₦airaland Forum

[/i]We at dwartonline decided to dig back as far as 1959 to get this short story from Africa's legend.[i]

[img][/img]
JULIUS Obi sat gazing at his typewriter. The fat chief clerk, his boss, was snoring at his table. Outside, the gatekeeper in his green uniform was sleeping at his post. No customer had passed through the gate for nearly a week. There was an empty basket on the giant weighing machine. A few palm kernels lay in the dust around the machine.

Julius went to the window that overlooked the great market on the bank of the Niger. This market, like all Ibo markets, had been held on one of the four days of the week. But with the coming of the white man and the growth of Umuru into a big palm-oil port, it had become a daily market. In spite of that however, it was still busiest on its original Nkwo day, because the deity that presided over it cast her spell only on that day. It was said that she appeared in the form of an old woman in the center of the market just before cockcrow and waved her magic fan in the four directions of the earth — in front of her, behind her, to the right, and to the left — to draw to the market men and women from distant clans. And they came, these men and women, bringing the produce of their lands: palm oil and kernels, kola nuts, cassava, mats, baskets, and earthenware pots. And they took home many-colored cloths, smoked fish, iron pots and plates.

Others came by the great river bringing yams and fish in their canoes. Sometimes it was a big canoe with a dozen or more people in it; sometimes it was just a fisherman and his wife in a small vessel from the swiftflowing Anambara. They moored their canoe on the bank and sold their fish, after much haggling. The woman then walked up the steep banks of the river to the heart of the market to buy salt and oil and, if the sales had been good, a length of cloth. And for her children at home she bought bean cakes or akara and mai-mai, which the Igara women cooked. As evening approached, they took up their paddles and paddled away, the water shimmering in the sunset and their canoe becoming smaller and smaller in the distance until it was just a dark crescent on the water’s face and two dark bodies swaying forwards and backwards in it.

Julius Obi was not a native of Umuru. He came from a bush village twenty or so miles away. But having passed his Standard Six in a mission school in 1920 he came to Umuru to work as a clerk in the offices of the Niger Company, which dealt in palm oil and kernels. The offices were situated beside the famous Umuru market, so that in his first two or three weeks Julius had to learn to work against the background of its noise. Sometimes when the chief clerk was away or asleep he walked to the window and looked down on the vast anthill activity. Most of these people were not there yesterday, he thought, and yet the market was as full. There must be many, many people in the world. Of course they say that not everyone who came to the great market was a real person. Janet’s mother had said so.

“Some of the beautiful young women you see squeezing through the crowds are not real people but mammy-wota from the river,” she said.

“How does one know them?” asked Julius, whose education placed him above such superstitious stuff. But he took care not to sound unbelieving. He had long learned that it was bad policy to argue with Ma on such points.

“You can always tell,” she explained, “because they are beautiful with a beauty that is not of this world. You catch a glimpse of them with the tail of your eye, then they disappear in the crowd.”

ulius thought about these things as he now stood at the window looking down at the empty market. Who would have believed that the great market could ever be so empty? But such was the power of Kitikpa, or smallpox.

When Umuru had been a little village, it had been swept and kept clean by its handful of inhabitants. But now it had grown into a busy, sprawling, crowded, and dirty river port. And Kitikpa came. No other disease is feared by the lbo people as much as they fear Kitikpa. It is personified as an evil deity. Its victims are not mourned lest it be offended. It put an end to the coming and going between neighbors and between villages. They said, “Kitikpa is in that village, and immediately it was cut off by its neighbors.

Julius was worried because it was almost a week since he had seen Janet, the girl he was going to marry. Ma had explained to him very gently that he should no longer come to see them “until this thing is over by the power of Jehovah.” Ma was a very devout Christian, and one reason why she approved of Julius for her only daughter was that he sang in the church choir.

“You must keep to your rooms,” she had said. “You never know whom you might meet on the streets. That family has got it.” She pointed at the house across the road. “That is what the yellow palm frond at the doorway means. The family were all moved away today in the big government lorry.”

Janet walked a short way with him, and they said good night. And they shook hands, which was very odd.

Julius did not go straight home. He went to the bank of the river and just walked up and down it. He must have been there a long time, because he was still there when the ekwe, or wooden gong, of the night spirit sounded. He immediately set out for home, half walking and half running. He had about half an hour to get home before the spirit ran its race through the town.

As Julius hurried home he stepped on something that broke with a slight liquid explosion. He stopped and peeped down at the footpath. The moon was not yet up, but there was some faint light which showed that it would not be long delayed. In this light Julius saw that he had stepped on a sacrificial egg. There were young palm fronds around it. Someone oppressed by misfortune had brought the offering to the crossroads in the dusk. And he had stepped on it and taken the sufferer’s ill luck to himself. “Nonsense,” he said and hurried away. But it was too late; the night spirit was already abroad. Its voice rose high and clear in the still, black air. It was a long way away, but Julius knew that distance did not apply to these beings. So he made straight for the cocoyam farm beside the road and threw himself on his belly. He had hardly done this when he heard the rattling staff of the spirit and a thundering stream of esoteric speech. He shook all over. The sounds came bearing down on him. And then he could hear the footsteps. It was as if twenty men were running together. In no time at all the sounds had passed and disappeared in the distance on the other side of the road.

As Julius stood at the window looking out on the empty market he lived through that night again. It was only a week ago, but already it seemed to be separated from the present by a vast emptiness. This emptiness deepened with the passage of time. On this side stood Julius, and on the other Ma and Janet, who were carried away by the smallpox.

http://www.dwartonline.com/?p=501

Baba Bubu by Wale Ayinla
Episode 1

It is just few days to his one year anniversary, and Baba Bubu has decided to abort his frolicking itineraries that has been tagged of him since he began to live in The House of His House. He is known to have received the title of the Best Traveller from Ajala -the jobless man that travelled all over the world, and also, the title of the Best Time Waster from his friend, Muga, who lives in another African House.

He is sitting in a leather-strapped chair in The House, in one of the rooms that could be converted to offices. He is reminiscing on what, and how his recent visit to China has begun to help His people. He remembers how the Chinese People had followed him to see the Forbidden Temple. He remembers that prior to the itinerary, the only place he had heard of the temple was in movies that starred Brule Lee, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan, and getting to China, he had made it a major of his baseless visit, to check out the temple. Only God knows if he witnessed a training session of the martial art students of the temple.

He remembers one of the sons of His House, the one who wished him death before he sat in The House, the one who criticizes him on almost all of his decisions.

"Why did Ay come to China to embarrass me, not only me, himself, and His House, by coming over to China with a wooden pulpit?" He pauses. He begins to soliloquy.

"He could have, at least, borrowed a glass pulpit from a famous church in His House, or better still, come with some cash and buy a glass pulpit there," He says. His eyes is frowning now, his forehead now has some thin lines -sitting side by side- above his eyes.
He remembers that prices of things -generally- has skyrocketed within his first year of sitting in The House. He remembers that just last week, he read in a local newspaper that tomato is now the new gold. He remembers the day a journalist asked him about subsidy and he replied, "I don't know what subsidy is." He remembers that the next day, he had call FemFem, his adviser to come and explain it to him.

He is no longer sitting on the chair. He calls Bayu, his photographer, to come and take a shot of him having an aerial view of the city.

"I'd prefer standing close to the glass-adorned window. Switch off one of those flourescent so that I can have a reflection on the window, and in the photograph," he says.

With no much ado, the young-spirited man runs towards the switch-box and switches one off. Now, Baba Bubu is about to have his shot, with hands akimbo.

"Let me see, Bayu."

"Here it is, sah," he says.

"It's good. Upload it on the social media, and let people know that I have them in mind."

"I'll do just that, sah!" Bayu says.

There is a random knock at the door, a knock that is familiar to only one person, FemFem.

"Baba Bubu, how do you do?"

"I'm not fine o," he says. He moves to a chair and sits.

"What's the problem, Baba?" FemFem asks. He sits opposite Baba Bubu, and the table divides them both.

"Bayu, you can leave," Baba Bubu says. The young man leaves, but not until FemFem tells him that his wife is waiting for him at the reception.

"Let me know what's bothering your mind, Baba," FemFem says, placing his hands on the table as he bends his back.

"What can you say about my response to that PM that said that My House is 'fantastically corrupt'?" The room is silent. FemFem looks lost.

"Baba, I don't think you need to bother yourself about this issue," he pauses. "Your People have gone far in fighting the PM for you. Just yesterday, I read on Nairaland about how this same PM's father was caught in this same act," FemFem says.

"Ehn..Ehn! Gaskiyani! But-"

"You were with the PM and you both spoke on this issue. He apologised to you."

"Privately! Don't forget to put that," Baba Bubu says.

A call comes in from The Man from Lagos. Baba swiftly picks up his iPhone. The conversation is now reading up to five minutes. FemFem is no longer comfortable with it, but Baba's responses, "Yes, sah," "Okay," amongst others is making it hard for him to decipher what the subject, and who the caller is.

"I need to call the Army General."

"Why? Who was that?"

"It's The Man From Lagos. He said that I should tell the Army General to send his boys to Sambisa,"

"Why? For what?"

"You know, he said that some of the Chibok girls, at least few, need to be saved before my one year anniversary," Baba says. He is standing now, walking towards the window. FemFem swirls his neck to tailor his eyes on him.

"Do you think that's possible?"

"I'm sure it is," Baba says. He walks towards FemFem, bends over, and places his mouth close to his left ear. He says some words and FemFem replies with, "Oh! Now I get it. That will help in distracting The People from the tussles of Our House."

Baba stands upright and walks over to his seat. He is not sitting down. He picks up his Nokia 3310 from the pile of files on the table. The sound of the keypad echoes like that of the monitor of an intravenous chemotherapy.

"Hello. Save the greetings for yourself. Deploy your boys down to Sambisa -some girls need to be saved."

The voice on the other end of the phone is still. Baba hangs up the call and returns the phone. Now, his face is lightened with a smile. He's no longer frowned up like he was a couple of minutes ago. FemFem rises to his feet and shakes his hand.

"With this, we are assured of distorting The People from the things going on in Our House," FemFem says.
*************

Disclaimer warning: All names mentioned in this series are fictitious, hence, the reader is responsible for how and what he understands.
http://www.dwartonline.com/?p=244

Dwartonline.com is calling on writers of all genres and artists for the submission of their works for publication on the blog.

As the heading has explained it all, it is a new blog and we believe that with God, and supports coming from you, Dwartonline.com will surely attain the height as the foremost art and literary blog in Africa.

To submit, you'll see a submission page underneath the front page, click on it and you're good to go.

Thanks in advance, for your support.

Wale Ayinla,
Managing editor,
Dwartonline.com

“Whoso finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favour from the Lord,” says the Bible. But what do we call a woman who kneaded the face of her husband like a yet-to-be-fried dough, a woman who served her husband with punches, like a child receiving his daily bread? A wife isn’t it? No, it’s not. She is a wrestler, a professional boxer, and a beast.

It was one of those Saturday evenings when Sola would ramble from the bedroom to the parlour, to the veranda, glancing at the Rolex wristwatch Pastor James gifted him for his latest birthday. He cherished it more than all the gifts he got on the eighth of March, twenty-sixteen, maybe because it came from his mentor, or perhaps, because he had hungered for a Rolex watch. He was controlling millions week-in week-out, but wanted more. He wanted someone to give him something, either big or small, but rather than getting a gift worthwhile, Tolu would serve him a hot slap – spiced with pain- making him rise swiftly from his sleep. His sleep cursed her, but he remembered that she was his cross, and he was to bear her till death do them part. Moreso, his religion did not give room for a divorce.

His eyes strayed and caught the blue-black clock cleaved to the wall. It was 11:30pm, and Tolu would be leading the choir during the church service the next morning. It was obvious that most of the congregation loved it when ‘Sister Tolu’, as she was fondly called, mounted the podium to lead the praise and worship session. It would be like heaven on earth. It would be as if the beast that nearly battered and bruised her husband the night before had suddenly become an angel. When she climbed, she would say, “The Lord inhabits the praises of his people,” and the congregation would respond with, “Oh! Alleluia!” She would then continue, “Praise the Lord, Oh my soul, and all that is within me.” The instrumentalists would then usher her into the clairvoyant Rhema, and the congregation would sing and dance along. After the service, she would walk to her husband’s black Mercedes-Benz and they would both ride home. In the car, she would complain about him not dancing when she was singing during the service, why he stared at busty Sister Lucy as she bent over, and why he didn’t shut his eyes when the pastor was praying.

“Honey? But… ” He would try to explain but she would mute him with a slap on his cheek.

There was a sharp noise like a rumbling cloud which was ready to bless the earth with its tears. The noise became stronger and nearer.
“Oh, she’s back!” He yawned and reached for the door. He had been doing the chores all day – sweeping, laundry, cooking – while Tolu went for an Owambe. He was tired. A tired man is a man that’s bereft of good rest, he had thought, before he dozed off on the cushion.

“What took you so long?” she enquired. Drunkenness had spread its cloak on her face, and her eyes were weak, they were ready for a dim. He glanced at his Rolex wristwatch, and back at the odd figure before him.
“Can’t you see it’s la-” A slap thundered on his face before he could complete the last word. There was a sudden flush of fluid which was warm, as it journeyed from his neck, and through the white singlet he was wearing. It took him a few seconds to fathom what just happened. She threw up on him. He pulled her in and shut the door.
He went straight to the bathroom to clean up, and went to his bedroom to change his singlet. When he came back, he saw her sleeping on the settee.
“Only if the Bible doesn’t forbid the killing of human beings, this woman would have been warming the sepulcher,” he muttered.
Suddenly, a still hoarse voice came out of nowhere, saying, “Say not thou, I will recompense evil; but wait on the Lord, and he shall save thee.” He chuckled. He knew it was God’s voice, and also, he had come across that word while studying the Bible, but he had forgotten where it was.

He went over to her, carted her in his arms, like a new-born baby, and went into the bedroom.


www.dwartonline.com/?p=40

What a great piece. Could you please do me the honor of visiting my blog, Dwartonline.com and submit your writeups.? I'd be glad to publish them.

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!
"Success lies not in exploring big nor ready-made things, but in digging into the treasures of small beginings and watching it grow into the unexpected."
-Wale Ayinla.
Sir/Ma,
Dwartsonline, an online literary and art journal is calling for submissions from poets, essayist, artists and photographers from different parts of the world, for its first issue.
The issue #1 which is stated to be published in pdf on May 1, 2016, needs features from artists and writers who are ready to explore around their creativities, irrespective of race, religion, gender and theme.
Below are the categories of artistic works we expect from our contributors:
Flash fiction - A minimum of 300 words.
Poetry - At least a poem per entry.
Short Story - A minimum of 1000 words.
Painting/ Sketches - All works are accepted, as long as it is artistic. All works must be in Jpeg format.
Non-fiction - A minimum of 1000 words.
Photography - A minimum of 1 and a maximum of 3 per entry.

ALL entries MUST come with a 50-100 words biography of the authors and a potrait, and are to be sent to dwartsonline@gmail.com on or before 28th April, 2016.
NB: Authors' work(s) is/are not restricted to this issue, since we have not started paying our authors due to the growing state of the website. Therefore, authors can send their works to any other journal before or after sending it to us.
Authors should also know that work(s) that has a lot of typographical errors won't be considered for publication. All works must be thoroughly checked before submission.
We look forward to seeing your work(s). Cheers!

Wale Ayinla
Editor-In-Chief/ CEO
Facebook: Wale Ayinla
Twitter: @Wale_Ayinla

https://dwartsonline./2016/03/27/call-for-submission-for-issue-1/

Demon In The Mirror
i
Blood fell from his knifed-hand
Like the impatient midnight dew;
Who, because of jealousy and envy-
Of the sun and the moon,
Chooses to disrupt their leisure.

°
His face was heavy
Like the thick dyed-wool cloud,
Issuing warnings to the earth.

ii
His body appeared insipid
Like a spectred shadow;
Downstreamed with a rapid capsize
Of innumerous exodus of emotions
And a discomforting negation of replies.

°
The hair jerked for an uncompromising
Neglect of its stillness,
Dancing slowly to the rhythm of the wind.

iii
The universe fell on his feet;
And Conferred aches on it, as a gift-
Wrapped with a sour-ribbon;
Dug from the hell's pit-
With a discounted coupon.

°
Oh ankle!
Why did you expose your foppery
With a tremble?

iv
The wind proclaimed its harshness
By rigorously attacking the window blind
Which was clutched unto the wall
With the aid of a metal pipe-
And there was a galore of echoes;
As one cleaved through the other.
°
The buzzing sounds
Of the angry wind,
Left a dashing notion, like a mintless mint.

v
Tears dropped, knife dropped;
Heart vied with pulse,
Guilt mirrored, Visage kvetched;
Mouth was slightly ajar;
But lamentations refused to surface.

°
Confusion took the ambience;
For the demon in the mirror-
Killed his long-time lover.

©WaleAyinla

heniford:
Awesome loved it

Thanks

Lost In The Dark
(Tribute to those friends who died/leave us before
Christmas)
.
Transitioning into the dusty land of old
After we deliberated and planned for a merry
Christmas
Is like a dagger thrown into a delicate part of the
heart,
Hitting the chord of longtime blithe
As the celebration bored in dearth of;
Your jokes,
Your words,
Your smile,
Your friendship.

.
My mouth bleeds for the soul that's lost,
My heart speaks for the vacuum that's void,
The weather has peeled the lips I lip your name
with;
Causing me to lip sourly.
Will this wounded lips ever recover
As they leap over the fence of sentiment.

.
Shall my heart escape this torment of emotions?
We have scaled through years of disagreement and
indecision
But all I'm left with now is;
Lonely gazes,
Teary eyes,
Broken ties,
Borderless thoughts; and
Your untraceable footprints.

.
Can you please explain-
Explain why your soul ran into the displeasing
warmth of the sky;
Bequeathing your loved ones with a fortune of
twinge,
Causing a hue in the darkest.
You are lost in the dotted dust of ecstasy
And I hope we meet again,
With smiles and chitchat
As we walk towards the path of Paradise.

https://dwartsonline./2015/12/27/lost-in-the-dust/#more-44

The Mona Lisa painting by the world-class
painter, Leonardo da Vinci, is arguably the
most talked about work in the field of art. It is
an oil painting on a poplar wood panel. Its
history is shrouded in mystery and amongst
the unknown facts surrounding it, I bring you
these;

i . ) It took Leonardo da Vinci 14years to
complete the painting. (1503-1517)
ii .) The delicate dark veil that covers Mona
Lisa’s hair is sometimes regarded as the
mourning veil.
iii .) When you zoom-in the image of Mona
Lisa, her left eye revealed a single brush
stroke in the eye region.
iv. ) In the picture, Mona Lisa doesn’t have
eyebrows nor eye lashes. (only one hair is
discovered)
v .) The left finger was not completely finished
until after Leonardo da Vinci’s death.
vi. ) The blanket covering Mona Lisa’s knees
also covers her stomach.
vii . ) The sense of overall harmony achieved in
the painting, especially apparent in her faint
smile, reflects Leonardo’s idea of the cosmic
link connecting humanity and nature.
viii .) Leonardo influenced the fashion in
which artists dressed their subjects.

https://dwartsonline./2015/12/25/some-unknown-facts-about-the-mona-lisa-painting-by-leonardo-da-vinci/

Contestants: 30, PopeExplicit and Oyetunder
Stanzas 1,3,5,6,8,10: PopeExplicit
Stanzas 2,4,7,9: Oyetunder

BEAUTY
.
(PopeExplicit)
I'm standing at caprice's gate of affection
Staring at you, a visual representation of absolute perfection;
Conferred with an inexplicable trait
And a ravishing name of Kate.

Your eyeballs bellow in nature's tender voice
Like a scandal scent in a room that's void.
.
(Oyetunder)
Your unspeakable beauty
Speaks louder for yourself-
Tell me your source;
Let me know your roots-
And the stem of such a tree
Which has sprung up in a comely velocity.
.
(PopeExplicit)
Your apparition evanesce the icicles in men;
Sprouting new predilection notions-
For the words which would be scribbled with pen;
Sans anybody resisting the motion.

Long hail this replica of an ancestral deity
With a veneer that gloss unquietly.
.
(Oyetunder)
Stronger than the heat;
The burning of Sahara-
Slippery than the swamps;
The swamps and its oils-
Faster than the leaps;
The leaps of antelopes.
.
(PopeExplicit)
The rainbow is uncustomary;
For it surfaces during your rain(reign)-
Vociferating the covenant you made in your sanctuary;
When the cloud burst was untamed.

May you curse the rainbow;
That after the rain is the only time it should show.
.
(PopeExplicit)
Your hairstyle is synonymous to a ponytail;
Reflecting its nutritive hallmark-
Making men desiderate for a touch beyond the pale;
With a racing pulse nigh the cardiac.

The God of gods has made you indefectible;
And your hair; impeccable.
.
(Oyetunder)
Unscratched remains the skin;
In the midst of battles-
Unwashed is your dignity;
In the circle of poverty-
Courage undefeated;
Through slavery chains.
.
(PopeExplicit)
Your teeth is a snow crystal;
Bivouacked in a tiny diaphanous glass-
Engulfing in disparate styles;
Like a body relieved from a Mass.

With a nipping, glacial and gelid reserve;
Cooling every tempered feeling when served.
.
(Oyetunder)
More than those famines
Wider than those diseases
Stronger than the swords
Taller than the tribal marks-
For you are; A virgin to virgins and;
A beauty to their beauties.
.
(PopeExplicit)
Jealousy brews among lasses;
Of incomparable gemstone like you-
Making irrelevant advances
But not close to the ones you do.

If I should lip the words of my heart
I would enumerate your beauty in many parts.

Analysis: The poem is about the uncompromising qualities of a luscious lass of incomparable trait. Her beauty needs no megaphone for publication as it ululate amongst other lasses. She's being envied by all and her all-round beauty makes her second to none.
The themes adopted are : Joy, compliment, love and jealousy.

Cc llaykorn, texanomaly

oyetunder:
. I have, my poem is ready, I will send it to ur email, so u kan submitt for us

Alright no problem, I'll scribble something on it.

llaykorn:
I have sent messages to oyetunder and Jason21. If by 7pm I don't get their replies, you and IamBae are getting paired.

Alright, thanks

llaykorn:
PopeExplicit, who is your mate?

oyetunder

llaykorn:
This is a list of our pairings:

Contestants 1: danbrowndmf & AllNaijaBlogger
Contestants 2: emaculate99 & funlord
Contestants 3: JigsawKillah & Immanuelle
Contestants 4: LadyF & 69MissedCalls
Contestants 5: Rainiscoming & divinepen
Contestants 6: HARDDON & Ferdinandu
Contestants 7: babyfaceafrica & barcaboi
Contestants 8: SLIDEwaxie & uncjay
Contestants 9: Announcer007 & obiZEAL
Contestants 10: panch001 & miszeno
Contestants 11: Emyemyberry & alexdidi
Contestants 12: Stoical & xoxoxoxoxox
Contestants 13: acesoul & ZYZZA
Contestants 14: ILoveToto & LarryBeryl
Contestants 15: Divepen1 & Gr8Adedayo
Contestants 16: toyejohnson & superemmy
Contestants 17: friends4ever & herrdeustch
Contestants 18: bys & Iduzenoni
Contestants 19: motongs & Lagaritha
Contestants 20: kagari & adeagbo101
Contestants 21: imohchard & chistar01
Contestants 22: Donjowebs & ibnzubair
Contestants 23: Trackaprof & highmood
Contestants 24: tjkadzyanju & kjnr
Contestants 25: Wisdomkosi & richiefizzy
Contestants 26: Josen & Redfruit
Contestants 27: darniejay & essay7
Contestants 28: Smartlife & edygistvilla
Contestants 29: Samoranopapa & Dawinlove
Contestants 30: PopeExplicit & oyetunder
Contestants 31: Diamondwriter & TheWisest
Contestants 32: Olusharp & fikki1
Contestants 33: Chrizoby & JustKeen
Contestants 34: generaliy07 & trailblaiza
Contestants 35: Geezyayo & eyhannu
Contestants 36: Tuminibody & Dchiefpriest
Contestants 37: frankeinstein & AishyWemsy
Contestants 38: Vig86 & QatarPlayboy
Contestants 39: CChine & ferdspiration
Contestants 40: doncutie & AlPeter
Contestants 41: Ezechiams & flavour360blog
Contestants 42: javalove & godzson
Contestants 43: thirdi & Ignyte
Contestants 44: ibksiv & overboard
Contestants 45: tkush & VanTee20
Contestants 46: oracle009 & kraftykc
Contestants 47: franklampard082 & Patented
Contestants 48: killafree & quomo
Contestants 49: shizzy7 & Drabeey
Contestants 50: Threedots & Chuksab
Contestants 51: vickers95 & BlueScholar
Contestants 52: HOLYSEE & phemmziey
Contestants 53: IGITee & Larryfly
Contestants 54: olowo72 & sHorcWaiv
Contestants 55: april4mee & israelboy1
Contestants 56: TheAgba & speeder
Contestants 57: razz0 & Orjhong
Contestants 58: Osasnidas & BTT
Contestants 59: IamBae & Jason21
Contestants 60: Adanna28 & quietswagg
Contestants 61: Dexol & johndon01
Contestants 62: bys & abbeywasc
Contestants 63: pureIvory & spidey77
Contestants 64: DesmondDessi & beejayodus


All poems are not to be longer than 60 lines. Stanzas or lines written by each poet should be represented in the submission by writing the name at the top of it. Remember that the Structure which carries 10 marks shall also be judged by how well your styles blend into each other. All poems are to be submitted on this thread:

www.nairaland.com/2722154/npcc-competitions-2-renga-fiesta

You should get in contact with your pair as soon as possible as all ll poems are to be submitted by the end of Saturday, the 14th of November. Good luck!

Please IamBae is available, could you please pair me with her because time is not on our sides and our paired mates aren't showing up.

IamBae:
I'm having the same problem o. The guy you paired me with, Jason21 isn't active either. I've sent a PM. No reply

maybe the administrator should pair us together because my paired mate isn't replying my messages.

oyetunder:
In the of the night, A light woke me up. I looked all around, I did not see the moon, I saw no artificial lamps- Powered by mains...

Bros contact me on 08163835484 or Wale Ayinla on Facebook

@oyetunder if you are reading this, please contact me on 08163835484, ayinlawizzy@gmail.com and Wale Ayinla on Facebook.

Let all battalions respond to the call of the sage

With their pin-pointed weapons

Armors of truth; protect this blank page

Before lie's ammunitions come on.

O Ye soldiers, show forth your prowess

Your brains; release it to the land of the best