Novels by Mark Maxson

ᗯℰ were on the second of the seven rivers of Africa. The stupid song played in my head for quite some time. At the exact moment I got rid of it, Cynthia hummed it, as if that wasn't enough, she sang her own version:'Azikiwe, Wolowo, Tafawa Balewa,Onye-ocha wepu aka n'okpu eze'She then hummed it repeatedly, typing with all concentration on her phone.'What does it mean?' I asked. She raised her head up to look at me with one of her brow raised. I almost melted. ' I mean the Onyocha something-something part o?''White man remove your hands from the king's crown.' she returned her face to the phone's screen, tapping it with her thumbs.It was our first vacation. Madam Ajuma brought up the idea in a general

ᝨℍℰ newsroom was not as noisy as it usually was that morning. No one had the time to talk or gist about their roving the previous day, about politics, fashion, family or their job. However, it was still a mad room.The reporters were all busy putting their reports in order before they would submit them to me. I gave them an ultimatum for all their reports to be on my desk before 9:20 AM. Most of them were head bent over pieces of paper inking vigorously, some others crowded the limited typists placating with whispers and lobbying to add their news reports to the days bulletin, while a few others where in the editing room merging their voice overs with rushes.The morning news was usually aired by 10:00AM, although a good number of the reporters had arrived the office late because the company's coastal bus that brought them to the office broke down along the road that morning because of a bad spark plug. The driver had alread

ℳ⌾ℛℰℕⅈKℰ did not allow the lovebirds leave that night. She insisted they stayed, threatening that the curfew in Ikeja was usually taken seriously at night because of the Corona virus pandemic: ' And besides, there are soldiers parading everywhere as we speak, see me I don't want any casualties o.' Fred laughed at the old woman's stunts and Cynthia only chortled shyly. ' Ah-ah, what's so funny?' she said vivaciously, knowing fully well that they knew she was lying.Despite her fervour for religion and morality, her bad temperament, whatsoever, Morenike had a great sense of humour of which she had used in totally winning Cynthia's heart, making her almost forget the demon that had welcomed her with frosty looks and made her shudder a few hours ago.She did all her best to make Cynthia feel as comfortable as she could. She made her reconciliation with her and came to the realization that she was not a bad perso

ℂℽℕᝨℍⅈᗅ felt uneasy as hell, she wished to disappear.Morenike refused to reply her greetings. She stood at the threshold of the kitchen with hands akimbo looking askance at her light braless top and bare midriff. She could not believe his son would come home with such a disgust for a wife - a girl that obviously seemed to have no ounce of morality or serenity. Impossi-cant! she even has a tattoo, ah, what is it? Butterfly, close to her breast! Abi on her breast gon ni. No no no...this boy wants to finally give me bad name.Fred was disappointed at the way his mother glared at her. He had told Cynthia a lot of good things about his mum, even though he had sometimes mentioned that the old woman was a disciplinarian, a moralist and once upon a time, a vibrant Deeper Lifer. He had made her fall in love with his mother, enough to make her desperate to see her future