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Books

Human Of My Kind

In Human of My Kind, A. U. Ezemson crafts a heartfelt and unflinching tribute to love, identity, faith, and the enduring strength of the human spirit. Through rich poetry and soul-baring reflections, he invites you into a world where pain and beauty walk side by side — a world shaped by the African experience but resonant with anyone who has...

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CHASING CLOSURE : A Life Balanced on The Edge of Belonging

It is a memoir and narration of my life and childhood that started in a dysfunctional family and subsequent challenges that I faced in a bid to make sense of where I truly belong in life. It deals with issues of faith, my life as an illegal immigrant in the UK and the challenges of even living a life where I was afraid of even celebrating a...

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Blog

Half-Circles Hold More Truth Than Wholes I was five years old the day my

I was five years old the day my mother came to see us.

The evening sun must have been setting like a defiant chief on the western side of Niellé, leaving behind a stubborn reminder of its heat. The brown earth still baked beneath our feet, and the air carried the mingled smells of dried fish, spices, and palm oil drifting from the nearby stalls. Somewhere close, I was playing with other children beside the only photo studio, Master’s Photo Studio, just opposite the market. The sound of our...

What My Grandmother Taught Me About Strength When I think about strength,

When I think about strength, my mind doesn’t go first to soldiers or leaders or people who conquered nations.

It goes to my grandmother. I would have died as a todler, exept for her.

She was not tall. She did not command a room with her voice. In fact, she often spoke so softly you had to lean in to catch her words. But there was something unshakable in the way she carried herself. A steadiness, like the earth itself.

I remember watching her rise before dawn, her hands already at work long...

The Day That Changed Everything  Every story has a beginning, but not

Every story has a beginning, but not every beginning tells the whole story

I remember 1985 and 1987 as if it were yesterday.

The air was heavy, thick with the kind of silence that warns you something is about to break. One moment I was just a boy, playing with other children with nothing but laughter in my chest. The next, I stood frozen, watching a scene of rage between my mothers unfold that would mark me for life, as I would be latter shipped and dumped in Nigeria.

I did not prepare for...

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