspired by Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress)
To Coy-Vid 19 (Inspired by Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress)
To Coy-Vid 19 (Inspired by Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress)
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, virus, were a small crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
You’d invent to throw this big world off course:
Breathlessness and fever we were told
Headache and a cough that lasts a while
But your coyness kept some symptoms still
Hidden in your sleeves of wrath:
Conjunctivitis, nausea and cramps
We now are told are your calling cards to some
Diarrhea is sometimes how you knock
You sure do keep us on our toes
Oh, Coy-Vid spare us , stop! No more!
Give our scientists time to create
A vaccine, a cure to put an end to you
Your wrath, your coyness, blown to ashes-
To ashes
Yes, though we cannot send you back
Stand still, yet we will make you flee
To Coy-Vid 19 (Inspired by Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress)
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, virus, were a small crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
You’d invent to throw this big world off course:
Breathlessness and fever we were told
Headache and a cough that lasts a while
But your coyness kept some symptoms still
Hidden in your sleeves of wrath:
Conjunctivitis, nausea and cramps
We now are told are your calling cards to some
Diarrhea is sometimes how you knock
You sure do keep us on our toes
Oh, Coy-Vid spare us , stop! No more!
Give our scientists time to create
A vaccine, a cure to put an end to you
Your wrath, your coyness, blown to ashes-
To ashes
Yes, though we cannot send you back
Stand still, yet we will make you flee
March 28, 2020
Love in the Time of #Coronavirus
Love is not gathering in groups for now
That party, that bar, that club…
That sleepover that was promised…
Love is patient enough to wait
Love is standing 6 feet away
The width of a car is just about right
Sneezing, coughing, feel a fever coming
Love is kind enough to keep away
Love is patient , love is kind
That party, that bar, that club…
That sleepover that was promised…
Love is patient enough to wait
Love is standing 6 feet away
The width of a car is just about right
Sneezing, coughing, feel a fever coming
Love is kind enough to keep away
Love is patient , love is kind
January 14, 2020
Competitions & Caine Prize 2020
I love writing competitions. I run an NGO that runs one. I have judged them. I enter as many as I can. Why do I love them? Let me count the whys...
1) They are a good way to be discovered. As an isolated writer in Belgium, it was a contest I entered in that got me the attention of my first publisher, Harold Polis, (then of Manteau ) and got me my first story published in Dutch and my first novel.
2)Sometimes, I win. Who doesn't like winning? Sometimes, the win is the prestige , plus big bucks (money always helps, right?)
3)They force me to break through writer's block and write, which in itself is a win too
4)They force me to try new forms (I once entered for a SCiFi short story contest just because) and surprise myself with all the forms fiction can take and all the possibilities it provides if we are open to leaving our comfort zones
5) As a reader/judge: I've discovered so much great writing and so many new writers through their works entered in contests
So, if you're African, have had a story published anywhere, get your publishers to send it in for the Caine Prize:
http://caineprize.com/how-to-enter
1) They are a good way to be discovered. As an isolated writer in Belgium, it was a contest I entered in that got me the attention of my first publisher, Harold Polis, (then of Manteau ) and got me my first story published in Dutch and my first novel.
2)Sometimes, I win. Who doesn't like winning? Sometimes, the win is the prestige , plus big bucks (money always helps, right?)
3)They force me to break through writer's block and write, which in itself is a win too
4)They force me to try new forms (I once entered for a SCiFi short story contest just because) and surprise myself with all the forms fiction can take and all the possibilities it provides if we are open to leaving our comfort zones
5) As a reader/judge: I've discovered so much great writing and so many new writers through their works entered in contests
So, if you're African, have had a story published anywhere, get your publishers to send it in for the Caine Prize:
http://caineprize.com/how-to-enter
January 2, 2020
Happy New Year
Happy New Year, People!
How To Live In 2020 (and Beyond)
Be patient. Especially with your parents. Understand that (y)our parents are living in a world that is foreign and alien to them. Explain to them when you can, disagree politely when you must, and be quiet when you can’t.
Be kind. You never know what burden a person is shouldering. Practice kindness daily until it becomes a habit
Do not get into every fight. Sometimes, waka pass, let someone else have the last word if it makes them happy and it doesn’t cost you anything. Do not rise to every bait, especially on social media. Remember that for some people, coming on social media and baiting people is their long life and prosperity. Ignore them.
Do not imagine that you can please everyone at all times. The shortest route to an unhappy life is to try to please everyone
Let go of wanting to be liked by everyone. There are people who won’t like you for whatever reason. It’s okay.
Learn to listen.
Be the sort of friend you want others to be to you. Do not take friendships for granted. Be good to your friends.
Learn to be thankful. Count your blessings. Be intentional about this
Give but interrogate why you give and what you expect to get in return
Be ambitious
Be truthful to yourself. Have honest conversations with yourself. Do not be afraid to look in the mirror
Laugh. Be intentional about finding joy
Do not be afraid to question the herd, to make up your own mind, to change your mind
Invest in comfortable shoes :)
How To Live In 2020 (and Beyond)
Be patient. Especially with your parents. Understand that (y)our parents are living in a world that is foreign and alien to them. Explain to them when you can, disagree politely when you must, and be quiet when you can’t.
Be kind. You never know what burden a person is shouldering. Practice kindness daily until it becomes a habit
Do not get into every fight. Sometimes, waka pass, let someone else have the last word if it makes them happy and it doesn’t cost you anything. Do not rise to every bait, especially on social media. Remember that for some people, coming on social media and baiting people is their long life and prosperity. Ignore them.
Do not imagine that you can please everyone at all times. The shortest route to an unhappy life is to try to please everyone
Let go of wanting to be liked by everyone. There are people who won’t like you for whatever reason. It’s okay.
Learn to listen.
Be the sort of friend you want others to be to you. Do not take friendships for granted. Be good to your friends.
Learn to be thankful. Count your blessings. Be intentional about this
Give but interrogate why you give and what you expect to get in return
Be ambitious
Be truthful to yourself. Have honest conversations with yourself. Do not be afraid to look in the mirror
Laugh. Be intentional about finding joy
Do not be afraid to question the herd, to make up your own mind, to change your mind
Invest in comfortable shoes :)
October 5, 2019
It’s not just Greta Thunberg: why are we ignoring the developing world’s inspiring activists?
My latest op-ed in the Guardian
"It’s not just Greta Thunberg: why are we ignoring the developing world’s inspiring activists?"
Read the full article here:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
"It’s not just Greta Thunberg: why are we ignoring the developing world’s inspiring activists?"
Read the full article here:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
October 3, 2019
The Weight of Love
I have a new short story in Wasafiri's 100th edition. I am super chuffed because I'm in great company and because wasafiri happens to be one of my favorite magazines.
Here's an extract (to read the full story and all the other excellent pieces) you'll have to buy Wasafiri. Taylor and
The day Diana died, my mother made
egusi soup for lunch with no salt and
no pepper. Dipping my eba in the soup that afternoon was like dipping it into palm oil mixed with water. My
aunty, who was visiting, asked her why she was so
distracted. My mother said it wasn’t distraction, it was grief.
‘Who are you mourning?’
‘The people’s princess.’
‘Bu onye?’
‘Diana. Did you not hear that she died?’ My aunty might have hissed or said something about the mad woman who wiped her own buttocks for somebody else’s mess, but guests knew their place and she silently ate the mourning food my mother dished out.
There was not likely to be anyone in Enugu who had not heard of the princess’s death, but I suspect now that there couldn’t have been anyone else who mourned her, and forced the entire family to, the way my mother did. In her village, when a man died his widowed wife was supposed to show her loyalty and love by eating bland food – boiled yam with no sauce; eba with no soup; rice with no stew –for weeks. When my father died, my mother liked to say, his people subjected her to even worse by forcing her to eat roast yam. ‘There’s nothing on earth drier than roast yam, yet they wouldn’t even let me drink.’ My father’s family knew she had loved him, they were just testing the weightof that devotion. She wore her perseverance like a badge of honour. She could have complained, she said, but didn’t. ‘I could have made noise, but I mourned your father the way he deserved. Like a good man.’ I was two when my father died and have no memory of him. Or of my mother bobbing me on her knees as she stoically forced the weight of herlove for him down her throat.
Taylor & Francis who publish Wasafiri have also given me a link for 50 online copies (of my story only)
https://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/SR...
I hope that you enjoy it :)
Here's an extract (to read the full story and all the other excellent pieces) you'll have to buy Wasafiri. Taylor and
The day Diana died, my mother made
egusi soup for lunch with no salt and
no pepper. Dipping my eba in the soup that afternoon was like dipping it into palm oil mixed with water. My
aunty, who was visiting, asked her why she was so
distracted. My mother said it wasn’t distraction, it was grief.
‘Who are you mourning?’
‘The people’s princess.’
‘Bu onye?’
‘Diana. Did you not hear that she died?’ My aunty might have hissed or said something about the mad woman who wiped her own buttocks for somebody else’s mess, but guests knew their place and she silently ate the mourning food my mother dished out.
There was not likely to be anyone in Enugu who had not heard of the princess’s death, but I suspect now that there couldn’t have been anyone else who mourned her, and forced the entire family to, the way my mother did. In her village, when a man died his widowed wife was supposed to show her loyalty and love by eating bland food – boiled yam with no sauce; eba with no soup; rice with no stew –for weeks. When my father died, my mother liked to say, his people subjected her to even worse by forcing her to eat roast yam. ‘There’s nothing on earth drier than roast yam, yet they wouldn’t even let me drink.’ My father’s family knew she had loved him, they were just testing the weightof that devotion. She wore her perseverance like a badge of honour. She could have complained, she said, but didn’t. ‘I could have made noise, but I mourned your father the way he deserved. Like a good man.’ I was two when my father died and have no memory of him. Or of my mother bobbing me on her knees as she stoically forced the weight of herlove for him down her throat.
Taylor & Francis who publish Wasafiri have also given me a link for 50 online copies (of my story only)
https://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/SR...
I hope that you enjoy it :)
September 21, 2019
TwoSentenceHorrorStories
Been trying my hand at these, and quite enjoying it. What do you think?
Elo dressed up as a monster for Halloween, his mask a gruesome affair that dripped fake blood. He scared kids - which was the point at 18- and went home content, but when he tried to remove the mask, he found it had melded to his face
At three months, Femi's baby had settled into a regular pattern which made his life as the stay-at-home parent easy. "Time to eat," he cooed, stepping into the nursery, and a tinny voice rose from her cot and snapped, 'About time, Daddy dearest!'
"Mommy, let's go home, " the little girl said,grasping my hand,dragging me towards the cemetery, her grasp tighter than any child's should be. It's All Souls Day and I've never had a child.
Sisi woke up to find the mannequin she kept in her room beside her, dressed in the clothes Sisi had planned to wear that day. When she opened her mouth to scream, the mannequin let out a scream that swallowed hers.
Elo dressed up as a monster for Halloween, his mask a gruesome affair that dripped fake blood. He scared kids - which was the point at 18- and went home content, but when he tried to remove the mask, he found it had melded to his face
At three months, Femi's baby had settled into a regular pattern which made his life as the stay-at-home parent easy. "Time to eat," he cooed, stepping into the nursery, and a tinny voice rose from her cot and snapped, 'About time, Daddy dearest!'
"Mommy, let's go home, " the little girl said,grasping my hand,dragging me towards the cemetery, her grasp tighter than any child's should be. It's All Souls Day and I've never had a child.
Sisi woke up to find the mannequin she kept in her room beside her, dressed in the clothes Sisi had planned to wear that day. When she opened her mouth to scream, the mannequin let out a scream that swallowed hers.
