Ifa’s science is also contained in its corpus called Odu Ifa, a humongous collection of 256 voluminous books, passed down orally within Yoruba culture.
Author: Tunde Odesola
However, the insincere debtor, hard like the shell of a tortoise, is unperturbed whenever he remembers his empty repayment promises. He blinks like a toad on a full stomach, “My lender knows times are hard. I cannot come and kill myself, jare. I will pay someday,” he says with malicious arrogance.
The next day, Apkabio locked himself inside his room. He was greatly disturbed because the Yellow Canary wouldn’t stop singing.
Your Excellency, many Nigerians believe you’re not a good leader. But I believe you rank higher than the late sage, Chief Obafemi Awolowo.
Fulani forebear, Uthman Dan Fodio, believes conscience is an open wound, peppered by guilt, healable by truth. I agree with him.
I wonder what would have happened to the septuagenarian if suspended Ogunjobi and his mob had met him on a lonely road at night.
One of such robbers on the pulpit, a light-skinned stark illiterate, who calls himself a lion, was formerly a shoemaker from Anambra State;
I wished he had just kept quiet after committing the taboo. But no, he did not. He issued a terrible statement in support of the sacrilege.
Each of us stooped down under the tables with our backs to our teachers, meaning that we, the little rascals, could see one another.
Growing up under my parents’ roof, the Holy Bible was worshipped. If it mistakenly falls down from your hands, you must fast for a day.
It’s a new year; let’s be patriotically wise. Only a stubborn dog disregards the Hunter’s Whistle. A word is enough for the wise. Welcome, 2025.
You can nail Kemi Badenoch to the cross of political hypocrisy, yes; but the validity of her mockery of Nigeria is unassailable.
On this fateful day, the ex-president, Bubu, himself is on a secret inspection of his farm when he sees the cobra slithering into the poultry section.
In the valley of the shadow of death, the brave Giwa looked down at his shattered bowels and groin and said: “They have got me.”
He is an agile drunkard, who abhors palm wine but loves sèkèté, the corn beer. He probably loves otíkà, the beer brewed from millet, too.
“So, I called Demola, Demola in New York, you know he’s my friend too. Demola sent me N1m immediately. Then, I called other people.
So, the Almighty Apostle Suleiman cross-examined God, asking: “Why?” To which God said: “Because of unforgiveness.”
All of the flea, the bug, and the fluffy-haired boy spectacles unravelled on football pitches worldwide. I know because I’m a witness just like you.
April 4, unto us a baby is born. Old age doesn’t always beget wisdom, though experience is its forte.
Globally, fans are part of the ‘enu dùn ròfó’ mammoth whose mouths are their only credentials to football expertise