Part Thirty Two: Do you want a drink?

Dear Morayo, In true British style, I'm going to start this entry in exactly the same way as my last- by talking about the weather. Summer has finally arrived here, and the UK has undergone its annual makeover. Anything above about 22 degrees Celsius, and the entire country has a personality transplant. Suddenly we are … Continue reading Part Thirty Two: Do you want a drink? →

Part Thirty: Prajnaparadha, or a crime against wisdom

Dear Morayo, As time goes on, I'm slowly coming to the realisation that what happened with your Dad and the false imprisonment in a piss-drenched prison in a nation that was neither of our home countries (but had up until that point been our adopted 'second home') isn't where the trauma lies for me. Instead, … Continue reading Part Thirty: Prajnaparadha, or a crime against wisdom →

Part Twenty Nine: Generators

Dear Morayo, Before I went to Nigeria that first time, I had expected at least 50% of the men there to be as tall and handsome, muscular and just plain fit as your Dad. I was wrong. I had lived in Libya, Yemen and Sri Lanka and thought I was prepared for the amount of … Continue reading Part Twenty Nine: Generators →

Part Twenty Eight: On with the story

Dear Morayo, If you do ever end up reading this, you've probably reached the point where you're thinking 'God Mum, just get on with the story and stop faffing about!'- and of course you'd be absolutely right. It's 2021, and in a few months it will be eight years since your Dad disappeared that day. … Continue reading Part Twenty Eight: On with the story →

Part Twenty Six: That’s a ladder

Dear Morayo, The UK has slowly been easing out of lockdown for the last couple of months, and it couldn't have come sooner as far as you, me and your Dad are concerned. The funny thing is that I'm so good at denial, I don't even realise how much something is fucking with me as … Continue reading Part Twenty Six: That’s a ladder →

Part Twenty Three: One year

Dear Morayo, I'm not quite sure how this has happened, but tomorrow you're going to be one. One entire year old. This time a year ago we were at the hospital waiting for the birthing pool to be inflated whilst chatting between contractions, and now I have to try and get my head around the … Continue reading Part Twenty Three: One year →

Part Twenty Two: Long distance

Dear Morayo, After your Dad was released from that awful prison on the outskirts of Amman, you would probably assume that the first thing he would do would be to get on a plane and travel directly home to Lagos Nigeria. After all, I was in Azerbaijan, he didn't have a house or a job … Continue reading Part Twenty Two: Long distance →

Part Twenty One: Nine hours

Dear Morayo, Have I mentioned what an amazing sleeper I was before you came along? Your Nanna has always said that when I was little, I used to just drop my chin into my mashed potato at dinner time and have a quick snooze whenever the opportunity arose. Now I don't know whether that's true … Continue reading Part Twenty One: Nine hours →

Part Twenty: Relief

Dear Morayo, I needn't have worried last week when you decided to reject my breast. I was about to give up offering but persevered one more time by ramming it into your mouth and squishing down hard (that's the funny thing about breastfeeding; it sounds so idyllic and natural and wonderful until you find yourself … Continue reading Part Twenty: Relief →

Part Nineteen: Rejection

Dear Morayo, I did it. I left your Dad in prison in Amman just before Christmas of 2013- packed up all my things, gave everything else away and got on a flight. I have absolutely no recollection of going to the airport, the flight itself, or even what I did with the three weeks I … Continue reading Part Nineteen: Rejection →