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A Son is Worth Everything

"A Son is Worth Everything," a short piece is out in Della Donna, http://delladonna.blogspot.com/2008/04/lit-by-chicks.html. Below is an excerpt.

That is not true. I give her money for food. Sometimes I am late with the school fees, but why pay school fees for girls? Tomorrow, some man will come and marry them. What kind of investment is that? Five daughters and no sons – too much for one man. I am, after all, a big, strong man. My strong muscles and thick, shiny, dark body tell me so. The pretty women I see on the road, driving my truck from Kano to Enugu and back, carrying supplies to and fro, tell me so. I have never left a woman unsatisfied; they tell me so in the bedroom and out of it, when I put money in their palms. I know I am able to sire sons, but my disobedient wife refuses to produce any.

Okamma n'ilo

I have a story now out at AfricanWriter.com. Here is the link: http://www.africanwriter.com/articles/266/1/Okamma-nilo--A-Short-Story-by-Cheluchi-Onyemelukwe/Page1.html. An excerpt:

I knew that I did not want to live permanently in another country, looking for all the tricky ways I could find to extend my visa and to stay until I became a permanent resident or a citizen, or ways to buy used cars or mobile phones or clothes on sale to send back home, hating my life all through the winter, the bare trees, the bitter cold winds and the early dark evenings, then loving the green, green leaves and the warm long hours of sunshine in the summer. To my surprise, I had missed the bustle of Nigeria, the noisiness of people speaking at the tops of their voices even when they were speaking to people right next to them, the food, the hot sun, the gusto with which life was lived and enjoyed like goatmeat peppersoup.

The Excitement of a First Date

I have a new story out in The Danforth Review (Canada, Issue #22, March 2008). Here is an excerpt:

Obiageli walked quickly to the car park, craning her head slightly and peering into the darkness which enveloped the parked cars. She did not see the navy blue Mercedes. Did Paul not say he was going to be here at half seven? As she waited impatiently, a mosquito bit her on the leg and she bent down and scratched furiously and then spit on her hand to wipe away the white scratches that she did not see in the darkness but which she knew from experience must have appeared on her dark legs.

To read more, go to http://www.danforthreview.com/fiction/03_08/onyemelukwe.htm