United Kingdom
Bunmi Anjola Adaramola (she/her) is a UK-based Nigerian storyteller who first identifies as an intersectional feminist whose stories explore the human condition.
Her works appear or are forthcoming in Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Journal of African Youth Literature, Akpata, Sprinng, AfriHill Press and elsewhere. Her short story, A Cadence of Familial Desires, appears in Noisy Streetss' anthology, A Man and A Woman and Other Stories. Her work, The Crowns We Wear was a Top 5 finalist for the PfAL's BHM Literary Competition in 2023, and her story, Say My Name When the Crow Calls, was shortlisted for the 2024 Akpata Editor’s Choice Prize for Fiction. Her story, A Name is a Body of Memories, was shortlisted for the Lolonwa Storytelling Prize for Fiction.
She has an unhealthy caffeine addiction and is an unrepentant bibliophile with more cheesy romance novels than shelf space. She regularly retweets (and sometimes tweets) on X as @theanjolaoluwaa.
My body has somehow become a site of struggle. The one place that was supposed to hold me wholly and without condition-that should have been mine tenderly and entirely-has now become a mutiny, out of control,
Dear Lanní, My therapist, Chizotam, has asked me to write you these letters. "Write like she's still here. Use them as a conduit of your pain," she reminds me in each of our sessions. But it's hard. It's hard because I don't know what I'm supposed to say in these things.
"Silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous."-Nietzsche Yẹ̀lú had always said it was my laugh. The deep belly chortle, almost masculine sound that I'd grown to abhor throughout childhood before evolving into an indifference about it in adulthood.
Bunmi works in academia but spends the rest of the time in her imagination.
"...for we do not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." - Carl Jung Your first cataclysm with your father's foray into ministry will happen the day...
Sisi Jókò began bringing me leftover Ofada rice morsels wrapped in Agidi leaves-perhaps remnants from what her mother had managed to sell that day-in the third hour since Uncle Túndùn locked me away. The walls holding me captive were as dull as my sensory responses, splattered with what appeared to be the decayed remains of [...]
It was on the eve of her traditional wedding day, when Tolúwalàshẹ saw Gbọ́ládé in the far corner of the Lounge & Grill her bridesmaids had dragged her to, that she—for the first time—questioned whether she and Nóbazé were truly soulmates like everyone claimed.
And Then The Sky Bled Red Things started to shatter, the cracks becoming painfully expansive in the days following the birth of my baby. We were fine, elated even, before our baby was born-at least I'd like to think so.
A random Tuesday afternoon answering multiple "I hope this email finds you well," emails from her dissertation supervisor and editor-in-chief at UNILAG's Law Review, when in fact it doesn't...
Life doesn't make any sense without interdependence. We need each other, and the sooner we learn that, the better for us all. -Erik Erikson Her hands shake as she grabs on to the door frame, head bent down as though from defeat. And as I watch curiously as she walks gingerly towards the opposite [...]