Nathaniel Oyelola Rejects Davy Jones Locker

A strange event floated into my quiet space like an aimless freak and stunned me harder than a shockwave. The idigo lights had come on indicating a great personality or deity was scheduled to visit Davy Jones Locker for some unpur knownpose or is it unknown purpose. Then the light went out, making my eyes fall to the ground then return to its sockets with a little dust that itched them. Such a one-in-a-billion chance event had to be a cancellation or an error. I was worried.

Hitherto that moment of the lights, I was there alone in the gigantic cavern brainstorming the fate of Davy Jones Locker if Nigeria breaks up. “Against Tribalism,” I said aloud. Will the 4-7 Creed be scraped or revised or undergo its own Tower of Babel? What concerns a map-maker with chromium content of stainless steel? I was shivering a little despite wearing thick woolly socks, a trouser over tracksuit bottoms, two jumpers, a black beret, and a great coat. There were only a few candles burning with still flames and darkness seemed ready to pounce on me. Not a place for the gregarious.

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How I celebrated Cap’n Blood’s Birthday with Him

Ballpoint-pen portrait of Wole Soyinka

Yesterday, as I was making octopus pepper soup, I decided to have a sip of seaweed kinkana, a mild alcoholic spirit. Paramole had given me the recipe to make the still when he returned from the Great Gangway. The Davy Jones Locker rendezvous was quiet, cold and sterile as usual but also inspirational and unencumbering. I must emphasise I love the place; it is my kind of place; it is my home now. I only use my submarine to come onshore these days, which is not often.
My unfailing experience was, an hour before a Forgone Terrors arrives at the Davy Jones Locker rendezvous, the Entrance would turn deep indigo or even purple. It is a signal for me to get ready to Mascot a Forgone Terror to the Great Gangway in any manner I choose. Now, for the first time in my experience, the Entrance turned blood red. It was a signal that an unauthorised person was arriving. I had never seen this happen and wondered who would appear at the Entrance. Was it the Devil himself, Sir Francis Drake, Vasco Da Gama, Black Beard, William Kidd, Calico Jack or the god, Poseidon? I knew it had to be a man by the laws of natures. The pepper soup was ready and scenting fine, and what a meal! No more sips.

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Is My Name Okolo Too?

In the Summer of 2015, I met and briefly befriended an interesting and pretty British-Nigerian lady in London for a couple of months. She was a focused intellectual type and an ardent seeker of knowledge. She was introverted and I extraverted. For some inexplicable reason, there were many popular and unusual topics we debated for hours. Unexpectedly, in September 2015 she announced to me she had gotten a scholarship to study for a PhD in the USA and promised she was going to miss me. I was flattered. That was the last I saw of her and her company. Despite having spent so many hours talking with her about a variety of topics, we never exchanged surnames. It was a sincere Platonic relationship we had.

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Paramole Returns on His Birthday


Saturday the 25th of April 2020 was cold and blank in the Davy Jones Locker. A few sailors had passed through the rendezvous to the other side after becoming victims to Covid-19 and other causes but this Saturday there were no forgone sailors arriving. For the first time in my experience there, a particular case of forgone reversal occurred. The Great Door had open and solemn song could be heard accompanied by restrained okombo [drum] beats. I became very concerned and might have tricked myself I was not scared. The Great Door only opened when a sailor was about to cross the Great Gangway. Why had it opened without a forgone arrival? I began to hear footsteps, they got closer, and a man emerged, Paramole himself. About 7 feet away from me, he stopped. His face was listless. I was frozen all over with amazement, and he did not seem happy to see me where I was.

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The Near Death Experience of a Petite Man: Part 2

Taba and Tomos were left at Marioka’s place alone together, the host had a sudden emergency to attend to on the other side of town. It was a lovely well-decorated three-bedroom house overlooking a leafy park in South London. Both men were in one of the bedrooms upstairs working on the computer server for the organisation they belonged.
Tomos was up to his evil heartless old tricks yet again. Smartly dressed as ever, Tomos was smugly taking a nasty verbal swipe at Taba. He haughtily boasted of his father’s exploits as a notable architect while associating his on-and-off friend, Taba, with peasantry and obsession with parvenu. Tomos was patronisingly educating Taba with as nasty sarcasm as one could muster that one is either well-born or not and that self-made men are usually ‘one generation wonders’. Taba was in his trademark leather jacket, polo shirt and jeans which always looked cool on him and seemed very relaxed.

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The Logic of One

Two Men Drinking

Whenever Fifties and Rong met up it always turned out to be a promising event for ethanol use. Bottles of whiskey evaporated without a trace but bottles of beer were traceable to the sewers found in any town they met up, courtesy, their using. However, both guys appeared to be in denial of the edification they got out of drinking together. They never met up for trivial or leisure purposes but ended up using ethanol most creatively using the ‘logic of one’ in a self-deceiving way.

The ‘logic of one’ had started at their very first drinking meeting five years ago in St Albans. Rong had suggested they go and have ‘one’ drink each, ‘one-one’. It was one can Heineken export (0.5 litres) each, a lovely drink that evening. As the evening rolled on, both men started looking for ways to defy the rule of ‘one-one’. The square and cube of one did not work since the result was, one. Continue reading

I First Talked to Her on a Train

Albanny Korrow woman-man-train

The sun was shining very bright but it was not giving London any warmth humans could sense. The warmth was coming later possible with love. Albanny Korrow like most other males on the train platform was dressed in bithermal attire which could be comfortable in both mild summer and mild winter weather. Albanny Korrow was wearing his most predictable outfit; suede wallabies; trousers, shirt and jacket; all brown corduroy but of different shades of each other. Even his iPad cover and suitcase were brown. As he has about to embark on the train he was instantly bewitched by one of the very few ladies around. Continue reading

The Near Death Experience of a Petite Man

Tomos was a petite man in his 40s and could easily pass for a young teenager sometimes. Usually very smartly dressed in formal attire to look much older than his boyish appearance, he was on his way to revel with friends at a house warming party in Walworth, South East London. He had to walk a very long distance to get to the party since though dressed like a toff with an elegant suit, shiny shoes and a cravat, he could not afford bus or taxi fares. His masked intention of attending the party was ‘financial edification’; seeking bad loans and grants. Professionally, Tomos was an architect but had never designed a structure in his life. Somehow it was tough for him to get his act together. His mind was far too nefarious and preoccupied malevolent actions to hold a job in a professional setting. Enduring cooperation, collaboration and team skills were things he lacked. He was more excellent in the art of disruption, sabotage, mischief and chaos. You could comfortable rely on him to mess a good job up or bring a good man down.

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