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Friday 18 July 2014
Saturday 12 July 2014
AN EXCERPT FROM MY DEBUT NOVEL, YET TO BE PUBLISHED
WAKE UP CALL
CHAPTER 5
“It’s still out there, crying” Those were the first nudging words Kaine said to his people after the recent
Marwan attack. Sarah had never been more proud of her boss. She was behind the dais which Kaine
stood on, way out of vision of the people that gathered to hear the President speak, smiling to herself.
This is a true leader.
Sarah had dredged up the memory of how she first met him, prior to his campaign. He was a member of
stood on, way out of vision of the people that gathered to hear the President speak, smiling to herself.
This is a true leader.
Sarah had dredged up the memory of how she first met him, prior to his campaign. He was a member of
the House of Representatives, and had just come on a tour to a secondary school where she taught
Government as a subject. He was different from the other politicians she had seen – arrogant, had an air
of exaggerated authority about them, and smelt of backdoor negotiations.
He wore a sleek T-shirt and brown chinos. He was simple and too humble for a man in that position, the
He wore a sleek T-shirt and brown chinos. He was simple and too humble for a man in that position, the
way he addressed everyone, struggling to please them all at once. Then, to her own chagrin Sarah asked
a question,
“Will you ever run for President?”
He never answered that question up until this moment. He only smiled and went on to answer another
question. It wasn’t until some years later, that Sarah received a call not only to join his campaign, but
also to run it. All the while, she thought she was just a nodding acquaintance to such an important man,
not knowing that he took interest in her the moment she posed the question. She turned down the offer at first, but then agreed only if she didn’t run it ‘publicly’. Sarah wasn’t
leadership material. She was more of a backroom boy type. She hated publicity, treasured anonymity.
That was almost a decade ago. Back to the present. “So loud, I can barely hear my own self.” Kaine spoke
on, choosing his words carefully. To be more precise, Sarah’s words. Kaine had chosen to go extempore. He wanted to give full vent to his feelings about the Marwans, spill
out his guts but Sarah had come, just in time, to rescue him. He was anything but organized. That was
why he had Sarah run his campaign in the first place. She made him look over a rough draft she had prepared based on the ideas they had talked about the
previous day when they ambled through Aso Rock.
Kaine thought of Sarah as a twenty-first century Amazon cloaked in mortal garments. She was way
ahead of her time. Her reasoning was ingenious, nothing like he had ever seen before. The manner in
which she handled near-impossible situations made him want to call beer ‘amber fluid’ the more.
He believed using euphemisms made life much easier.
Not anymore.
The growling crowd that stood before him in the city square was done with code words and euphemisms.
They needed to hear what they came for. A confession from Kaine that he did nothing to stop the attacks,
that the government was an incompetent body, that the law was an ass, and above all, fuck DEMOcracy.
The kind of DEMO they craved for right now was the DEMOlition of the entire government and its body.
Yet, all they heard from Mr President were just strange words about something crying so loud
that he could barely hear himself.
What a coward.
Kaine knew the situation was delicate, and he had to be excruciatingly careful with a lot of nerves on edge.
He had to smoothly arrive at his intent. With growing valour, he picked up in the unsettling uproar.
“You see, many of us don’t fully understand the worth of our National Anthem. A classical hymn
beautifully composed by one of us, Late Pa Odiase Elide Benedict. He, among a few, valued this
unique piece of music hopelessly chanted every day in recognized schools and establishments.”
The mountains that seemed to hang in the distance provided a dramatic backdrop to the Abuja City Square.
That was how it looked like in Danjuma’s national TV screen. Abu and his father had been chewing over
Kaine’s message, their minds laden with thoughts of Ali’s sudden transformation. He still had time to
realize his mistakes and come back to them. Amen to that, Amen.
“It’s all in the first two lines, the significance of our being in existence as a people, as a community. And
these very lines are my message to you today: ‘Arise, O’ compatriots, Nigeria’s call obey.’”
From the live video that was streaming to his chic tablet, Ali found Kaine amusing. He found his father
and Abu more amusing. For them to think he was amenable. Very soon, they’d realize they were on the
wrong side of town.
“ . . . A call that has been singing in your ears long before the civil war and still sings till this moment, a
call you all have heard for so long but have chosen to ignore. A call to serve this nation with our strength
and might. But in the light of recent events, it has become something of a wake-up call. And a terrifying
one at that.”
The vicarious thrill Yaya got from watching the pressure mount on Kaine – a poster child for wasted talent
– could not compare to how pale and thin he had gotten, like a God-forsaken wraith. War was coming, he
sensed it.
Kaine raised his voice “I have to say, since a lot of you people blame me for not doing anything to stop
these attacks, that this call is not only for me, but for all of us. That’s what makes us a democratic
nation. It’s not about sitting down and pointing accusing fingers at the government or at one another.
It’s about facing the challenges as a team, because that is what we are, a team.”
The square zeroed in on the president, attached to the soft, ambient words that flew so easily out of his
mouth and somewhere into their hearts. The noise had yielded to controlled murmurs. At that instant,
Kaine had seized them by their minds, bending them to his will. This moment was crucial to his intent
to stir up unanimity.
“A team that could thrive together even after the devastating civil war, A team that will never be
pulled apart despite the religious conflicts. That’s what makes us a democratic nation. It’s no
different than the game of soccer where a nice team work and well-executed passes climaxes
into a goal. It’s the little contribution that we make to this team that makes it stand out.
Yes, these contributions might seem insignificant at first. But in the end, the result is always
phenomenal. I am talking of obligations we as citizens fail to neglect because we think they do not
contribute to the development of the country. It’s all about greatness from small beginnings. A greatness that makes an evolving team such as this one drive on to the peak of glory, against all
odds.
Kamsi could see Kaine’s magic working on the people that stood around her, in front of a massive
street television. She could not agree more.
The president was a piece of work.
She was sure her father concluded the same.
All James could think about was his family, Kamsi, especially. He wanted to see her cherubic face again,
his unlimited source of renewed vigour. She had to return with Grandpa to Barga but that was on a
back-burner. The nation was in distress, at present.
“. . . as usual, we will get through this in one piece because, this, like any other national security threats,
will be completely dealt with.”
This time, the crowd was shouting. They were filled with hope right away. Kaine was gently burrowing
into their minds for faith. There was this child-like simplicity in Kaine. That nature made people trust
him effortlessly.
“I know also that most of you hate the government agencies. Let me tell you this, they do more than
is required of them. The ATOF, 355 LTC are all fine agencies, even the police force that you so loathe.
They are different than they were before.”
Wherever he was, Ossai must have grinned himself to stupidity at the laudable commendations
by the president. But he hated that they had to share the same place with the LTC. They were just
bunch of women that saw to the security of government buildings. Nothing more. The second and
most important task given to them – to collect and organize chatters all around the world about
Nigeria through back channels and send to the Federal government – had taken a heavy nose-dive.
“ . . . We are a developing nation, and like I said, greatness from small beginnings. So let’s not get ahead
of ourselves . . . and I just want to let the Marwans know that it’s not too late to surrender.”
Kaine was in the moment and the crowd simply grew wilder.
“Your actions are in vain because nobody, not even Allah, sees them as holy activities. What Allah wants
more than anything is unity, to see a Pastor seat at a table with an Imam in a typical Borno eatery chatting
their hearts away, to see Muslims got to a church to give thanks to Allah, the creator, and for Christians
to joyously walk into a mosque and praise God’s name. A person who creates something cannot wish for
it to be destroyed by another thing he made”.
Somewhere in the back of beyond, Danuwa knew all this was blasphemy. He had no way to react, not with
his daughter’s palm in his hands and his son on his lap, all watching TV like one big happy family.
He had infiltrated deep into every civil sector, slowly chipping away at the power of the government.
By the time he would be done, his not reacting would be the least of the problems in their hands.
“So, I say it again, it’s not too late to surrender because we are coming for you and when we do, we will
come at you hard with everything we’ve got, so hard you won’t be able to recognize one another again . . .”
In the big Uncle Sam’s bus, Peter had just finished chomping his way through two rolls of shawama while
Nuka stirred on at Kaine through the flat screen.
The man was a loquacious faggot, a harbinger of empty threats.
“And, yes, it’s still out there, crying to anyone who has ears, a call for redemption, for salvation.
A wake up call.
So loud and defeaning, I can barely hear myself. A call for us countrymen to rise up from our slumber
and do what is required of us to make this nation the giant it once was. The giant of an amazingly
unique continent.”
ATOF’s LCD that had, only the previous day, displayed the cruel handiwork of the Jihadists was now
projecting something new, a solution to end of these disguised holy warriors – co-operation – and it
meant a great deal coming from the one man they all looked up to for an answer. Never, had a president,
in a life time or in a crisis, come out in the open (without any security detail) to do what Kaine had done.
It showed courage and fidelity.
He was purely a diamond in the rough.
For a remedy to what the agency had gone through in the last twenty-four hours, a little peace and quiet
couldn’t go wrong. It had been silent and slow-going since morning, their eyes fixed on the shifting screen.
Not until Stella was brought in handcuffs, did their gaze change. She was choked up in anger that she
didn’t struggle or say a word when she was arrested. James had led her into an interrogation room.
“. . . This is what they want. To use our division, our confusion, our trust issues against us. These
miscreants get off on seeing us blame and accuse one another when we are supposed to stand together,
as always.
It’s the only weapon they have against us. But not this time. Not this time. Because we are divided no
more, and we will stand united.
Click here to visit the promo page for my book.
a question,
“Will you ever run for President?”
He never answered that question up until this moment. He only smiled and went on to answer another
question. It wasn’t until some years later, that Sarah received a call not only to join his campaign, but
also to run it. All the while, she thought she was just a nodding acquaintance to such an important man,
not knowing that he took interest in her the moment she posed the question. She turned down the offer at first, but then agreed only if she didn’t run it ‘publicly’. Sarah wasn’t
leadership material. She was more of a backroom boy type. She hated publicity, treasured anonymity.
That was almost a decade ago. Back to the present. “So loud, I can barely hear my own self.” Kaine spoke
on, choosing his words carefully. To be more precise, Sarah’s words. Kaine had chosen to go extempore. He wanted to give full vent to his feelings about the Marwans, spill
out his guts but Sarah had come, just in time, to rescue him. He was anything but organized. That was
why he had Sarah run his campaign in the first place. She made him look over a rough draft she had prepared based on the ideas they had talked about the
previous day when they ambled through Aso Rock.
Kaine thought of Sarah as a twenty-first century Amazon cloaked in mortal garments. She was way
ahead of her time. Her reasoning was ingenious, nothing like he had ever seen before. The manner in
which she handled near-impossible situations made him want to call beer ‘amber fluid’ the more.
He believed using euphemisms made life much easier.
Not anymore.
The growling crowd that stood before him in the city square was done with code words and euphemisms.
They needed to hear what they came for. A confession from Kaine that he did nothing to stop the attacks,
that the government was an incompetent body, that the law was an ass, and above all, fuck DEMOcracy.
The kind of DEMO they craved for right now was the DEMOlition of the entire government and its body.
Yet, all they heard from Mr President were just strange words about something crying so loud
that he could barely hear himself.
What a coward.
Kaine knew the situation was delicate, and he had to be excruciatingly careful with a lot of nerves on edge.
He had to smoothly arrive at his intent. With growing valour, he picked up in the unsettling uproar.
“You see, many of us don’t fully understand the worth of our National Anthem. A classical hymn
beautifully composed by one of us, Late Pa Odiase Elide Benedict. He, among a few, valued this
unique piece of music hopelessly chanted every day in recognized schools and establishments.”
The mountains that seemed to hang in the distance provided a dramatic backdrop to the Abuja City Square.
That was how it looked like in Danjuma’s national TV screen. Abu and his father had been chewing over
Kaine’s message, their minds laden with thoughts of Ali’s sudden transformation. He still had time to
realize his mistakes and come back to them. Amen to that, Amen.
“It’s all in the first two lines, the significance of our being in existence as a people, as a community. And
these very lines are my message to you today: ‘Arise, O’ compatriots, Nigeria’s call obey.’”
From the live video that was streaming to his chic tablet, Ali found Kaine amusing. He found his father
and Abu more amusing. For them to think he was amenable. Very soon, they’d realize they were on the
wrong side of town.
“ . . . A call that has been singing in your ears long before the civil war and still sings till this moment, a
call you all have heard for so long but have chosen to ignore. A call to serve this nation with our strength
and might. But in the light of recent events, it has become something of a wake-up call. And a terrifying
one at that.”
The vicarious thrill Yaya got from watching the pressure mount on Kaine – a poster child for wasted talent
– could not compare to how pale and thin he had gotten, like a God-forsaken wraith. War was coming, he
sensed it.
Kaine raised his voice “I have to say, since a lot of you people blame me for not doing anything to stop
these attacks, that this call is not only for me, but for all of us. That’s what makes us a democratic
nation. It’s not about sitting down and pointing accusing fingers at the government or at one another.
It’s about facing the challenges as a team, because that is what we are, a team.”
The square zeroed in on the president, attached to the soft, ambient words that flew so easily out of his
mouth and somewhere into their hearts. The noise had yielded to controlled murmurs. At that instant,
Kaine had seized them by their minds, bending them to his will. This moment was crucial to his intent
to stir up unanimity.
“A team that could thrive together even after the devastating civil war, A team that will never be
pulled apart despite the religious conflicts. That’s what makes us a democratic nation. It’s no
different than the game of soccer where a nice team work and well-executed passes climaxes
into a goal. It’s the little contribution that we make to this team that makes it stand out.
Yes, these contributions might seem insignificant at first. But in the end, the result is always
phenomenal. I am talking of obligations we as citizens fail to neglect because we think they do not
contribute to the development of the country. It’s all about greatness from small beginnings. A greatness that makes an evolving team such as this one drive on to the peak of glory, against all
odds.
Kamsi could see Kaine’s magic working on the people that stood around her, in front of a massive
street television. She could not agree more.
The president was a piece of work.
She was sure her father concluded the same.
All James could think about was his family, Kamsi, especially. He wanted to see her cherubic face again,
his unlimited source of renewed vigour. She had to return with Grandpa to Barga but that was on a
back-burner. The nation was in distress, at present.
“. . . as usual, we will get through this in one piece because, this, like any other national security threats,
will be completely dealt with.”
This time, the crowd was shouting. They were filled with hope right away. Kaine was gently burrowing
into their minds for faith. There was this child-like simplicity in Kaine. That nature made people trust
him effortlessly.
“I know also that most of you hate the government agencies. Let me tell you this, they do more than
is required of them. The ATOF, 355 LTC are all fine agencies, even the police force that you so loathe.
They are different than they were before.”
Wherever he was, Ossai must have grinned himself to stupidity at the laudable commendations
by the president. But he hated that they had to share the same place with the LTC. They were just
bunch of women that saw to the security of government buildings. Nothing more. The second and
most important task given to them – to collect and organize chatters all around the world about
Nigeria through back channels and send to the Federal government – had taken a heavy nose-dive.
“ . . . We are a developing nation, and like I said, greatness from small beginnings. So let’s not get ahead
of ourselves . . . and I just want to let the Marwans know that it’s not too late to surrender.”
Kaine was in the moment and the crowd simply grew wilder.
“Your actions are in vain because nobody, not even Allah, sees them as holy activities. What Allah wants
more than anything is unity, to see a Pastor seat at a table with an Imam in a typical Borno eatery chatting
their hearts away, to see Muslims got to a church to give thanks to Allah, the creator, and for Christians
to joyously walk into a mosque and praise God’s name. A person who creates something cannot wish for
it to be destroyed by another thing he made”.
Somewhere in the back of beyond, Danuwa knew all this was blasphemy. He had no way to react, not with
his daughter’s palm in his hands and his son on his lap, all watching TV like one big happy family.
He had infiltrated deep into every civil sector, slowly chipping away at the power of the government.
By the time he would be done, his not reacting would be the least of the problems in their hands.
“So, I say it again, it’s not too late to surrender because we are coming for you and when we do, we will
come at you hard with everything we’ve got, so hard you won’t be able to recognize one another again . . .”
In the big Uncle Sam’s bus, Peter had just finished chomping his way through two rolls of shawama while
Nuka stirred on at Kaine through the flat screen.
The man was a loquacious faggot, a harbinger of empty threats.
“And, yes, it’s still out there, crying to anyone who has ears, a call for redemption, for salvation.
A wake up call.
So loud and defeaning, I can barely hear myself. A call for us countrymen to rise up from our slumber
and do what is required of us to make this nation the giant it once was. The giant of an amazingly
unique continent.”
ATOF’s LCD that had, only the previous day, displayed the cruel handiwork of the Jihadists was now
projecting something new, a solution to end of these disguised holy warriors – co-operation – and it
meant a great deal coming from the one man they all looked up to for an answer. Never, had a president,
in a life time or in a crisis, come out in the open (without any security detail) to do what Kaine had done.
It showed courage and fidelity.
He was purely a diamond in the rough.
For a remedy to what the agency had gone through in the last twenty-four hours, a little peace and quiet
couldn’t go wrong. It had been silent and slow-going since morning, their eyes fixed on the shifting screen.
Not until Stella was brought in handcuffs, did their gaze change. She was choked up in anger that she
didn’t struggle or say a word when she was arrested. James had led her into an interrogation room.
“. . . This is what they want. To use our division, our confusion, our trust issues against us. These
miscreants get off on seeing us blame and accuse one another when we are supposed to stand together,
as always.
It’s the only weapon they have against us. But not this time. Not this time. Because we are divided no
more, and we will stand united.
Click here to visit the promo page for my book.
Monday 7 July 2014
RELEASE DATE LOADING . . . . .
ALMOST DONE WITH THE COVER
Cannot still believe I did this myself
What do you think? Is it too chic or should it look monochrome ish?
Cannot still believe I did this myself
What do you think? Is it too chic or should it look monochrome ish?
Thursday 3 July 2014
TOP 4 NOTABLE NEW RELEASES OF AFRICAN BOOKS FOR 2014
GET THESE BOOKS ON AMAZON
4 FOREIGN GODS
Foreign Gods, Inc., tells the story of Ike, a New York-based
Nigerian cab driver who sets out to steal the statue of an ancient war
deity from his home village and sell it to a New York gallery.
Ike’s plan is fueled by desperation. Despite a degree in economics from a major American college, his strong accent has barred him from the corporate world. Forced to eke out a living as a cab driver, he is unable to manage the emotional and material needs of a temperamental African American bride and a widowed mother demanding financial support. When he turns to gambling, his mounting losses compound his woes.
And so he travels back to Nigeria to steal the statue, where he has to deal with old friends, family, and a mounting conflict between those in the village who worship the deity, and those who practice Christianity.
A meditation on the dreams, promises and frustrations of the immigrant life in America; the nature and impact of religious conflicts; an examination of the ways in which modern culture creates or heightens infatuation with the “exotic,” including the desire to own strange objects and hanker after ineffable illusions; and an exploration of the shifting nature of memory, Foreign Gods is a brilliant work of fiction that illuminates our globally interconnected world like no other.
3 STRAW DOGS
Shola Dina, son of a wealthy Nigerian socialite, is forced to flee from
Nigeria to New York after the Abacha regime assassinates his father and
threatens his life. As an émigré in New York, he gets entangled in a
plot to assassinate President Bill Clinton – a plot organised by a
secretive right-wing Chinese organisation.
An intricate plot by a religious fanatic to guarantee a major Middle
East investment in Nigeria. This leads into the development of a secret
committee of stakeholders willing to do anything to get the deal.
They call themselves the A-MEN committee.
Their task is to increase the country’s Muslim follower-ship thereby convincing the would-be investors to deal.
They employ the services of two professional Assassins to undertake a nationwide massacre of prominent religious leaders.
Their philosophy.
Kill the shepherd and the sheep automatically scatters.
1 THE SECRET HISTORY OF LAS VEGAS
Before he can retire, Las Vegas detective Salazar is determined to
solve a recent spate of murders. When he encounters a pair of conjoined
twins with a container of blood near their car, he’s sure he has
apprehended the killers, and enlists the help of Dr. Sunil Singh, a
South African transplant who specializes in the study of psychopaths. As
Sunil tries to crack the twins, the implications of his research grow
darker. Haunted by his betrayal of loved ones back home during
apartheid, he seeks solace in the love of Asia, a prostitute with hopes
of escaping that life. But Sunil’s own troubled past is fast on his
heels in the form of a would-be assassin.
Suspenseful through the last page, The Secret History of Las Vegas is
Chris Abani’s most accomplished work to date, with his trademark
visionary prose and a striking compassion for the inner lives of
outsiders.
4 FOREIGN GODS
Foreign Gods, Inc., tells the story of Ike, a New York-based
Nigerian cab driver who sets out to steal the statue of an ancient war
deity from his home village and sell it to a New York gallery.
Ike’s plan is fueled by desperation. Despite a degree in economics from a major American college, his strong accent has barred him from the corporate world. Forced to eke out a living as a cab driver, he is unable to manage the emotional and material needs of a temperamental African American bride and a widowed mother demanding financial support. When he turns to gambling, his mounting losses compound his woes.
And so he travels back to Nigeria to steal the statue, where he has to deal with old friends, family, and a mounting conflict between those in the village who worship the deity, and those who practice Christianity.
A meditation on the dreams, promises and frustrations of the immigrant life in America; the nature and impact of religious conflicts; an examination of the ways in which modern culture creates or heightens infatuation with the “exotic,” including the desire to own strange objects and hanker after ineffable illusions; and an exploration of the shifting nature of memory, Foreign Gods is a brilliant work of fiction that illuminates our globally interconnected world like no other.
3 STRAW DOGS
Shola Dina, son of a wealthy Nigerian socialite, is forced to flee from
Nigeria to New York after the Abacha regime assassinates his father and
threatens his life. As an émigré in New York, he gets entangled in a
plot to assassinate President Bill Clinton – a plot organised by a
secretive right-wing Chinese organisation.2 Operation A-Men
An intricate plot by a religious fanatic to guarantee a major Middle
East investment in Nigeria. This leads into the development of a secret
committee of stakeholders willing to do anything to get the deal.
They call themselves the A-MEN committee.
Their task is to increase the country’s Muslim follower-ship thereby convincing the would-be investors to deal.
They employ the services of two professional Assassins to undertake a nationwide massacre of prominent religious leaders.
Their philosophy.
Kill the shepherd and the sheep automatically scatters.
1 THE SECRET HISTORY OF LAS VEGAS
Before he can retire, Las Vegas detective Salazar is determined to
solve a recent spate of murders. When he encounters a pair of conjoined
twins with a container of blood near their car, he’s sure he has
apprehended the killers, and enlists the help of Dr. Sunil Singh, a
South African transplant who specializes in the study of psychopaths. As
Sunil tries to crack the twins, the implications of his research grow
darker. Haunted by his betrayal of loved ones back home during
apartheid, he seeks solace in the love of Asia, a prostitute with hopes
of escaping that life. But Sunil’s own troubled past is fast on his
heels in the form of a would-be assassin.
Suspenseful through the last page, The Secret History of Las Vegas is
Chris Abani’s most accomplished work to date, with his trademark
visionary prose and a striking compassion for the inner lives of
outsiders.Thursday 19 June 2014
A POEM
FORGOTTEN
January is the time
when the world is like a rhyme.
Confusing and sour, in its prime
Finally, in the end, it’s as sweet as lime.
But it does not feel like it
I can tell from my feet.
Because, I feel very lost
Like particles of dust.
I think I’ve been forced,
Like someone cursed.
To forget all,
That I could recall.
I have tried
And cried
But my mind
Still comes to a bind.
However I have hope
And a zeal to cope
Because by December,
I will remember.
All I have lost
Wednesday 11 June 2014
OKAY! WHAT THE HELL!
Finally, something good comes to Nigeria and they refuse to accept it. As you all know, Chimamanda
Adichie’s orange prize winner ‘Halfof a yellow sun’ has been made into a movie. First off,
it priemered in a place very far from home. As if that wasn’t enough it has been delayed by the film board of
censors. Despite the pornographic scenes in movies that the board ignores, they now decide to look at a little
violence in the film.
I really wanted to see that bad boy premiere in our cinemas.
Channels TV says
For fans waiting eagerly to watch the much-heralded Nigerian movie, Half Of A Yellow Sun, they may just have to put their hopes on hold, for now.
The Nigerian Film and Video Censors board has delayed the release of the film about the Biafran war, due for today.
A spokesperson for the regulatory body is quoted as citing what he described as regulatory issues for the film’s delay, even though it has not been officially banned
However, the movie’s producer, Biyi Bandele, told the BBC that he was not sure why the censorship board had delayed certification.
He denied allegations that the film was biased and capable of inciting violence.
In a recent interview, one of the lead actors Nigerian-born Chiwetel Ejiofor told Channels Television that he was quite optimistic about the success of the movie in the country
UPDATE 07/07/2014
Alas Good News:
The National Film and Video Censors Board has approved the screening of Half of a Yellow Sun.
Click here to read the official release from the producers of the movie
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