Jennifer Idowu is a soulful, beautiful writer who is in denial of her writing prowess. She considers herself a Messenger of Hope stuck somewhere between Fraulein Maria and Mary Poppins. Her work is a beautiful case for tepid courage and curious mobility.
We are tickled by her modest approach to her prowess and decided to feature her work in the hope that she’ll see just how mysteriously beautiful her writing is.
Here are excerpts from her written work:
The pot and I, funny how our lives can be likened to things that have no life, things we overlook, in this case ‘the pot’. How? You ask. I used to be shiny, much like the Tower aluminium pot my mother purchased, always a delight to see and be used because I looked clean on the outside even after several uses, but many years have come and gone. Now I’m ugly inside and out.
Now I’m not just a pot but an ugly pot on fire, dented and ready to be thrown away. You still wonder why I chose this pot as the object of this Simile. It’s because the only thing my eyes are fixed on as I lay here being raped by this man I once loved is the pot on fire…the pot on fire much like me as I feel fire between my thighs from this drunken man.
Do you understand me?
Most days I wait for the popularly known 17:59 to get off work and find the next best thing to intoxicate me, other days I grab a flask and pour in my choice of fear-numbing liquid especially if the day started early with late mails from the night before. My preferred dialect on some days, spirits, when I get tired of living in my body.Other days I speak wine just because I want to feel french. I am an alcoholic, Je boi de l’álcool . Do you understand me?
I love love, I have loved the idea of love from the first time i met love. I have loved the crazy, the sane, the hungry, the satisfied, the kind-hearted and beast alike.You would think that I had a preference of who to love,but no, I just wanted to love regardless of who or what.
I felt odd not being able to talk about you with my friends, they knew all about you, how they’ll meet you and the whole nine, but I had no clue. With time, I met many other Umfokazis, apparently, they weren’t you. when I found this out, I began planning how it’ll be when I finally met the Umfokazi everyone but I seemed to know.
Umfokazi, I hope you’re a loud mouth, not an empty barrel but one of us has to do most of the talking and it’s certainly not me. I’ve concluded i need a mouth piece and I’ve chosen you to be mine.