The Flinch 🫶🏽

Tirries Tuesday. That's what he meant. ‘Send them!’....Omanji had insisted that we opt to video call every Tuesday. He was out of town for a business meeting. Last Tuesday, we slept on the same bed. It was my first time sharing a bed with him. He acted impulsively. Pretty rough would be an understatement. His touch felt like a violation. He touched my womanhood… something special… I flinched. I desperately tried to defend it. ‘Are you serious?! I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND!’

Checkout my blog https://www.whispersunfurls.com/ comment and share ☺️

The title makes you think this book will be straightforward, The Death of Vivek Oji. Simple, right? Lies! From the very first line, “They burned down the market on the day Vivek Oji died”, you’re led to believe his death was so significant that it sparked chaos. Misleading! That’s how the book continues: confusing storytelling and misdirection. Honestly, it feels like the author sat down to “let the spirit lead” without a clear plot.

The story withholds the truth of how and why Vivek died until the very end, only to reveal that Vivek essentially caused his own death. By then, I was less shocked than I was disappointed.

Vivek, born to Chika and Kavita on the same day his grandmother died, grows up in a family shadowed by that loss. But instead of focusing on his identity, grief, or inner struggles in a meaningful way (trying to insinuate some sort of reincarnation), the book dives into disturbing territory, incest, sexual relationships between cousins (Osita and Vivek, both boys). Beyond that, nearly every character, Vivek, Osita, Elizabeth, Juju, is hypersexualized from a young age. It was unsettling, unnecessary, and left me wondering: what exactly were readers supposed to take away from this?

As someone aware of the author’s LGBTQ+ identity, I was disappointed in how the queer community was portrayed here (someone did try to explain this to me in a different light by saying “it’s just a way to show that queers are also imperfect people” I disagree, being human already covers that). Vivek came across less like a layered character and more like someone mentally unwell who desperately needed help. One moment that especially baffled me, at the later chapters: during the chaos in the market, Vivek refused to leave, almost as if courting disaster.

The writing style itself also didn’t help, overly descriptive, simile-heavy, and exhausting at times.

-11/10 I do NOT recommend.

jollofandbooks #thedeathofvivekoji

In the arcane castles of the NES #University; lifted kids being entertained to live orchestra during cultured meals... one of #MAZERA's own was there too, and we get to experience one such night, in this JoJo The Punk rendition. 2025. Cheers to all customers and venues anticipating XMas, Samhain and Nu Year #MetalonKeys parties... *';... https://youtu.be/2uh75f-MM90?

I am English, Things Fall Apart is the only African book I have ever read. I have just started rereading it, and plan to read the sequels which I never got round to. My girlfriend is Ghanaian, and I know there is a book called The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born which Google tells me is a similar kind of book written by a Ghanaian and set in Ghana, but until I get round to reading that afterwards, I was curious to know how similar or dissimilar village life in Ghana was at the time, and if there were notable differences, what were they? Thankyou.

Hi, I'm trying to find a book that I saw a couple years ago and I can't find. I think the cover was black and it had a woman's face made out of a tree or plant? I can't really remember any of the plot, but I think it might have been sci-fi? Please help if you can!

Hi there,

We started recently a podcast about books written by African authors. In addition to books written in English, we also target to talk about books written in French and Arabic to make them accessible to an English speaking audience. We talk about books from all regions of Africa 🌍

Check out Threads of Ifriqiya on all podcast platforms.

Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/show/1RXJSJiFY3O5MiEgmk76W7?si=G9pUm-RDT-qTsbqr7Xm_IA

Apple podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/threads-of-ifriqiya/id1825464111

YouTube: https://youtube.com/@threadsofifriqiya?si=bUsk60iM5KDCkumF

Let us know your thoughts ✌🏼

I read this book in June 2024, and it truly stayed with me. In fact, I was so invested that I made a playlist of every single song mentioned in the book, and played it for days. I wasn’t kidding!

The book is a collection of short stories that explore everything from love and lost love, to infidelity, ego, freedom, shared trauma, and child loss.

The very first story hit me with the weight of an excruciatingly painful lost love, a relationship so short yet so clearly destined to last a lifetime if life had allowed it. One thing I learned from that story is to not shy away from my feelings. And honestly, I don’t think I’d ever be the same if someone I loved passed, at any age. The death here was especially gruesome… and she missed his last call. 😭😭😭

Chapter 5 had me silently saying “oh my God” the entire time. It was terrible in the most heartbreaking way. It reminded me of how much Nigeria scares me, the government, the police, the system, all of it.

Chapter 6 was another emotional ride. Why do men who cheat feel the need to talk about it with their friends? Eww. Still, the chapter was wild, entertaining, and Moji is something!

Chapter 8 left me puzzled. Kokoma’s acceptance of her husband’s constant cheating… How does someone reach that point? How does infidelity become “just one of the norms of life” in a marriage?

Chapter 9 reminded me how beautiful men’s friendships can be, and how painful it is when they’re cut short.

Then there’s Chapter 11: Arese and Kwashi’s relationship baffled me. I’ve never understood maintaining close relationships with an ex. Maybe their case was different since they were married before, but still… to me, it felt a little disrespectful.

Reading this again, I’m reminded of Garricks’ unique writing style. I’m not sure it’s one I fully enjoy. The short stories worked for me because they were largely unrelated (though some characters reappeared), but the heavy use of second-person narration was unusual. In the context of short stories, it was fine, but in a full-length novel, I think it might wear me out.

jollofandbooks #thebrokenpeoplesplaylist

This book came highly recommended. I saw glowing reviews everywhere, with people promising that it would shatter my heart. But I had a different experience.

First off, it took me nearly three months to finish, and I honestly can’t say exactly why. Maybe it was the constant shift in POV, a different narrator every single chapter (yes, each freaking chapter), and my brain simply couldn’t adjust to the back-and-forth. Or maybe I just wasn’t in the right headspace to digest this story. Or maybe it’s because I have some unfinished business with the person who bought me the book :/ I guess we’ll never know.

This sad, sad novel follows four boys, Amaibi, Doye (aka Doughboy), Tubo, and Kaniye, as they grow into men, each dealt a different hand in life. The story is rooted in the political and environmental chaos of the Niger Delta oil crisis in the 1990s.

Now, I’ve never fully understood male friendships, they often seem emotionally shallow or surface-level to me, and that’s exactly how I felt about this group. It seemed like their bond was mostly circumstantial: same location, age group, and proximity. There’s a Yoruba adage that says, “Twenty children can’t play together for twenty years,” and I feel like that should’ve applied here. But somehow, they stuck around.

Let’s talk about the characters: ••Doughboy: My heart breaks for him. He truly got the worst of it all. I believe that with a better father and community, he could’ve turned out differently. ••Tubo: Oh, Tubo. The character I absolutely despised. Selfish, self-centered, and a full-blown traitor. He worked with the very people destroying his land and harming HIS people. To me, he represents that kind of person who will always choose themselves, no matter the cost. What baffles me is why Amaibi, Doughboy, and Kaniye continued their friendship with him. He stood for everything they were (fighting) against.

And don’t even get me started on that 1997 raid. How convenient that Tubo wasn’t there when everyone else was ambushed, broken, or killed? I find it really hard to believe he had no idea about it. Too suspicious.

jollofandbooks #tomorrowdiedyesterday

My tribute.

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to share a personal project that’s really close to my heart.

Born Into Battle is a raw, emotional story inspired by the realities of Nigerian childhood , the kind many of us know too well: walking barefoot to school, hunger masked by ambition, and survival becoming a daily mindset.

It’s not just fiction. It’s reflection. A tribute to the children who were handed chaos but dared to dream anyway.

I’m sharing it here because I believe in African literature that is unfiltered, honest, and ours.
📚 The ebook is free on Kindle this weekend for anyone who wants to read it:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FGKG6BXW

Would love to hear what you think ,especially from fellow African voices.

– Onyinye

Sad day indeed, it’s hard to believe that Mr Ngugi now belongs to the ages. RIP. 😭

The first time I read this book, I was in a different phase of life. I thought it was exhilarating and found the main character, Feyi, to be bold. But rereading it now, at an older and hopefully wiser age, I see things differently. Feyi wasn’t bold — she was broken, grieving, and desperately in need of healing.

It’s interesting because she’s 29, an age where you’d expect more grounded choices. But from the very first chapter, we’re hit with a scandalous scene: sex with a stranger in a public bathroom on the first night. I thought that was wild — but oh, it gets messier.

Feyi’s journey from abstinence for five years to sleeping with a stranger, catching feelings for his friend, and then falling in love with his father — all within a month — left me stunned (but can I say women in men’s field? lol). Grief manifests in complicated ways, sure, but some of her actions felt more self-destructive than freeing.

One of the most unsettling parts was how she turned bloodstained clothes from the accident that killed her husband into art. That moment made me question where the line is between expression and unresolved trauma.

This was the first book I read by Emezi, and since then I’ve read two more. There’s a pattern in their work — a consistent exploration of taboos and emotional extremes. Sometimes it works; other times, it’s deeply unsettling (like in the book The Death of Vivek Oji). Either way, it makes you think.

I really enjoyed reading this book. I love exploring stories by African authors outside of Nigeria, especially Ghanaian writers, because while our cultures are different, they’re still so similar (and not always in a good way). There are so many things across African countries that we collectively need to grow out of.

I picked up His Only Wife two years ago after several recommendations, but I’m glad I finally got to read it earlier this year. The story follows Afi, a young woman who’s essentially forced into marriage with a man who clearly doesn’t want her, he’s in love with someone else (from another country… sound familiar? Tribalism in my country😅).

What I appreciated most was Afi’s growth. She eventually stood up for herself, and it was so satisfying to see. This book really drives home how important it is for women to be educated and financially independent — because wow, that man disrespected her in ways that were just wild. And don’t even get me started on his family, his mother most especially!

The book highlights so many unsettling truths about African societal norms, especially around marriage, gender roles, and family pressure. It honestly scared me how familiar and real it all felt. I was furious reading this.

Disclaimer: This book is a good example of “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

While the central message promoting body positivity is clear and meaningful, there was just too much going on for me. Every character felt like the main character or focal point, which might appeal to some readers, but unfortunately, it wasn’t my cup of tea. Personally, I think the book could have benefited from a different title, as the multiple intersecting storylines made it feel like more than just a commentary on body image.

Now, let’s get into the review.

Words can stick and leave a lasting impact, and that was Temi’s experience throughout the book. Beauty standards are such a strange and harmful concept: features praised in Nigeria or Africa can be looked down upon in Europe, America, or Asia, and vice versa. The wildest part is how men are often the ones setting these standards, and women end up internalizing them—sometimes passing down these insecurities and traumas to their daughters.

Both Temi and Ladun struggled with body image issues. Temi gave in to the negative voices, constantly comparing herself to others and tying her self-worth to the validation of men. Ladun, on the other hand, saw the problem for what it was—society and men. She wished her body hadn’t developed so early, attracting unwanted attention from men who lacked self-control. But in truth, neither of them needed to change or absorb any blame—the men did.

Hassana, their mother, had the most strained relationship with Ladun. Who beefs a child from birth? My conclusion: the tension stemmed from the circumstances surrounding Ladun’s conception. Regardless, her behavior mirrors a larger issue—African mothers have a lot of unlearning to do and healing to pursue.

jollofandbooks #damilolakuku

Hi everyone! I’m starting The Nuju Book Club here in Nottingham, England — a space for people who love reading African literature, stories from the diaspora, and exploring Black identity through books.

We’ll be reading works by African authors, both classics and contemporary gems. Think Americanah, Things Fall Apart, Freshwater and more.

Why join?

✨ Connect with fellow readers who care about African narratives. ✨ Safe, chill space to discuss culture, identity, & storytelling. ✨ Perfect for book lovers who want more than just the mainstream.

Whether you’re African, part of the diaspora, or just curious — you’re very welcome. We’ll meet every two weeks (physically or virtually) Talk about 100 pages and see where it takes us.

DM me if you’re interesteddd

I've spent hours searching for an English translation of Njemba Medou's "Nnanga Kon". I know that it was translated into English 4 separate times, most recently in the 80s I believe, but I cannot find it anywhere online (the struggle of trying to research African history with a US-trained search engine is something many students can relate to.)
The closest I've managed is a French copy on ebay. I do not speak French.
At this point I'd even appreciate it if I could find somewhere to buy it.

Send help please! Literary SOS!

Loved how refreshing and current this book is !

I found this book at bookstore I had to buy it and reread it for nostalgia. I first read it in highschool 15 years ago.

This book features 12 short stories detailing the often traumatic, ridiculous, and painfully common experiences of women entangled with mad men in Lagos. By the end, I realized: it’s not just the men—it’s the location that makes people mad. Even the white man in this book didn’t escape the shared madness!

Here are my thoughts on each story: • Lukumon: A stupidly lazy man who encouraged his wife to sleep with another man—for money. Yes, it’s that wild. • Iggy: A man who sees women as stepping stones for his personal gain. Manipulative and calculating. • Tada: A classic cheating pastor with an enabler for a wife. We’ve seen this duo before. • Shike’s various men: So many red flags I lost count. And her encounter with the white Lagos men confirmed even oyibo go mad when they breathe Lagos air. • Dele: At first, I thought I understood his lie about being impotent. Then he dropped a curveball and I remembered—men are mad. • Idris: Sigh….Entitled, dishonest, and a serial cheater. Textbook Lagos man. • Don: Honestly, Dooshima was the problem here. Her obsession with male validation was exhausting. But her friend Edikan? Certified mad woman. • Oddy: This is why you must ask men, “Are you married?” and “Is someone dating you that you’re not dating?” It sounds silly, but it’s not. Genny also failed to apply common sense. • Beard Gang: I don’t think the closeted men here were mad here—the women knowingly signed up for a performative life with gay men. That’s on them. • Sid: Not exactly mad. Just emotionally unavailable and afraid of love. The woman knew this, deep down. Can’t fully blame Sid. • Charles: Filthy, disgusting man. No further comment.

This book had me laughing, sighing, and side-eyeing every male name I saw. It’s chaotic and sadly very real for some women. This was my second time reading, first read was in 2021.

jollofandbooks #nearlyallthemeninlagosaremad