Sunday, 26 October 2025

Bambara Lens


Blessed Melanin, God-sculpted Blackness 

The mask, a fence, a gatekeeper, 
protection, deflection, yet visual invitation 
I see you, you see me 
Through a mesh, through a lens 

Dark eyes, full of light 
Dark nose, inhaling light air 
Dark mouth, rounded contours 
closed but poised for action: 
sonic, verbal, culinary, breath 

Facial shield sieves youthful repose, 
hearing quietly, seeing intently 
Virgin knowledge steadily forming, 
forging wisdom’s foundations 

Bare shoulder’s twin sibling, 
wrapped with black and white formations 
floating into flowing folds 
My Yorùbá eyes say àǹkàrá, 
Bamako lips likely say bogolan 
magnetic material hugging seated legs

Masked self-determination: decolonisation 
Global majority in comforting homegrown context 
not neocolonial, Eurocentric, western threads 
Cloth of your cloth, fibre of your tapestry 

Hands resting on settled knees, 
fingers exchanging relaxed warmth 
Your regal throne a naked frame, 
Unburdened skeleton supporting perfect posture 
Demonstrating strength in simplicity 

Guided by Timbuktu, Djenne Mosque, 750,000 scrolls 
A thousand lifetimes, millennia of learnings 
from your parents’ parents’ ancestors 
You carry this confidence of guided expectation 
Stance static, yet soul dynamic with intention 

The mask, a crown, a signaller, 
Profoundly rooted for branched conversation 
I see you, you see me 
Through a mesh, through a lens






Context: During the June 2025 Africa-Asia 3 ConFest in Dakar, Senegal, after presenting my research, I stumbled on Gina Osterloh’s poetry workshop ‘Reading Images: Representations of Self - Past, Present, Future’. I felt deeply inspired by the visual prompts around the event space, including one by talented photographer Fatoumata Diabaté. Part of her ‘l’homme-en-objet’ reel, the photo opened the ‘Through the lens’ chapter/article appearing in the Summer 2017 issue of Aperture. The image stirred me to write my first creative piece of the year. So my thanks to: 
- Fatoumata as my source inspiration, and 
- Gina as my inspiration facilitator 😊





Ekphrasis: poetry inspired by artworks

Tuesday, 25 June 2024

Secret Passenger

 

Èrò Ọkọ̀ Àṣìrí - Secret Passenger


Riding life’s journey on this London train 
Stoic glass panes exposing the sprawling global village 
This empty compartment housing my lone silhouette 
Embarking on my true destination: meeting family, friendship, delight 
Wheelsets soundly spinning towards smiles, hugs and Yorùbá greetings 


Linguistic isolation whilst stationed north 
Familial interactions compartmentalised within Èdèkiri code 
Changing semantic tracks within one household 
Melding English A, B, C with Yorùbá tonal dò, re, mí 
Family knowledge embedded in secret lexical and grammatical melodies 

These word platforms bonding Yorùbá mothers, daughters, sisters near 
These communication carriages connecting Yorùbá aunties, nieces, cousins far 
Now stationed south, closer to Èdèkiri codebreakers beyond family circles 
I head towards an opus of fun dialogues and cultural exploration 
Vocal toot-tooting, basking in community and identity…chugga chug faster ọkọ̀ ojú irin a.k.a. train! 

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Riding life’s journey on this London train 
Impending reunion excitement meets freshly evoked curiosity 
A melanated family quintette joins my secret compartment, filling blue vinyl seats 
The whooshing winds now supporting their vivacious voices sharing compartmentalised truths 
Family mirth, workplace triumphs, neighbour botheration…in my secret language! 

These unperceptive Èdèkiri encoders talk freely in my presence 
Their stimulating tales evoke a stationary dance behind my eyes 
A passive passenger in their dynamic Yorùbá vehicle. 
As they stir life conversations in different directions, diverse and divergent 
My bilingual brain joins this free incidental road trip navigating new life pathways 

Eagerly eavesdropping in plain sight on my oblivious trustees 
To remain perceptive, I remain receptive…but almost stamp my own ticket 
With a glance…then a look…then staring back and forth at my lingual artistes 
A smiling Ìyá-aged lady meets my wandering gaze, her own silent thoughts booming, 
‘Aa-aa, ṣé “Ará Gẹ̀ẹ́sì” yi gbọ́ wa?’ a.k.a. ‘Ah, does this “Brit” understand us?’ 

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Commandeering life’s journey on this London train 
I am indeed a silent passenger in their business, a linguistic stowaway 
Syntax pickpocket, semantics robber, knowledge thief of ‘stolen’ banter. 
A privacy fare dodger intent on evading capture, I avert unsmiling eyes 
Adorning a mask of ‘unrecognition’, greedy for more attention from my mother tongue 

More Yorùbá musicality flows from my personal quintette of trained concert conductors 
Ear satellites scanning for more coverage from mouths tuned with tonal precision 
My performative tone deafness to these everyday rhythm of life lyrics now more convincing
Muting my gaze to stay on track for more announcements in my secret lexis with 55 million+ speakers yonder 
Granted through exclusionary hubris, fortified with perceived Èdè Gẹ̀ẹ́sì language barriers 

Págà! My Èdèkiri FM easy listening derailed as brakes slow our locomotion 
For once, why did a London train have to fulfil its timetabled arrival? 
I decompartmentalise as I disembark, heading towards my original Yorùbá familial destination
 Happy for this unwitting warm up act beforehand, and wider accessibility in the global village
A joyous train of thought reaching the end of the line for this èrò ọkọ̀ àṣìrí a.k.a. secret passenger!


The Africa Migration Report anthology launch event at the Journeys Festival International 2025



Tuesday, 3 October 2023

Forward Agenda


‘Ẹ káàrọ̀ everyone. Welcome to this presentation on the Benin Robots.’ 

Ọlánrewájú took a big breath as she centred herself on the podium surveying the 2,000-strong crowd gathered at the Ẹdo Museum. The Robotics Engineer had been working towards this convention project throughout her final PhD year at Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University. Finally, the day had come to share her ideas and she was feeling a bit shaky. But she’d had a smart ànkàrá outfit made with a vibrant gèlè wrapped around her freshly braided hair, looking outwardly presentable to induce a confident delivery. She took a sip of water, looked into the sea of expectant faces, and continued: 

‘The continent has come a long way since the Africa Union’s Agenda 10,104 strategic initiatives striving for ‘The Africa We Want’. And indeed, great milestones have been achieved over the 50 years of its implementation for the prosperity of our peoples. I’m glad the Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire government has recognised even more can be done within Technology, Innovation and Sustainability.’ 

Ọlánrewájú was now in her stride. Remembering all her hours of prep, her autopilot kicked in as the words began flowing freely. 

‘I’d now like to share my bid for the Agenda 10,104+ government funding: the Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114. ’ 

Without a hitch, the veil beside the podium dropped and the audience collectively gasped. Standing next to Ọlánrewájú was a ‘full-sized’ Benin Bronze with a vertically-lined head emulating Orí-Olókun…on a shiny, bronze, top-to-toe body, further lit up by the multiple flashes from the press pit photographers. Seeing the crowd’s clear intrigue and simultaneous uncertainty, Ọlánrewájú continued: 

‘This Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ model is named for Kọ́jọ́dá year 10,114 ten years from now, so you understand this will take us into the future.’ 

‘Over a millennium ago, we Yorùbá built the Sùǹgbọ́ Ẹrẹ́dò and Benin Wall embattlements for irrigation and protection, the largest engineering feat on Earth to this day. And we did that without robots…so think what we can do WITH robots!! With the Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114, we can build effective infrastructure in line with our Betterment Agenda.’ 

Half the press core hastily jotted notes on their griot pads. Ọlánrewájú saw she’d got them with that one! 

‘As we dig the land, these robots will pinpoint bronze to regenerate themselves, whilst also extracting other metal ores and mineral wealth. We’ll use these to build AND trade, further strengthening our currency, backed with the abundant resources across Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire. Soon, we will have many citizens making history alongside Mansa Musa.’ Ọlánrewájú beamed seeing people smile at her reference to the richest man that ever lived, and a fellow West African from neighbouring Mali. ‘Centuries ago, he found all those wealth building minerals without robots …so think what we can do WITH robots!!!’ 

‘Note their use will align with Agenda 10,104+ regarding sustainability. The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114’s central purpose is conservation, not just of environment, but also of culture. Like their vertical lines, these Benin Robots will have our stories AND potential etched into them.’ 

Ọlánrewájú took the mic off the stand, left the podium, and ran her fingers over the machine’s surface. 

‘These Robots will also fulfil the original mandate of the Benin Bronzes as solid libraries of consultation. Instead of recording written data, Benin artisans depicted data in sculptures to direct traditional ceremonies and dress. Indeed, this Ẹdo Museum venue was founded to display this cultural heritage. So yes, they will extract natural wealth from Yorùbá soils to build the future AND perpetuate cultural wealth of Yorùbá legacies fortifying us with our past, history in motion educating the coming generations, thus reinforcing our identity…and you know how we Yorùbá love education!’ 

The peppered smiles in the crowd spread wider across the focused faces. Ọlánrewájú had them now. Moving across the stage, she pointed at the jumbo screen. 

‘Cooperation is key in the Agenda 10,104+ project, but we must also keep our edge in the global market. Thus I’ve built in an anti-hacking failsafe: the robotics programming language is completely in the Odùduwà alphabet.’ 

‘HA! Now I KNOW you’re CRAZY for SURE! 

WÈRÈ TI MU Ẹ OOO!’ 

The convention crowd whipped their collective heads to the left towards the disturbance. There stood Eromidọlá, a rival robotics engineer who’d been vexed about Ọlánrewájú’s Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ project beating hers to represent Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University for the Agenda 10,104+ government funding. Eromidọlá’s name meant ‘my thoughts become wealth’ and she was always determined to fulfil that mandate, but this heckling was next level! 

‘Don’t waste your funding on this one. How can you rely on ideas from a broken mind? I’ve seen the psych reports, she’s DYSLEXIC! Her head is not correct. Odùduwà alphabet? Can anyone even read this script…and you expect to write computer code with it? Benin Robots?? This is a fever dream which will become a nightmare, an embarrassment for Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire if you give funding for this Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ…whatever!’ 

The crowd’s murmuring got louder and louder as they glanced back and forth between Eromidọlá’s smug face and Ọlánrewájú’s perplexed one. 

The PhD researcher was visibly rattled, shifting from foot to foot, both hands gripping the mic. As she looked down trying to gather a response, her eyes caught her new ànkàrá outfit and her fresh braids brushed her cheek. Ọlánrewájú had made it all the way to the Ẹdo Museum stage, and she was determined to reach her goal. She looked up, went to the podium, took a deep breath, and spoke: 

‘Government officials, press members, convention attendees, this impromptu revelation is true. I am indeed dyslexic. But my right-brain-hemisphere dominance is a strength, NOT a weakness. Did you know over a tenth of Yorùbá people are dyslexic, one of the highest proportions in the world? Yet we still boast genius level intelligence and unsurpassed diligence. Like other dyslexic innovators; Aderin-Pocock, Greider, Einstein and more, I see the world differently. And THAT’S why my plan WILL work.’ 

Ọlánrewájú slowed her hurried voice. 

‘These Benin Robots are designed to accommodate our neurotypical AND neurodiverse workforce. When my machines encounter metal ores during excavation, they vocalise their findings.’ 

Ọlánrewájú walked to the robot, lifted its lined-hand and placed her bracelet on its palm. The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114’s eyes instantly flashed as the vertical lines shimmered before its entire surface changed from brown to gold. Its stoic face became animated and said, ‘WÚRÀ’, drawing more astonished gasps from the audience. 

‘Yes, it is indeed gold,’ said Ọlánrewájú. ‘These machines change colour every time they come across different minerals. So our workers receive immediate visual AND audio confirmation of their discoveries. On a good excavation day, they will rival us for the best multi-coloured ànkàrá collage!’ 

Someone called out, ‘Ah, they will be the life of our Ówàmbẹ̀ parties with this custom-made, stylish aṣọ ẹ̀bí ooo!’ 

The crowd laughed and Ọlánrewájú knew she had won them back. 

‘More importantly, this multi-sensory differentiation appeals to different brain types, accounting for accessibility and inclusivity for our workforce, wouldn’t you agree Eromidọlá?’ 

Ọlánrewájú’s eyes shifted to her heckler who could only stand in stunned silence. Eromidọlá and everyone at Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University hadn’t seen the colour changing feature as Ọlánrewájú had kept it secret. 

‘Okay, that’s all very well and good, but I have a concern’ said a voice from the crowd. A man in Babalaláwo attire stood up. ‘I’m an Ifá priest and many of our Benin Bronzes depict venerated Òrìṣà like this Olókun example. Could people start worshipping the robots if they look like our deities?’ 

‘It’s a valid concern,’ said Ọlánrewájú. ‘But I assure you this won’t happen. We don't worship the robots, the robots serve us, we have dominion over them.’ 

‘This new programming is very advanced,’ said another audience member, ‘what fail safes are in place so they don’t become sentient and try to control US?’ 

‘These Robots do not have inner spiritual orí, only we do,’ replied Ọlánrewájú. ‘We can use our orí, spirit and intelligence, in designing their encoding so they can help us. Like Yorùbá culture, the base coding of the Benin Robots is respect. These machines will recognise our respect for the role they play and will always work with us to move Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire forward.’ 

The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114 then automatically went into dọ̀bálẹ̀ mode, prostrating flat on the stage saying, ‘I AM HERE TO SERVE’. 

The crowd erupted into raucous applause, all except Eromidọlá who gave Ọlánrewájú side-eye, miffed her plan to destabilise the whole funding bid had backfired, perhaps even strengthening it. Still, the convention presentations weren’t over yet. 

Ọlánrewájú thanked the audience, saying ‘Ẹ ṣé púpọ’. 

She left the podium and her Benin Robot followed her offstage. As the applause finally subsided, she sat front row with the other candidates waiting to see if their funding bids would be successful. Exhaling slowly, Ọlánrewájú thought of her name’s meaning: ‘my wealth is in the future/advancing’. With a life mandate infused with innovation and forward seeing, perhaps she had managed to help others see her particular Agenda 10,104+ future too.




This short story was published for in the July 2023 edition of Writers Space Africa magazine:


Here's a review by Bohlokoa Lephoi, Lesotho 




Tuesday, 2 May 2023

Tummy Pudge: Internalised Feminism (abridged)


Glorious tummy pudge


‘You 
know, I really don’t like going out dancing these days. Last time, my clothes didn’t fit right and everyone could see my ‘tummy pudge’. 

That’s what my 28-year-old sister Káyọ̀dé said with a concerned look as she surveyed Brighton beach whilst visiting me at university. I’d always looked up to her all my life, mainly as our 8-year age difference meant I was still in primary school when she herself was at uni, that big, brilliant place of learning. Her higher education status had meant she was a genius of immeasurable proportions in my young eyes, so now aged 20, I wondered why she’d said such an unintelligent thing regarding her body shape. A split second after her self-doubting declaration, I replied with a big enthusiastic smile on my face ‘Oh, I LOVE that!’ Her equally instantaneous response was to whip her head towards my face, her concerned look replaced by disgusted confusion. Her negative reaction to my positive one put me off explaining the nature of my self-assured stance. 

Big Black Girl Magic!

Not too long before, I’d been out clubbing along the same beachfront dressed to look good (cute flowing top) but more importantly to comfortably bust my killer dance moves (flared black trousers). After seeing my jovial vibes on the dance floor (seriously though, I can move people!), some guys came to join in and I let a tall, dark, handsome one hug me from behind. As he did, his hands made contact with my own tummy pudge that my flowing top had concealed, particular with my ample bosom forming a protracted ridge. Clearly surprised by my considerable mass juxtaposed to my considerable hot-stepping, he’d quickly patted his hands across my mid-section inspecting just what I was working with. Then a second later, he actually grabbed both sides of my pudge and started bouncing it up and down, like gently shaking a tambourine to the music beat. I started laughing at his mini journey from dancing queen interest to pot belly surprise to playful acceptance of my body shape, which aligned with me being happy as a UK size 20 at age 20. 

Neo-Eurocentric aesthetics inducing insecurity 


Surely it was the mature thing to recognise that different physicalities, and indeed personalities, can be attractive in their own way (okay, and killer dance moves!) So that really flew in the face of my more mature sister’s irrational concern as a UK size 12 at age 28. The fact that she was a full foot taller than me further demonstrated the proportional distribution of her body fat, never mind supposed ‘tummy pudge’, was negligible in comparison to mine. Yes, there is a valid health concern regarding abdominal obesity which should be acknowledged. But that certainly wasn’t the context or sentiment of Káyọ̀dé’s apparent indignation on the subject, she was worried about neo-Eurocentric aesthetics vs morbidity/longevity. So it begged the question, why this significant mismatch of outlooks between siblings? It would take several years after that Brighton beach interaction for the answers to finally come to me… 

Matriarchal vs patriarchal mindset


Background
: Growing up in the same Yorùbá-Nigerian family, Káyọ̀dé and I had the same DNA from the same parents, in the same household, sharing the same culture, language, etc. But it took me a really long time to extrapolate that we’d in fact grown up in completely different social circumstances. This was due to our father’s death when she was age 13 and passing into puberty, whilst I was 5 and just emerging from infancy. This meant that for the first 13 years of her development, Káyọ̀dé had seen a patriarchal husband-wife dynamic as the norm, which I’d only seen (and hardly remembered) for 5 years. The rest of my development was defined by a matriarchal single-mother dynamic as the norm, leading to our two very different tummy pudge perspectives as adults… 

Matriarchal conditioning = confidence building 


So I now understand that appeasing the male gaze is what drove Káyọ̀dé to worry so much about her negligible tummy pudge from her wider exposure of patriarchal norms….That’s why she and so many other ladies at that Brighton beach club as I was shaking it and getting down to the music felt they had to be ‘showy’ through certain hairstyles, colourful makeup, and alamode flamboyant fashions to attract males dressed in comparatively dull colours… Though…when I went clubbing, …my matriarchal conditioning and subsequent self-confidence meant …I primarily dressed not so men thought I was pretty, but because I thought it was fun, even artistic, and certainly comfortable enough to bust my big girl moves! 

Woman Power

Most important though will always be not how I, woman, interact with men, but how I, woman, interact with myself. …So, my message would be, stop having the wool pulled over your eyes, ladies. Cast off the patriarchal chains, wear what you want, look how you want, and be happy in yourself. Do you hear me big sister?? 

internalised sexism vs Internalised Feminism


...Truth be told, all those years after dancing up a storm on Brighton beach, I still have and still like my tummy pudge. To what extent 8-year-older Káyọ̀dé became comfortable with her own curvaceous glory (negligible as it may be), I’m still not sure. After all, without a shadow of a doubt, it was my earlier introduction to death that helped me recognise what is truly important in life. In any case, I do hope over time she moved away from seeing her value through the male gaze (internalised sexism) and more through the female one (internalised feminism), bringing our mismatched sister outlooks into closer alignment. 

And above all else, remember that God made us this way. If we are good enough for God, we are good enough for anyone, with added tummy pudge and all.

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If you enjoyed this abridged ‘women empowerment feminist manifesto’, the full version of ‘Tummy Pudge’ delves into biology, psychology, sociology/anthropology, and linguistics in a fun and relatable way. Coming soon...

Check out a live reading of this abridged version at the iEMPOW3R International Women's Day Spoken Word & Poetry Event 2023:



Wednesday, 4 January 2023

Strong Tea



What’s in the dried tea leaves for you? 

What stories emerge of the future true? 

What tales rise forth from the darkened wet? 

What twists and turns are yet to be met? 


But wait truth seeker, not quite so fast 

To know your future, first know your past 

There’s geographical, historical mystery 

That surrounds the roots of this ‘Yorkshire’ tea 


Where are hillsides of unfiltered green, 

With comb-lined bushes till horizons seen? 

Where are warm rainfalls to soak rich grounds, 

Infused with aromatic nutrients found? 


Who are the workers that roam the tracks, 

plucking carefully-eyed foliage for their basketed backs? 

A milky-skinned jolly Yorkshire laddie it be? 

No, sun-kissed Indians and Chinese gather this tea 


Millennia ago, the Asians did start 

Consuming this beverage with ceremonial art 

Only in the 1660s did Charles II then think 

To popularise this…ahem…‘British’ drink 


With colonial minds, they had crossed seas and lands 

Draining resources with pillaging hands 

Then PG, Tetley & Twinning capitalised the lie 

That theirs was the world’s ‘best’ sugar-lumped chai 



With fragile china and dainty tea pot 

They tried to sway their cultural appropriation plot 

But no, I’m not fooled by how they dare 

Associate eastern herbs with West Yorkshire


As the seasons change, the jig is up 

Brown truth storms in your brittle cup 

So as the days swirl into what will be 

Know the genuine roots of your future tea.

Sunday, 19 June 2022

Identity: Global Roots



‘You’re one is a million’, a special stat.,

though one in 8 billion more pivotal than that.

Each human perspective, all quite unique,

but more vantage lies from airborne peaks.

With privileged travel, I was blessed to see

through childhood’s eye, continents-a-three.

Onto African, European and Asian marks

my young life journey did oddly embark




Yorùbá-Nigerian, surface to core,

vibrant clothes and spice galore.

Zuma Rock with crimson sun-kissed clay

governs over Abùjá each passing day.

From northern desert to southern green,

Palace of Zaria to Great Walls of Benin,

See how Saro-Wiwa’s passion roused and stirred,

Hear sweet Fela Kuti’s music and Chimamanda’s words,

With assiduous spirits and bookish minds,

Nigerians are truly one of a kind




The British Isles, my place of birth.

Snowy winters, my first glimpse of Earth.

My northern school, ease did inspire

with diversity from across past empire

But street lessons differed from class

with many a racist laddie and lass.

To combat the ignorance I truly abhorred

Addai-Sebo & Bellos brought Black history to these shores

Still, ‘Why come to this forsaken land?’,

looped in my mind for hours at hand.



Japan, land where I regained the sun.

With chopsticks and manga, I did have fun.

Kimonos and green tea filled the air,

earthquakes and Godzilla aroused slight fear

I marvelled at beautiful narrow eyes

My wide ovals’ equal praise, quite a surprise!

deftly shy, yet defiantly daring

mixed with Kuroyanagi and Takato’s caring

In this friendly eastern community

Again, I embraced humanity.



Here I stand in the faithful present

Surveying my international development

With learnings both glowing and dull in tone

I advanced along these world steppingstones

Through many twists and varied turns

Body, mind and soul were both nourished and burned

Still, with all weighed up, it's clear to see

abiding love bonds our global family.

Monday, 2 May 2022

The Present Future


 

Today I am.


Today I am doing lots of self-reflection: an activity I feel grateful to have the time and space to do.

I’m residing in a home paid for (by the skin of my teeth) with the humble salary from the part-time job I managed to hold down through the pandemic.


I’m sitting at the table and chair already in this furnished flat that I could instantly settle into and start living, versus traipsing around Ikea trying to select bits and bobs.


I’m wearing a purple ‘dirac’ airy dress from my Somali friend further wrapped in a red ‘kain sarung’ from my Malaysian friend for more warmth, feeling lucky as a Yorùbá-Nigerian clothed in such international community.

I’m working on a computer honing typing skills developed through poetry collections, uni essays, work assignments, even creating teaching materials and assessments for my students, and more.


I’m drafting my narrative writing ranging from poetry inspired by Roald Dahl nonsense rhymes to memoir pieces inspired by Maya Angelou’s life of global creativity, activism and love.


I’m interacting with online communities enticing me with dramatic theatre, thoughtful debate, inspirational fellow creatives, intelligent discourse, impromptu dance parties and virtual Christenings of newborns oceans away overloaded with cuteness.

I’m seeing all this through healthy eyes, hearing with healthy ears, processing through a healthy brain, supported by a healthy body, and today I know I am blessed.

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Tomorrow I can be.

Tomorrow I can be the embodiment of hopes and dreams from past todays as well as this today now.

I can be face-full rather than faceless, unmask and let the covid-safe world see happy smiles and plump cheeks, communicating beyond a muffed voice behind surgical fabric as the pandemic gradually subsides.


I can be a homeowner, have a foray of differently themed rooms, decorated with keepsakes from trips across the world spanning 5 continents, but ultimately centred on Yorùbá vibes.

I can be close to more family in London, visiting cousins, attending weddings, seeing nieces and nephews grow as childhood spirals into newfound tallness accompanying both academic and emotional intelligence.


I can visit more friends near in other cities and far in other countries (preferably sunnier) after the lockdown lifts properly, definitively, finally.


I can march for a new day of justice, pounding the road, threading the streets, joining global voices chanting in unison ‘Black Lives Matter’, honouring loving fathers like George Floyd, Sheku Bayoh and Mark Duggan as well as devoted mothers like Dorothy "Cherry" Groce and Cynthia Jarrett, taken away by law un-enforcement.

I can create training spaces where others can hone their language and communication skills, facilitating more life opportunities, driving job prospects higher, bringing aspirations ever closer.


I can discuss the premise of an enthralling page-turner with interested readers, engaged editors and eager publishers whilst drafting the bones of its sequel a la J.K. Rowling, and tomorrow I’ll see ever new horizons.

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Yes. Today I am, tomorrow I can be…and the present future will always be full of promise.







Bambara Lens

Blessed Melanin, God-sculpted Blackness  The mask, a fence, a gatekeeper,  protection, deflection, yet visual invitation  I see you, you see...