Erere Onyeugbo

Hello there! I am Erere Onyeugbo, a content and copy writer based in Nigeria. I am ready to work with you to fulfil your writing needs. Ready? Take a look!
Medium •

Gravity God

Your lover had proven himself to you the first time you spoke of Ikechi’s death. You told him about the nightmares you were having as he moved fluidly through the kitchen, shutting and opening cabinets, whisking eggs and a panoply of ingredients in a slapdash manner. You had harrowing visions of a man hanging from a ceiling fans that had thick slews of cobwebs between its blades. You dreamt of a body struggling for breath, eyes bulging like a gargoyle, tongue turning blue, a network of veins sud
Medium •

Whatever Happened To Dinma?

Let me tell you how it all begins. First, we arrive innocent. Our daywear and uniforms are ironed and folded into neat, scented boxes. Our heads are closely shaved. Our skin is soft and supple, and our eyes are aglow with a pristine, wide eyed naiveté. Some of us still wet the bed. We roll out boxes across the dirt and granite till we get to the dorms smelling deeply of disinfectant and GBC air freshener. Everything appears neat but our senses are heightened at this deception. There is a thi
Medium •

Gravity God

Your lover had proven himself to you the first time you spoke of Ikechi’s death. You told him about the nightmares you were having as he moved fluidly through the kitchen, shutting and opening cabinets, whisking eggs and a panoply of ingredients in a slapdash manner. You had harrowing visions of a man hanging from a ceiling fans that had thick slews of cobwebs between its blades. You dreamt of a body struggling for breath, eyes bulging like a gargoyle, tongue turning blue, a network of veins sud
Tell! •

MIND CAGE

For years my mind has nettled me. I am the friend no one likes to visit because I nag about their dusty shoes, I yell about the way they leave creases on my bed when they lay on it, I shake with revulsion at lipstick stains on the glass cups when they come for a party. You see, I am a little too much. Always cleaning, wiping, disinfecting so much that people around me began to feel like dirt. Sometimes I can feel my insides turning on itself. The worms, piling on themselves. Why should there be
Medium •

How To Perform A Cathartic Ritual

When the memories tumble in like a landslide, let it. It is all a litany of suffocating pain that grabs you in a chokehold. Succumb. Your body revolts, remembers. Your limbs stretch in anxious yearning, your breath quivers, your heart constricts. Do not ask if you loved too much. You loved, and that is all that matters. Let your body soak in the bathtub, the water washing over you like a mock salvation. Submerge yourself in the loss. Your hands will hover around the dial button. You will
Medium •

Stuck in the Rut of ‘not writing’

So lately, I have been battling with penning down anything of significance to my literary growth. From having nothing to submit for multiple competitions with looming deadlines, to dealing with personal problems. I knew it had gotten really bad when I had a fallout with a friend (It was akin to a breakup), and I still couldn’t make a story out of it other than scribblings I did to make myself feel better– A little catharsis for a nagging pain. I blamed my lack of motivation for serious work on
Medium •

To all the Words I’ve Failed to Speak

When I read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s ‘Purple Hibiscus’, I immediately noted how one of the characters reminded me so much of myself, much to my chagrin. I was almost driven to self loathing and anger, as is expected when one is confronted with the truth. With Kambili, I shared a kinship. I could relate to trying to speak but having the words stuck to the roof of your tongue every time, and when they eventually find an escape, they do so in short bursts of stuttering adorned with nervousness.
Medium •

The Incidence of Sociopathy in Nigeria; Negligence and Impact of Religion

The Incidence of Sociopathy in Nigeria; Negligence and Impact of Religion We have probably stared murderers and rapists in the eye as we walked past them on the street without even knowing. In a country like Nigeria with heavy cultural expectations hinged on respect, you might have even wished them a jolly ‘Good Afternoon, Sah/Ma' and continued on your way, oblivious to the intents of their minds. Same for sociopaths. Ditto for psychopaths. Contrary to the idea peddled by movies and content o
Medium •

Remembering Chernobyl

There is a haunting nuclear city frozen in time. It is a punctuated by a vast emptiness, save for animals loitering about, breeding in numbers because they are excluded from poaching and consumption that would have been inevitable in the presence of humans. This ghost town is a relic itself. There are residential areas that tell the story of a hurried departure. An arbitrary decision, etched into an abandoned pair of shoes woven with cobwebs, peeling walls, school desks turned over, a Ferris w
Medium •

Veronika Decides To Die; A Review

Paulo Coelho in Veronika Decides to Die, intertwines fable with little doses of his personal experiences in a mental health facility. The story is reflective of the characters internal thoughts, which gradually guides the reader into introspection. Just like in The Alchemist, Veronika decides to die is laced with anecdotes, and each sentence is coated with Paulo’s philosophy on life in an interesting way. The story, as inferred by the title, starts with a young Slovenian woman bent on taking
AfricanWriter.com •

Brown Mango: Fiction by Erere Onyeugbo

It is just a few minutes past 11 a.m., and I am trudging across a narrow muddy path that leads home. I am sweaty and my breath is coming in shaky, discordant puffs. I am tired of running like a dolt without direction. The path is lined with grasses, shrubs, and ancient withering trees, and the air reeks of urine from a thousand passersby that have relieved themselves on this weary road. It rained earlier, yet the smell of stale urine overpowers the petrichor. Even more laughable is the fact tha