So We Do Not Forget - Letter to My Sweetheart

Letter to My Sweetheart by Rita

My Sweetheart,

How are you doing? Why am I asking this rhetorical question? I know it has been very hard for you since June 3rd2012. I know at this time you are inconsolable, but believe me, time heals all wounds and God will comfort you in His own special way.

Recall that whenever I travelled, I always sent you a mail on my arrival to tell you about the journey. That is why I am sending you this mail because I have arrived safely, but at a destination we did not expect. I am going to start with the moment we boarded the flight from Abuja to Lagos.

So We Do Not Forget - Final Boarding Call

Final Boarding Call by Walter Uchenna Ede

“This is the final boarding call for all passengers going to Lagos!” the voice of the female automaton blared from the loudspeakers of the public address system. I looked grudgingly up from the page of my Vince Flynn novel, dragging my attention from the point where Mitch Rapp had been about to blast yet another Middle Eastern terrorist to hell where there won’t be any fifty virgins waiting to receive him. I glanced round as the line shuffling past the check-in counter trudged on faster than it had been before. That was the final boarding call for my flight and these people are still crawling forward as though they had all the time in the world, I thought with some asperity.

Right in front of me was a young boy, roughly my age, clad in the de rigueur low-slung jeans over his nonexistent buttocks, his boxers peeking out from beneath his slim-fitting T-Shirt. With his Mohawk haircut and earphones strapped over his ears, he completed the image of nearly every youngster in Nigeria – an image I didn’t particularly like. I don’t know why this male fashion sense was so in vogue, but I wasn’t impressed by it at all.

So We Do Not Forget - Laugh Lines

Laugh Lines by Kiah

He went missing on a cold Sunday morning; as if to remind the world that he was warmth itself.

I did not need reminding.

He left, and no matter the many layers of clothing that shield me against the cold harmattan wind that blows from the North, warmth has failed to return to the part of my heart that was his.

The night before that cold Sunday morning, he called me on the shiny new cellphone he had bought me on his last business trip. I had not needed a new phone. My old one was barely a year old, another souvenir from one of the many far away lands my lover often visited. Odinaka loved giving presents and I loved seeing his face light up in anticipation as I opened the numerous parcels he always brought back.

‘Ezinne.’ He said that night.

‘Odinaka.’ I had answered with a smile on my face.

‘How many more hours till I get to see your beautiful face? How many more minutes till I can hold you in my arms, eh? Time spent away from you always seems so much longer that it really is. You have really bewitched me, Ifunanya. It is about time I made you my wife and carried you along on all these trips.’

So We Do Not Forget - Turn To Dust

Download the complete anthology.

Turn To Dust by Raymond

CHIKE:

It is raining.

I walk down this street, my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, hood over my head. I don’t remember how I got here, and even the name of the street eludes me, just as understanding, and peace, eludes me. In my right pocket, I softly stroke the piece of metal I’d picked on that day, not too far from the crash site.

The day the sky fell down.

The day life decided that it…that it…

“Hey Mum! Come quickly! You don’t want to be late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she answers, laughing as she runs to the car. “This boy, you want me to fall? See how you are making me run!”

So We do Not Forget - The Moon at Noon…

The Moon At Noon by Oluwafunminiyi

6pm. Thunder crashes loudly in the distance.

“Temi, have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

They sit together on a sofa in the living room. There is a respectable distance between them. Ron Kenoly is on tv doing “Let it rain”. It rains heavily.

“No…”

“Never?”

“Never…”

“I think I have, you just weren’t listening…”

“Hmmm…the ears never forget Tade…”

“Oh, but they do…”

“No they don’t; the just choose what to listen to…”

So We Do Not Forget - PS, I Love You

On June 4th 2012, I called on the general public to contribute to an anthology in commemoration all those lost in Dana Airlines Flight 9J-992 from Abuja to Lagos on Sunday 3rd of June. Several entries were received at naijastories.com and for the next few days, I'll be publishing some of them here. You can click this link to download the complete anthology.

PS, I Love You by Ife Watson

You sang and whistled to yourself as you lathered your body in the bathroom that morning. As you climbed out of the bath tub, your feet slipped and your head hit the hand basin hard. You yelped in pain and went to the mirror to check your face. You saw a lump; the size of a guinea fowl’s egg on your forehead. You were not one to wallow in self-pity, so you went to the freezer to get some ice to put on it. As you entered the room, you hit your right foot against the chest of drawers. This time, you groaned in pain like a bitch dog in labour. You snapped your fingers in a swift motion around your head and threw your fingers backward into the air.