That story, as all good stories, planted a seed in my soul and never left me.

English, although the official language of Nigeria, was a formal language with which strangers and non-relatives addressed you. It had the potency of digging craters between you and your friends or relatives if one of you switched to using it.

I believe that fiction with its untrammelled nature, speaks to no one, and by so doing, speaks to all.

Hatred is a leech: The thing that sticks to a person's skin; that feeds off them and drains the sap out of one's spirit. It changes a person, and does not leave until it has sucked the last drop of peace from them.

He spoke slowly, his voice deeper and louder, every word tacked nine-inches deep into the beams of our minds.