#ola faleti

[poemswhileyouwait]

"love" by Ola Faleti -- Memento Mori Gala at the International Museum of Surgical Science, 10.31.24

[missspoken]

Miss Spoken - CATCALL

We are really excited for the next Miss Spoken show, our live lit show that features lady-identifying performers.

The theme for the night will be CATCALL.

We have a great line-up!

Lily Be

Ola Faleti

Lauren Jordan

Megan Henricks

Hosted by @rosamundt & @jasmined Come out to hear some amazing stories! Hope to see you there! $5 suggested donation, all proceeds go to our readers

FB event listing: https://www.facebook.com/events/268974520403049/

[sweetest-teeth]

36. Arrested Development

(I pitched this over the summer and never heard anything back from the folks I pitched it to, so what the hell. One last essay for 2017)

Three weeks ago I had an accidental hospital visit. Accidental means that I got entirely too drunk and someone called an ambulance for me. As I walked to work the next morning, wondering how the fuck I’d make it through an 8-hour work-day with a massive hangover, the other thought occupying my mind was about my incoming hospital bill. Not just how I was going to pay it (my insurance had not kicked in then) but how I was going to explain it. To my parents. To my nosy mom who definitely knows what a hospital bill looks like and who’s going to ask, “what happened?” Lying is tiresome. When the time comes, I will come clean. There are too many parts of myself that I keep hidden from them as is.

I think I know what Arrested Development means now, seeing how I’ve been forced to reevaluate adulthood and the things that adults supposedly have. Some “adult” things I have: student loans, credit card bills, ⅓ of the rent, my phone bill. Adult things I don’t have: a lease with my name on it. College felt like the ultimate autonomy. I was free to skip class, drink in my dorm/house, bring home whoever I wanted (if I felt the need), obligated to little else but thrice-weekly phone calls with the ‘rents. I tasted freedom and then I had to swallow it and forget it in the heat of my air-conditionless apartment, which I moved back to two summers ago.

The months after I moved home, Apartment Therapy and Ikea’s website were bookmarked in my browser. “How to decorate a studio apartment” was in my top Google searches. Ideally, a studio with hardwood floors, a big window overlooking the street and a ledge for me to plant all my succulents on. Oh, and jasmine-scented candles in every room. And a wine rack that’s always half-full. A welcome contrast to the plethora of wine bottles tucked in the discreet corners of my bedroom. Yes, I’m almost 25 but I also live in a Muslim household. I don’t believe my parents want to think of their daughter as someone who gets drunk on occasion. I already sense the judgment in my mom’s voice if I even mention going out for a drink with friends...hence why I’ve stopped mentioning it. Little does she know the number of times I’ve come home cross-faded, seeing stars but keeping my face composed when she comes in without knocking, which happened a couple weeks ago.

“Here.” She handed me a blue slip of paper with questions on it. “Your brother filled one out too, The Mosque is having a youth leadership group for its members...You’re a member you know.” I’m a member even though I never go to mosque, feel displaced as any time I am there, don’t know any prayers and have never fasted an entire Ramadan. I wish I could be that daughter sometimes - the dutiful one. The one who grows up to take her own kids to mosque. The one who marries a Nigerian or first-gen boy like me.Those are promises I can’t make and expectations I won’t hold up to. I don’t care for organized religion, quite frankly, and would rather read than cook for men who wouldn’t lay a hand to help me.

I am a master planner and list keeper. It’s the analytical Virgo in me and it’s how I stay independent of anyone’s expectations other than my own. So I plan my eventual move, which is next summer. I think of three as my serendipitous number so after three summers at home I think the stars can align to get me out of here. I keep my seething to a minimum when friends my own age and younger tell me they’ve just signed leases of their own. Sometimes I’ll walk down my favorite side-streets, like Paulina, Leland and Balmoral. I stop in front of the signs that say “Studios and 1-br available.” I eye the buildings attached to the signs - usually brick with a small yard of flowers in front - and imagine how much I’d need to make to afford the place. $1,000/biweekly, post-taxes?

I am lucky. I have a solid enough relationship with my parents to live at home. I can save money. Even better, I live in a city with endless things to do. Public transit is about as good as it gets, minus New York. So I find my independence in the streets. I find it in museums, in the networking events I force myself to attend, and at the open mics where I tell myself to stop being a chicken shit and just go up to read. I keep dating to a minimum. Half the dates are duds anyway. The guy is boring or not as tall as his profile says, or both. I’ve sensed the degradation that’s happened when I am on a date and asked about my living situation. Immediately after graduation my response was “Yeah, I just graduated and moved back home.” After a year, “Yeah, I graduated last year and now I’m saving to move out.” Now, two years later later it’s “I’m doing an Americorps year and they don’t pay shit so, yeah, I’m cutting down costs.” It’s a silent judgment I can feel. Or else it’s just in my head, like too many things are.

I exercise my body’s ability to go anywhere. I have two legs that work wonderfully. I have a transit pass. I have my smile, friendly banter and disarming affability. These five fingers work too, dammit. One day all my parts will converge to do something beyond planning. My self-sovereignty will come. In the meantime I entertain another year of concealed pinot noir bottles and toilet seats left up. The last year, Inshallah. The last year.

[gistabout]

ADEBAYO FALETI’S BURIAL: He forgave woman, children that offended him — Cleric

ADEBAYO FALETI’S BURIAL: He forgave woman, children that offended him — Cleric

By Ola Ajayi

Ibadan—THE ace broadcaster and custodian of Yoruba culture, Alagba Adebayo Faleti, who died some weeks ago was quoted as saying before his death, that he had forgiven a woman and two of his children who offended him.

Adebayo Faleti

This was disclosed by a clergyman, Revd Diti Ambolu, Pastor of the Salem Baptist Church, Yemetu Aladorin, Ibadan, who delivered the sermon at…

[musicalng-blog]

ADEBAYO FALETI’S BURIAL: He forgave woman, children that offended him — Cleric By Ola Ajayi Ibadan—THE ace broadcaster and custodian of Yoruba culture, Alagba Adebayo Faleti, who died some weeks ago was quoted as saying before his death, that he had forgiven a woman and two of his children who offended him.

[olutaller-blog]

Sympathisers throng Faleti’s home, as more eulogise pour in

Sympathisers throng Faleti’s home, as more eulogise pour in

[ad_1]

By Ola Ajayi & Monsuru Olowoopejo

SCORES of sympathisers, yesterday, thronged the home of the late renowned author, poet, broadcaster and actor, Pa Adebayo Faleti, who died on Sunday.

Women, who besieged Faleti’s premises located  at Olororo area of Ojoo, Ibadan, Oyo State, wept uncontrollably, while men were seen in groups discussing his sudden demise.

Adebayo Faleti: passes on at 86

M…

[marginsmag]

Learning to Ride

Ola Faleti takes a nostalgic look back on when she learned to ride a bike and the feeling of breathless freedom.

There’s a small handful or western rites-of-passage that skipped over me. Going to sleepaway camp, becoming blood siblings with someone and, oh yeah–learning to ride a bike.

My parents claimed the trike they bought me when I was little broke, and they never got me a new one. When I was little I opted to roller blade, or jump rope, or ride scooters. I wasn’t thinking about this unspoken skill that I never mastered–at least, until riding your scooter wasn’t cool anymore and my best friend, Hannah began riding her bike again.

Read Learning to Ride by Ola Faleti, with illustrations by Eleanor Maples.

[poemswhileyouwait]

"espionage" by Ola Faleti -- Museum of Science & Industry Spies vs. Villains, 7.18.24

[poemswhileyouwait]

"Luck" by Ola Faleti, Lisa Farver, Eric Plattner, & Kathleen Rooney -- MSI's Spies vs. Villains party, 7.18.24

[poemswhileyouwait]

"remodel" by Ola Faleti -- Chicago Symphony Orchestra, 2.2.24

[poemswhileyouwait]

"hurrah!" by Ola Faleti -- Chicago Symphony Orchestra, 2.2.24

[poemswhileyouwait]

"tech armageddon" by Ola Faleti -- Chicago Symphony Orchestra, 2.2.24

[poemswhileyouwait]

"unleashed" by Ola Faleti -- Cliff Dwellers Club Holiday Tea, 11.30.23

[poemswhileyouwait]

"the edge of the universe" by Ola Faleti -- Cliff Dwellers Holiday Tea, 11.30.23

[poemswhileyouwait]

"new beginnings" by Ola Faleti -- Randolph Street Market, 5.28.23

[poemswhileyouwait]

“new beginnings” by Ola Faleti -- StoryStudio StoryBall, 4.28.23