Once in a while I catch myself wondering whether I would have found the courage to write if I had not started to write when I was too young to know what was good for me.

I always wanted to write poetry, even when I was very young.

Time by itself means nothing, no matter how fast it moves, unless we give it something to carry for us; something we value. Because it is such a precious vehicle, is time.

Politicians are easy to attack, but frankly, we are all guilty of not meeting the needs of Africa's young people properly.

I've written poems about gifts. Life is inspirational; sometimes it comes from the most unlikely places.

The very old certainly do not go back on lunch remains but they do bite back at old conversational topics.

Toyin Falola has given us what is truly rare in modern African writing: a seriously funny, racy, irreverent package of memories, and full of the most wonderful pieces of poetry and ordinary information. It is a matter of some interest, that the only other volume A Mouth Sweeter Than Salt reminds one of is Ake, by Wole Soyinka. What is it about these Yorubas?