He got to the park, hoping he would be the last passenger just before the bus moves. Amidst shouts of different destinations by the popular ‘agberos’, he finally located the bus going his way. He likes to sit in front with the driver, but this time around, his space had been taken. Seated to his left was a plump woman with her two-year old son.
While waiting for the other passengers, an endless stream of able-bodied beggars invaded the little quietness he could afford in the old stuffy bus. They spoke different languages and recited what sounded like beggars’ sonnets which was irritating to his ears. He was tempted to advise them to go and look for jobs and it took a lot of willpower to ignore them. He couldn’t wait for the journey to begin and finally, the last passenger walked briskly into the bus.
The driver shut the doors and the passengers were left stranded in the heat while the driver and his cohorts argued about the sharing formula for the inflated transport fares they gathered from the passengers.
The road to redemption

The road to redemption

The passengers were already getting agitated and the bus felt like an oven, taking him back in time to the stuffy chemistry lecture theatre popular called ‘oven’ during his days as an undergraduate. At long last, it was time to move. He breathed a sigh of relief and was prepared to enjoy the journey only for the driver to join the queue at a gas station about five minutes drive from the park. The mother beside him decided to buy several pieces of boiled egg from a vendor at the station and that was when he knew he wouldn’t enjoy the journey as he hated the smell of boiled egg.

As they joined other travellers on the expressway, he started to enjoy the fresh air and thought maybe the journey could be endured after all, but the woman pleaded that the breeze was too much for her son and he had to shut the window almost completely.  As if that was not enough, she chose exactly that moment to bring out a loaf of bread from her bag to go with the eggs she bought.
Two hours into the journey, his clothes were stained with crumbs of bread and egg and the imprint of the child’s dirty and wet hands. The mother said ‘uncle e ma binu si omo yin o’ (meaning don’t be angry with me) and in an inappropriate  attempt to dust the crumbs off his laps, she made everything worse. He began to wonder when the boy became his child.
Finally, the driver announced that he was at the last bus stop for whoever wanted to drop at the camp. He felt like he had worn the lottery, for he was finally at his destination. And as he stared across the road at the Redemption camp, he thought the journey had been worthwhile after all

In the journey of life, secular or spiritual, the road might not be as sweet and smooth as expected. The beginning can be rough, the journey itself can be frustrating with distractions and inconveniences. But one thing is sure; at the end, there is a sigh of relief and the joy of arrival at the destination. Wishing you safe journey and glorious landing in life’s journey.


I am Oluwaseto Oguntuase. 
A Pharmacist by profession and a writer and lover of books at heart. I just love a good story. I am a bit reserved but easy to approach. I don’t have it all figured out, but who does anyway? My mantra is ‘what will be will be’ so I take life one step at a time. I love writing about real life experiences and hope to become an accomplished writer in the nearest future.



For the internally displaced…


I wake up to the silent tonalities
Of homeless voices
I see dreams trudge along
In clothless rags
I watch weary people look out
For the rays of hopeless days

I feel my heart crying out loud
To save the desiccated agony of these helpless faces…


But this is my land
This is where I belong
This is where I took my first step
As a lovely child clutching to my father’s dream…

But this is my land
This is where I belong
This is where I took my first strike
With my hoe eating deep into mother earth…

But this is my land
This is where I belong
This is where I slept and dreamt
Singing in the language of the stars…

But… this is my land!

Ho –

A homeless man with big dreams. Source:

A homeless man with big dreams.


Too late.

I was drenched in the reality of my plight
The heartless ambiguity of my ‘home’
In one quick swipe of insurgency
I was given the suffix of a hell

Just like the gliding fish
Buried under the euphoria of curling waves
who after a light lunch…
Woke up to the waves of boiling steams
The heartless ambiguity of ‘home’ –

Water and hot water.


Like the birds flying over a turbulent ocean
With no trees around to make their nests.

Like the helpless fish
Gliding with no will in the cooking pot

Like a fugitive murderer
Running away from flashlights and hungry dogs

Like a swarm of bees driven from their skep
By aggressive bulldozers in their heartless rides

Like the bush rats
Smoked out of comfort by the hungry fire

Like  a lost explorer driven to a lonely shore
By the anger of a terrible tempest…

Like a madman condemned to an endless journey
By a heartless mind…

like me



Oredola Ibrahim, the winner of Inspiring Brilliance Foundation National Poetry Award 2012, believes in poetry as a tool for self discovery and ultimately, a potential tool for national transformation. His poetry delves into popular themes like politics, love and inspiration. Oredola Ibrahim is the convener of WhatsApp Poetry Contest, a periodic competition organized on the platform of “The Penclan Initiative” ( He is a campus journalist, a student-entrepreneur and a web designer. He’s currently a student of the University of Ibadan. He tweets @platolaw and can be reached via




I walked past a very noisy graveyard
On my way to a dried up well of life
Where I hoped to find some pearl among the swine
That goes there to water the well

I entered a garden of monsters
Monsters with high need for vegetables
In their midst, I listened to the music of silence
Their water source, a great lake, taught me how to sink to swim

I teleported to the world of humans and met a girl I could trust
Her brother a playboy, has only one girlfriend
Her pregnant elder sister was still a virgin
And her five year old kid brother was already a father

I replaced my thinking cap with that of foolishness
Sitting down properly so as to stand better
Closing my eyes to see better
And finally climbing up so as to go down



I shielded my eyes from the moonlight at noon
Spreading my arms to receive the sun at night
Dancing joyously as the rainwater went up the clouds
The heat this winter has been sweltering

Listen to wisdom from a lunatic
Suave as stability from an imbecile
I drank the wine of discrepancies
Suddenly, I made sense of them all.


What happens when Philosophy meets with very vivid imagination?
Emmanuel Ibekwe is ‘who’ happens. I am a graduate of the University of
Ibadan, but, still a student of the School of Imagination situated
inside my world, I love penning down abstract thoughts poetically or
if need be, in an article. I guess that’s what happens when Philosophy
meets with Creativity and the willingness to express it.

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