Myrha's Blog

COZA & Victoria    Today, I feel restless. It's like birds are in my stomach, flying around, perching all at once and then flying again.   I do not want to go out; these kinds of days I stayed in my room in university. I would have covered myself with my purple blanket and then cried, eaten, urinated and cried again.    Then, this feeling of wasting away was usually attached to something tangible, like the feeling that my life had no purpose or of not having money at all and anyone to call. But this morning, there is no reason.   I go out anyway, to work.   Work is almost sad, the same routine. Everyone does the same things like everyday, says the same things, "Victoria, good morning, howdy?"  "Do you think Fatoyinbo actually did that?" Falls mundanely on my mind, like Martha's daily heavily made-up face.   I am grateful for the few customers booking rooms today and that it's almost 1pm.   Then I see Gideon, strol...

EPSTEIN SUICIDE    The banana I am eating tastes flat when Joy tells me, "He died in his cell." I am feeling angry and very cold.   "How?!" I ask.   Our favorite Alan Walker's song , Spectre  becomes muffled and my ears are throbbing like everyone in the room can hear it.   She shruggs, "He killed himself,"  I turn and prop my head to face her. She is sitting on my bed with me in her laps.   "I saw it this morning."   "From where? It's a rumour," I blurt, begging my voice not to crack, begging it to be a rumour.   "NBC," she stops touching my hair to stretch and collect groudnuts, before exhaling, "it's everywhere."   When I was younger, I was infatuated with America and confused by American news, who is Osama Bin Laden? And why do they always talk about him? Is he different from Gadafi? I would ask Dad as he argued on the merits of Gadafi's leadership, with his friend. And sometimes ...