The tide was rising and a cloak of frigid air enfolded the Degema area. It was close to mid-night and the moon soared high into a nude sky. Standing on the veranda of the lower deck of our houseboat which had been carefully moored on the banks of Sambreiro River, somewhere between Nkpor and Ilelema…
My name is Dàda Àreògún. I am a wood carver. A lot of you may not know me, but I am sure that by the time you’re reading this story, my name would have been etched on the sands of time. I was born in 1880 in a small quiet village called Osi-Ilorin, located at…
You visit a village in south-western Nigeria and see a group of men standing or sitting beneath the shade of a tree canopy, around two men seated on a bench and facing each other with a wooden board between them- a wooden board incised with two rows of six holes each, containing heaps of green…