Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Selfie

Enlarge poem

“Ha-ha-ha-ha, did you see my Selfie?” she asks
Poised, with red lips, Ruby Woo no less,
Angle perfect, sucked in, holding her breathe
Till her sides gave up and gave in to a forced curve,
“Click”,
But look, just to her right, there, behind her a pile of bodies lay bare
Red, like her lipstick stained around the edges
Red, like blood flowing from unformed limbed and 29 unbirthed dreams in Nyanya
Capture this Selfie, selfie, flies selfishly gathering at untimely celebrations,
Death, like a foolish man’s dreams coming to pass
At his “Click”, bombs detonate in time to capture the reality of these still pictures
telling relaxed men in business suits in a safe southern distance that time is running mad
Still, Ms. Selfie is passing on by like time is passing us by
But in this one moment her pout parts open onto perfectly set teeth:
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

He stands before a green vehicle Benz in Dubai
He’s gone there just for the weekend, he’s a baller, no lie
How to tell the countless chics back home that he is the one they should all give in to?
He stands to the side and clicks on the evidence of his masculinity
Him, before a green Mercedez Benz that belongs to a Saudi Prince
All the while before him flashing images splinter false realities in three
See, Ademola Aderinde burning brightly, wearing his last tee shirt -green
Green, like not long ago, when he protested the petroleum subsidy
Subverting complacence; attempting a brand new revolution
His innocent vocal guns loaded with harmless bullets – chanting,
Until our hired protectors put an end to his vocal chorus
Still, we with cracked voices continue to pay high fuel prices…
Green, like the prior promise of fertility on our Nations flag
Green, like the fiery envy of Mr. I’ve-been-to-Dubai’s third side chick
Green, like his passport hidden behind the flaps of burgundy lips telling of shame
Green, like the lies he tells himself and every chick he’s been with:
“I am a man of my word, baby – trust me”:
But just go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

I strike a pose with my baby, except he is not really mine…click!
Married, like promises carelessly made at altars cared less for,
Married, like his wife wearing day dreams filled with blue stillness
Blue, like the silence of her footfalls railing on against truth on cold marble floors
Blue, like her staring emptily at 6:00 am waiting for him to come through the front doors
Blue, like the kisses he plants on her cheeks that speak of nothing at all
Blue, like the bed sheets we spend our nights until morning when he returns to being hers
Blue, like the car he bought me on their 10th wedding anniversary
Blue, like the ring he bought me on our 10th anniversary
Blue, like the tablets she takes; fighting off my presence in our wedding band for three
Blue, like Viagra on his double edged tongue reaching for more at half past three
Blue, like the dress Monica wore the day she sold out to Bill
Blue, like the sea of loneliness spreading “wake up” all over me
Still this Selfie will give hope, presently;
In this Selfie, at least for today, he is my baby
Hey, go on and go on, see our Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…

Click…
And this is what we do,
We click away things that are substantial
Focus lenses on the things inconsequential
All of us, looking endlessly for a moment that is free
Of all oppression and things that assail us daily
Click…behind us dusty children return hurriedly from school
Confused, unlearned and half full like a poor mans’ lunch box
Striking teachers will impart nothing on emptying hunger pangs
Salaries are diverted and education stands still, unemployed
Our kinsmen that lead us don’t love us, and we don’t even love ourselves
It is us leading us, us killing us…
(sigh) There is none of us, clean; none is guilt-free
Each of us, is red, is green and is blue
Each of us, me…and each of us, you
But what can we do
What can we do
What we do….? Click…
Take a Selfie,
Take a Selfie…
Take a Selfie…Click
What can we do
What can we do
What we do….?
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click

Donna Ogunnaike

Featured Poem:

Touch

Enlarge poem

“Ka’ale oko mi, ka’abo.”… Yoruba mother welcoming her child;
“Ka Chukwu go zie gi”…Igbo Elder blessing a loved one;
“Sorry now…oya, don’t cry anymore. Okay?”…elder sibling appeasing younger one
“Allah ki yaye zaman’ lafia”…Hausa relative offering prayers before a long journey
“My guy…i don miss you die! How far now?!” the young generation greeting friends in pidgin English

All expressions/ All wholesomely Nigerian,
All nuances wholesomely ours/ All we have ever known from ages past,
All accompanied with…touch.

Communal living birthing a Nation’s communion in feelings expressed through …touch
These expressions have borne us through tears; have comforted, empathized, related,
created mutual understanding sometimes in silence,
It is these expressions that made wars easier, ethnic, colonial and civil; all terrors waded like warring waters through us.

All we knew among tears, smiles, consolation was…touch
We touched stones, food and even gods with libations made at the early rise of the Sun,
In present tenses we touch senses, holy handshakes pass and touch heavens with fervent prayers
And then there came …Ebola.
This virus that seeks to take away the one language we have learnt peaceably through time
This virus that pretends it understands our language…
It touches skin then eats heart and hope and leaves us empty

But run, Nigerian child, and do not stop
In this place where all things terrorize us at the break of day
Our language of touch has been perverted in many different ways
If Boko Haram does not get you, it reaches out to unending traffic; which hold on to potholes to make your day harder;
Potholes touch road robbers;
Road robbers touch bags;
Touched bags get home empty, touching the part of the heart that reminds you “it should not be this way”;
Salaries touch high prices for goods;
Landlord touches front doors requesting for anything the road robbers left;
Front doors touch exposed electricity wires which fail to touch stable power supply;
So darkness touches mosquitoes and mosquitoes greet malaria;
Malaria touches hospitals that will not treat you unless you have proof of payment;
Proof of payment touches that part of your heart that reminds you: “it should not be this way”.
And in comes …Ebola…touching fear, touching minds, making hope just a little harder to hold on to
So run, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
Run from…touch.

This virus is related to one that has been with us for far too long;
The Government was the first to spread us with its symptoms that:
Erodes consciences,
Make rich ritualists
Hardens Mothers
Initiates young men and women into superfluous unstable lifestyles
Creates criminals of what should be scientists; trading secrets, manufacturing fake medicines
Makes visions of private jets a blatant testament of destinies stolen
Touching nerves, leading the restless to jail

So run, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
For the language we learnt of love has been thwarted,
Touch knows us no longer; Touch wants us no more;
Touch is now distant; touch knows many perverse things

But run, Nigerian child, and do not stop until we restore the former borders,
Return to that quiet place then, work, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
Self-governed as you are excelling in all things but governance,
Do not stop, bring home those medals; excel in fields of song, of art, of poems told in tales by moonlight
Do not break rank; do not sit in silence,
Excel in education, we no longer care if its at home or abroad,
Tell of your Country in screaming, still silent words,
That proclaims our excellence in spite of homemade wars.

Work, Nigerian child, and do not stop!
Until our individual victories shame our collective complacence,
Until our personal victories shroud corrupt practices,
Until ineptitude is unable to touch seats of power,
Until education rids us of diseases unnecessarily increasing mortality rates,
Until our sweat returns to us our heritage,
Our inheritance, our language

Run, Nigerian child, and do not stop
Until we can once again say:
“Ka’ale oko mi, ka’abo.”…
“Ka Chukwu go zie gi”…
“Sorry now…oya, don’t cry anymore. Okay?”…
“Allah ki yaye; zaman’ lafia”…
“My guy…i don miss you die! How far now?!”
All our expressions; all our wholesome Nigerians,
All of us finally sane; all we have ever known from ages past,
All, once more, accompanied with…touch.

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (6)
  • Pride (4)
  • Optimism (5)
  • Anger (1)
  • Delight (2)
  • Inspiration (6)
  • Reflection (4)
  • Captivation (7)
  • Peace (1)
  • Amusement (3)
  • Sorrow (2)
  • Vigour (2)
  • Hope (7)
  • Sadness (3)
  • Fear (2)
  • Jubilation (1)

Comments

  1. I am touched…..I watched your spoken words performance,I read your poems……..all I can say is am touched……I now believe I poetry….I have learnt a lot from you….you have opened my eyes wide….now I can see poetry in a different dimension…Miss Doña thank you

    Shimmy
  2. Aaaaaawww, thank you so much Shimmy. I am sorry I am only just replying as I had not visited in a while. Thank you.

    Donna
  3. You are simply amazing. I was tourched by your inspirational talk last night at Palazo dumont.”Lifeonpurose” programme. Im looking forward to having you on my magazine “Spurrer” . It will be my great privilege to have ur email addy. Mine is folajuyin@gmail.com

    folasade olajuyin esq

Your email address will not be published.

Biography

Poet, writer and Energy Law expert, Donna is arguably the most compelling voice in Nigeria’s intense performance poetry circuit today. She has been described in the only ranking effort for spoken word in Nigeria (EGC Platform) as the “queen of spoken word poetry in Nigeria” for the year 2013 and ranked amongst the top 20 poets in Nigeria in the year 2012.

She is a Partner in the Law Firm of Adepetun, Caxton-Martins, Agbor & Segun where she has earned herself the prized ranking of “Rising Star” in 2014 and 2015 from IFLR 1000 for the World’s Leading Lawyers. When she is not providing expert advice to clients, Donna invests her energies in performed poetry and was formerly a co-coordinator of the well established Nigerian platform for art expression, Freedom Hall. She is a regular act on platforms like Taruwa, Freedom Hall and Word Up (where she has been a judge of poetry slams severally and was a facilitator at their event “The Business of Spoken Word in Nigeria, 2014” where she taught a sizeable audience of spoken word artistes on perfecting their act “From Page to Stage”).

Donna has been called upon for landmark events where only the finest acts are selected such as Nigeria’s 1st Cultural Trade Show (2014) tagged “Business Meets Culture” hosted by the Nigerian-German Business Association, the Lagos Black Heritage Festival and the WS 80 (celebrating Professor Wole Soyinka). DONNA was also the only Nigerian and one of 11 women elected by ONE.ORG for the National Month of Poetry, 2014 on its “National Poetry Month: Uplifting Verses From 11 Strong Female Poets”, alongside greats like Maya Angelou and Naomi Shihab Nye.

Her debut audio album “Water For Roses” is now available for purchase, with a formal launch to follow by April, 2015

Donna Ogunnaike

Biography

Poet, writer and Energy Law expert, Donna is arguably the most compelling voice in Nigeria’s intense performance poetry circuit today. She has been described in the only ranking effort for spoken word in Nigeria (EGC Platform) as the “queen of spoken word poetry in Nigeria” for the year 2013 and ranked amongst the top 20 poets in Nigeria in the year 2012.

She is a Partner in the Law Firm of Adepetun, Caxton-Martins, Agbor & Segun where she has earned herself the prized ranking of “Rising Star” in 2014 and 2015 from IFLR 1000 for the World’s Leading Lawyers. When she is not providing expert advice to clients, Donna invests her energies in performed poetry and was formerly a co-coordinator of the well established Nigerian platform for art expression, Freedom Hall. She is a regular act on platforms like Taruwa, Freedom Hall and Word Up (where she has been a judge of poetry slams severally and was a facilitator at their event “The Business of Spoken Word in Nigeria, 2014” where she taught a sizeable audience of spoken word artistes on perfecting their act “From Page to Stage”).

Donna has been called upon for landmark events where only the finest acts are selected such as Nigeria’s 1st Cultural Trade Show (2014) tagged “Business Meets Culture” hosted by the Nigerian-German Business Association, the Lagos Black Heritage Festival and the WS 80 (celebrating Professor Wole Soyinka). DONNA was also the only Nigerian and one of 11 women elected by ONE.ORG for the National Month of Poetry, 2014 on its “National Poetry Month: Uplifting Verses From 11 Strong Female Poets”, alongside greats like Maya Angelou and Naomi Shihab Nye.

Her debut audio album “Water For Roses” is now available for purchase, with a formal launch to follow by April, 2015

Selfie

Enlarge poem

“Ha-ha-ha-ha, did you see my Selfie?” she asks
Poised, with red lips, Ruby Woo no less,
Angle perfect, sucked in, holding her breathe
Till her sides gave up and gave in to a forced curve,
“Click”,
But look, just to her right, there, behind her a pile of bodies lay bare
Red, like her lipstick stained around the edges
Red, like blood flowing from unformed limbed and 29 unbirthed dreams in Nyanya
Capture this Selfie, selfie, flies selfishly gathering at untimely celebrations,
Death, like a foolish man’s dreams coming to pass
At his “Click”, bombs detonate in time to capture the reality of these still pictures
telling relaxed men in business suits in a safe southern distance that time is running mad
Still, Ms. Selfie is passing on by like time is passing us by
But in this one moment her pout parts open onto perfectly set teeth:
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

He stands before a green vehicle Benz in Dubai
He’s gone there just for the weekend, he’s a baller, no lie
How to tell the countless chics back home that he is the one they should all give in to?
He stands to the side and clicks on the evidence of his masculinity
Him, before a green Mercedez Benz that belongs to a Saudi Prince
All the while before him flashing images splinter false realities in three
See, Ademola Aderinde burning brightly, wearing his last tee shirt -green
Green, like not long ago, when he protested the petroleum subsidy
Subverting complacence; attempting a brand new revolution
His innocent vocal guns loaded with harmless bullets – chanting,
Until our hired protectors put an end to his vocal chorus
Still, we with cracked voices continue to pay high fuel prices…
Green, like the prior promise of fertility on our Nations flag
Green, like the fiery envy of Mr. I’ve-been-to-Dubai’s third side chick
Green, like his passport hidden behind the flaps of burgundy lips telling of shame
Green, like the lies he tells himself and every chick he’s been with:
“I am a man of my word, baby – trust me”:
But just go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

I strike a pose with my baby, except he is not really mine…click!
Married, like promises carelessly made at altars cared less for,
Married, like his wife wearing day dreams filled with blue stillness
Blue, like the silence of her footfalls railing on against truth on cold marble floors
Blue, like her staring emptily at 6:00 am waiting for him to come through the front doors
Blue, like the kisses he plants on her cheeks that speak of nothing at all
Blue, like the bed sheets we spend our nights until morning when he returns to being hers
Blue, like the car he bought me on their 10th wedding anniversary
Blue, like the ring he bought me on our 10th anniversary
Blue, like the tablets she takes; fighting off my presence in our wedding band for three
Blue, like Viagra on his double edged tongue reaching for more at half past three
Blue, like the dress Monica wore the day she sold out to Bill
Blue, like the sea of loneliness spreading “wake up” all over me
Still this Selfie will give hope, presently;
In this Selfie, at least for today, he is my baby
Hey, go on and go on, see our Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…

Click…
And this is what we do,
We click away things that are substantial
Focus lenses on the things inconsequential
All of us, looking endlessly for a moment that is free
Of all oppression and things that assail us daily
Click…behind us dusty children return hurriedly from school
Confused, unlearned and half full like a poor mans’ lunch box
Striking teachers will impart nothing on emptying hunger pangs
Salaries are diverted and education stands still, unemployed
Our kinsmen that lead us don’t love us, and we don’t even love ourselves
It is us leading us, us killing us…
(sigh) There is none of us, clean; none is guilt-free
Each of us, is red, is green and is blue
Each of us, me…and each of us, you
But what can we do
What can we do
What we do….? Click…
Take a Selfie,
Take a Selfie…
Take a Selfie…Click
What can we do
What can we do
What we do….?
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click

Featured Poem:

Touch

Enlarge poem

“Ka’ale oko mi, ka’abo.”… Yoruba mother welcoming her child;
“Ka Chukwu go zie gi”…Igbo Elder blessing a loved one;
“Sorry now…oya, don’t cry anymore. Okay?”…elder sibling appeasing younger one
“Allah ki yaye zaman’ lafia”…Hausa relative offering prayers before a long journey
“My guy…i don miss you die! How far now?!” the young generation greeting friends in pidgin English

All expressions/ All wholesomely Nigerian,
All nuances wholesomely ours/ All we have ever known from ages past,
All accompanied with…touch.

Communal living birthing a Nation’s communion in feelings expressed through …touch
These expressions have borne us through tears; have comforted, empathized, related,
created mutual understanding sometimes in silence,
It is these expressions that made wars easier, ethnic, colonial and civil; all terrors waded like warring waters through us.

All we knew among tears, smiles, consolation was…touch
We touched stones, food and even gods with libations made at the early rise of the Sun,
In present tenses we touch senses, holy handshakes pass and touch heavens with fervent prayers
And then there came …Ebola.
This virus that seeks to take away the one language we have learnt peaceably through time
This virus that pretends it understands our language…
It touches skin then eats heart and hope and leaves us empty

But run, Nigerian child, and do not stop
In this place where all things terrorize us at the break of day
Our language of touch has been perverted in many different ways
If Boko Haram does not get you, it reaches out to unending traffic; which hold on to potholes to make your day harder;
Potholes touch road robbers;
Road robbers touch bags;
Touched bags get home empty, touching the part of the heart that reminds you “it should not be this way”;
Salaries touch high prices for goods;
Landlord touches front doors requesting for anything the road robbers left;
Front doors touch exposed electricity wires which fail to touch stable power supply;
So darkness touches mosquitoes and mosquitoes greet malaria;
Malaria touches hospitals that will not treat you unless you have proof of payment;
Proof of payment touches that part of your heart that reminds you: “it should not be this way”.
And in comes …Ebola…touching fear, touching minds, making hope just a little harder to hold on to
So run, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
Run from…touch.

This virus is related to one that has been with us for far too long;
The Government was the first to spread us with its symptoms that:
Erodes consciences,
Make rich ritualists
Hardens Mothers
Initiates young men and women into superfluous unstable lifestyles
Creates criminals of what should be scientists; trading secrets, manufacturing fake medicines
Makes visions of private jets a blatant testament of destinies stolen
Touching nerves, leading the restless to jail

So run, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
For the language we learnt of love has been thwarted,
Touch knows us no longer; Touch wants us no more;
Touch is now distant; touch knows many perverse things

But run, Nigerian child, and do not stop until we restore the former borders,
Return to that quiet place then, work, Nigerian child, and do not stop,
Self-governed as you are excelling in all things but governance,
Do not stop, bring home those medals; excel in fields of song, of art, of poems told in tales by moonlight
Do not break rank; do not sit in silence,
Excel in education, we no longer care if its at home or abroad,
Tell of your Country in screaming, still silent words,
That proclaims our excellence in spite of homemade wars.

Work, Nigerian child, and do not stop!
Until our individual victories shame our collective complacence,
Until our personal victories shroud corrupt practices,
Until ineptitude is unable to touch seats of power,
Until education rids us of diseases unnecessarily increasing mortality rates,
Until our sweat returns to us our heritage,
Our inheritance, our language

Run, Nigerian child, and do not stop
Until we can once again say:
“Ka’ale oko mi, ka’abo.”…
“Ka Chukwu go zie gi”…
“Sorry now…oya, don’t cry anymore. Okay?”…
“Allah ki yaye; zaman’ lafia”…
“My guy…i don miss you die! How far now?!”
All our expressions; all our wholesome Nigerians,
All of us finally sane; all we have ever known from ages past,
All, once more, accompanied with…touch.

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (6)
  • Pride (4)
  • Optimism (5)
  • Anger (1)
  • Delight (2)
  • Inspiration (6)
  • Reflection (4)
  • Captivation (7)
  • Peace (1)
  • Amusement (3)
  • Sorrow (2)
  • Vigour (2)
  • Hope (7)
  • Sadness (3)
  • Fear (2)
  • Jubilation (1)

Selfie

Enlarge poem

“Ha-ha-ha-ha, did you see my Selfie?” she asks
Poised, with red lips, Ruby Woo no less,
Angle perfect, sucked in, holding her breathe
Till her sides gave up and gave in to a forced curve,
“Click”,
But look, just to her right, there, behind her a pile of bodies lay bare
Red, like her lipstick stained around the edges
Red, like blood flowing from unformed limbed and 29 unbirthed dreams in Nyanya
Capture this Selfie, selfie, flies selfishly gathering at untimely celebrations,
Death, like a foolish man’s dreams coming to pass
At his “Click”, bombs detonate in time to capture the reality of these still pictures
telling relaxed men in business suits in a safe southern distance that time is running mad
Still, Ms. Selfie is passing on by like time is passing us by
But in this one moment her pout parts open onto perfectly set teeth:
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

He stands before a green vehicle Benz in Dubai
He’s gone there just for the weekend, he’s a baller, no lie
How to tell the countless chics back home that he is the one they should all give in to?
He stands to the side and clicks on the evidence of his masculinity
Him, before a green Mercedez Benz that belongs to a Saudi Prince
All the while before him flashing images splinter false realities in three
See, Ademola Aderinde burning brightly, wearing his last tee shirt -green
Green, like not long ago, when he protested the petroleum subsidy
Subverting complacence; attempting a brand new revolution
His innocent vocal guns loaded with harmless bullets – chanting,
Until our hired protectors put an end to his vocal chorus
Still, we with cracked voices continue to pay high fuel prices…
Green, like the prior promise of fertility on our Nations flag
Green, like the fiery envy of Mr. I’ve-been-to-Dubai’s third side chick
Green, like his passport hidden behind the flaps of burgundy lips telling of shame
Green, like the lies he tells himself and every chick he’s been with:
“I am a man of my word, baby – trust me”:
But just go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, take a Selfie, click…

I strike a pose with my baby, except he is not really mine…click!
Married, like promises carelessly made at altars cared less for,
Married, like his wife wearing day dreams filled with blue stillness
Blue, like the silence of her footfalls railing on against truth on cold marble floors
Blue, like her staring emptily at 6:00 am waiting for him to come through the front doors
Blue, like the kisses he plants on her cheeks that speak of nothing at all
Blue, like the bed sheets we spend our nights until morning when he returns to being hers
Blue, like the car he bought me on their 10th wedding anniversary
Blue, like the ring he bought me on our 10th anniversary
Blue, like the tablets she takes; fighting off my presence in our wedding band for three
Blue, like Viagra on his double edged tongue reaching for more at half past three
Blue, like the dress Monica wore the day she sold out to Bill
Blue, like the sea of loneliness spreading “wake up” all over me
Still this Selfie will give hope, presently;
In this Selfie, at least for today, he is my baby
Hey, go on and go on, see our Selfie, click…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…
Go on, go on, see our Selfie…

Click…
And this is what we do,
We click away things that are substantial
Focus lenses on the things inconsequential
All of us, looking endlessly for a moment that is free
Of all oppression and things that assail us daily
Click…behind us dusty children return hurriedly from school
Confused, unlearned and half full like a poor mans’ lunch box
Striking teachers will impart nothing on emptying hunger pangs
Salaries are diverted and education stands still, unemployed
Our kinsmen that lead us don’t love us, and we don’t even love ourselves
It is us leading us, us killing us…
(sigh) There is none of us, clean; none is guilt-free
Each of us, is red, is green and is blue
Each of us, me…and each of us, you
But what can we do
What can we do
What we do….? Click…
Take a Selfie,
Take a Selfie…
Take a Selfie…Click
What can we do
What can we do
What we do….?
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click
I too, I too will take a Selfie…click

Comments

  1. I am touched…..I watched your spoken words performance,I read your poems……..all I can say is am touched……I now believe I poetry….I have learnt a lot from you….you have opened my eyes wide….now I can see poetry in a different dimension…Miss Doña thank you

    Shimmy
  2. Aaaaaawww, thank you so much Shimmy. I am sorry I am only just replying as I had not visited in a while. Thank you.

    Donna
  3. You are simply amazing. I was tourched by your inspirational talk last night at Palazo dumont.”Lifeonpurose” programme. Im looking forward to having you on my magazine “Spurrer” . It will be my great privilege to have ur email addy. Mine is folajuyin@gmail.com

    folasade olajuyin esq

Your email address will not be published.