Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope

The Photo Traveler is a really good book. I highly recommend it. If you like sci-fi thrillers, then this is a book for you. Even if you don’t, I am sure you will enjoy this book tremendously.
The Photo Traveler starts out with Gavin, who has been adopted by an abusive family. He believes his parents have been killed in a fire. The adoptive father had not always been abusive until his wife was murdered at a store, while she and Gavin were out shopping with their daughter, Mel. After that day, Jet, his adoptive father, blamed Gavin and made him pay by beating him.
Gavin finds out he actually has biological grandparents that are still alive, and sets off to Washington DC to find them. Once there, they tell him that he is a Photo Traveler, and his parents may not indeed be dead. He also finds out that there are people after them for vials that contain a liquid that will allow travel at any time, not just through photos taken in the past. With those vials they could change the world. Gavin goes through many surprising journeys trying to find the truth of his life, and the lives of his grandparents, and to find out how the vials are used to change history and possibly the future.
I very highly recommend The Photo Traveler and cannot wait for the second book to come out. Thanks for the great book, Mr. Gonzalez. The Photo Traveler is definitely my cup of tea!!
The Photo Traveler may be ordered here: http://www.amazon.com/Photo-Traveler-ebook/dp/B00BI4KEQC/
Elizabeth Hughes is a reviewer from San Jose, CA who loves suspense, mystery, action and books of all sorts. She may be reached at hugheselizabeth@rocketmail.com and seeks paid freelance writing opportunities. 

Essay from Ayokunle Adeleye

In Defense of the ASUU STRIKE.

Resolved: ASUU strikes are utterly ineffective, totally uncalled for,
profoundly senseless, and the students are always the only victims.

Defense: It is no news that the Academic Staff Union of Universities
(ASUU) had, for the past three years, embarked on shorter warning
strikes over the non-implementation of its Agreement with the Federal
Goverment (FG) with the general public- and market women- haplessly
looking on and seemingly enjoying the show; after all, silence means
consent. Finally, the perpetual stimulus has reached threshold
potential and the whole nation runs amok over a long-foreseen and
imminent tetanic contraction. Abaa!

Where was the Senate during those calmer, but innoculating, times when
ASUU yelled and none responded. Wasn’t this the same Senate that would
rather cut off our petroleum product subsidy than starve their obese
allowances? Now that ASUU has thrown away its hearing aid we blame her
for a deafness we all share(d), a deafness we stubbornly refused to
acknowledge before now. Did we not know that following prior
innoculation, the (immune) response tended to be faster, stronger and
of longer duration? Did we think all was well with our ailing
varsities and the half-baked, hardly employable, products they churned
out- overcrowded and antiquated ovens that they have become?

Alas! It is now that we realise that the guillotine is not the cure
for the hailing head. The FG can spend N350m to renovate a residence
(of the permanent representative to the UN, we are told) but our
universities can rot for all they care! And ASUU must not go on
industrial action? Then who will?- and what will?

If U don’t want strike then what do U want? Silence? Mona Lisa
attitude: sad and smiling; suffering and smiling? That we Nigerians
have been known for the world over- and for a long time now? Dialogue?
Who, in their right minds, would dialogue with a blind government-
blinded to and by corruption in unthinkable quarters and to
unspeakable depths? Or why would an elected official hide behind
bullet-proof doors if not to hide his/her stench from the malnourished
polity s/he has lived off, an undying parasite that s/he is? And why
would a governor deny his own country, his own people, legal import
duty on the wealth he extracted from us anyway? And now that he
perceives we’re wasteland we must not benefit from his huge purchase-
nor must our professionals be employed on it. Greed. Greed. Greed. And
greed! But the river that forgets its source shall soon dry.

Alas, in Nigeria, your rights are not pre-ordained; you fight till you
are reckoned with. That’s the Nigeria we’ve come to see. (A Nigeria
where 16 trumps 19 in a majority vote. Where Governors enjoying
constitutional immunity cannot meet peacefully without invasive Police
interruption in their lodges. Where ordinary Nigerians cannot assemble
to protest unfavourable FG policies- and inactions on corrupt
purchases- without pervasive military occupation in our streets.)

So, if ASUU hadn’t gone on this strike would the Almighty Bros J- the
other, human, J- meet with them for 13 hours? If U think that’s a Yes,
why then did it take him 4 whole months? Not to be missed is the
fire-brigade approach- typical of Nigeria, alas not only in Sports-: a
lingering, festering, 4-month-old strike was to be called off in the
twinkling of an eye when the Paramount Ruler would not bat his eyelid
for 123 days- just because he has finally said so!

Nigeria we hail thee…

Oh, and to say that all students are the victim(s) of this strike will
be to commit the famous Fallacy of Composition: Alas, not all students
are jobless- and joblessly roaming about the streets- some of us have
actually taken this time-out to try our hands in some business or the
other, learn a trade, or practise our calling and sharpen our skills.
Life is tough, life is a competition; and strikes are just one of
those volcanic eruptions by which the strong and sturdy are separated
from the weak and feeble!

Perhaps another are those election violence we have to be part of
because our (literal) grandfathers still wallow in politics and will
not just dive in and be meals for the fish. They’d rather we wear life
vests- riddled with the holes of their mischief- and dive in to save
their sinking, stinking, political careers. So they can be President
or Governors, and Senators, and Honourables at all cost- human lives
not exempted!

Everything aforesaid is in my opinion, as is this: Anyone older than
the country Nigeria has no business whatsoever ruling in whatever
capacity. We’ve had enough of you; you’ve overstayed your (stolen)
welcome. An actor leaves the stage when the ovation is loudest, to
stay a second longer is for, in the words of the immortal Tai Solarin
which I will undoubtedly jumble up, the housefly to meet the toileting
bushman yet toileting. Ẹ lọ sẹ́mpẹ́. Una don try. Au revoir!

Ayokunle Adeleye. Undergraduate. Ogun State.

Poetry from Emma Eisler


Flight and Fall


Give me a ticket to your carnival show

I want to watch you whirl through the big-tent

I’ll sneak in; ride on the wave of ten-dollar perfume and fallen dreams

Perpetual chatter, ersatz happiness

Performers whose illusions lure only the lonely

I’ll wait with you backstage

You’ll whisper in my ear,

That’s the boy who flies the highest, but he’ll fall the fastest

That’s the girl who started out selling pocket candy and possibility”

And which are you?” I’ll ask

You’ll look away and answer, “The girl who loves to dance”

But I already knew that

I’ll look at your arsenic eyes and licorice hair

At your tapping foot that’s itching to be free

Just like the rest of you

You’re the girl who loves to dance

So much she’ll die dancing, frail legs spinning

Hummingbird heart whirring in her final thrill

The lights and colors pull you away, on stage

And you never bothered to ask, “Which are you?”

Too entranced by the circus of your desire

Tunnel vision of all you wish to do

But if you’d asked, I’d answer,

I’m the boy who loves to watch, so much he’d die watching,

Drown in the scent of cotton candy,

Spiraling flight of trapeze artists wishing for wings”

But even if you asked, you wouldn’t hear me anyway

Because for you, love has always been a softer shade

Than longing 

Poetry from Amina Aineb


A Bizarre Way of Walking to a House

How bizarre it was to walk from the Bazaar,

the gypsy night parade to my abode

and the tiptoe of trepidation.

No longer do I know

daisy dew in darling day

so I’ll scream it all in some bizarre way:

A girl, walking, folded into a defensive pounce.

What lurks in these

forests of houses?

She paces herself and tries not to look vulnerable.

Step beat pause sweat. Soon,

her march slain by the meander—

the sharp sidewalk, the dying spotlight glow of streetlights,

the animal in that house’s alley, the tall swinging beings

that carry no torches, rubber meshing with asphalt in tires, on her feet,

spacious air and night humidity licking her shoulders and she


how could she not know


of this spirit world


I’ll die with no requests from my abode.

In the day, I’ll sleep eagerly

And in the day, perhaps you might see me,

the stranger smiling on the street.