I hate going to the market. I hope that sentence doesn’t make me sound less like a woman or slash away yards from the wife material bundle a good woman is supposed to have. It’s always so stuffy and hot at the market and I always leave sweaty, tired...
My phone rang. The caller ID showed my elder sister. The married, mother of two energetic boys’ sister.
“Chisom how far?”
She sounded like a 99year old woman on her death bed.
Me: “I dey o, are you okay?”
Mother of two: “Mba, Aru adirokwam. I’m sick Biko I need you. I need...
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