Osisiye is a Finance Guy by day and writer by night. He writes faction – fictionalised telling of actual events. He loves learning new recipes, taking pictures of people in their unaware moments, riding his cafe racer and contemplating current socioeconomic issues with his canine flatmate, Simba.
‘Sixty Percent of a True Story’ is a window into the different realities of three undergraduates. Osisiye arrives the University of Lagos on a windy morning with dreams of high grades but must explore the fleshpots of the city, freedom of the campus and spiritual diversity of the bustling city of Lagos, Nigeria. Will he find a balance soon enough and will his dalliances with drugs, women and new friends be his undoing? The story moves on to Korede, a depressive introvert. He takes one through the vagaries of growing up as ‘different’ in a society that sees things in black and white and does not forgive men who do not act as men. Chris is a staple in Nigeria’s urban lore, the internet fraudster. Through his eyes, we understand the various motivations for this career choice and explore the process that births such deception. The story weaves through three Nigerian states, a university, a presidential campaign, the fleshpots of Lagos and startling personal choices to an unpredictable end.
‘In its uncut and unpolished form, this tour de force of undergraduate days provides Osisiye Tafa a chance to exhale. To tell our story is to expand the pool from which those coming behind can draw wisdom’
'The story of three young men using the power of social media and dedicating their active years to changing the course of a country is definitely worth retelling. It comes highly recommended for its clarity of voice’.
‘Osisiye writes with the simplicity of a charm. He doesn’t pretend to be great or profound, he is just Osisiye’
'Tafa weaves his little anecdotes with the dexterity of a wizened Chinese storyteller in a Jet Li kung fu flick’
'The narrative is sublime and swift. It keeps you glued to the pages'
‘A book that would require the reader to pause in places to tweet extracts or go to the next room, to share a part with a sibling, colleague or friend’
Sometime in 2012, I spent two hours on the Third Mainland Bridge. It was a memorable traffic jam. I stood on my car’s door ledge and could see no end to the gridlock. It is Saturday 9, January 2016 and I have spent an hour on the Third Mainland Bridge. It will be the same tomorrow. Four years after, the traffic situation in Lagos has not gotten better or worse, it has just found ways to stay the same.
His passing is sad, very sad. He was a great guy. But we won’t stay down for long. We will take the best from this. We will be earthy, we will understand that no one is little, we will admit that everyone is a work – in – progress and maybe we will tell the truth a bit more.
D’you ever think about your name? A name could hold a decade, a name could be a story.
Maybe, this is true religion. Quietude. Acts of kindness to my fellow man. Nothing transcendental. No promises of bread or resurrection. Just peace-inner peace-and soothing sounds you do not understand.
My favourite work by Chinua Achebe remains ‘Morning Yet on Creation Day’. In it, I discovered essays as an art form. It taught me to speak my mind, be principled and tell my story. I saw that in the instance when an expatriate housewife tried to tell him how he should have written one of his books. He calmly told her that the tasks of a housewife and art critic do not go hand in hand.
I think there is a crisis in our way of preparing youth for life. What has become increasingly clear is that education is not just about out conventional school matters like curriculum or standards or testing.
Felaism is holding on to the ideology and philosophy of Fela without pretense. Fela lives in your heart if you believe in fighting for the oppressed, struggling to liberate the people-not afraid of whatsoever challenges may come your way. Felaism is not about the recreational use of marijuana, and for the records, Abami Eda never wore pants on stage.
As development stories go, no nation develops in ease and quiet. After exertion comes enjoyment and the most massive nations are seared with scars.
In 2014, loneliness became a place, something I could walk into and tell you the colour of its walls. It’s actually a mix of pink with soft grays and slightly damp walls. You know, the kind of loneliness experienced by one in a big city where there’s a traffic jam, but you are alone in your car, windows wound up, doors manually locked, playing the latest Asa album. The one where you celebrate victories by opening a bottle of red alone, or giving your dog an extra helping of Jo-Jo lamb sauce.