
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
“What kinda story do you have up here in Blood in the Water. Damn. Everything happened so fast. How bad could someone’s day get!
Bilkiss. Just like that. I am struggling to even read past that place. I am so afraid. And angry. And sad. Everything is happening to me.
I can’t guess what’s to happen and nothing is allaying my fears.”
Hanson’s first unedited take.
Blood in the Water: Prying Justice from the Jaws of Life and Death
Blood in the Water is an intriguing story of crime, sex, lifestyle, and most of all, death.
Two friends are trapped in a night that made itself longer than usual. After escaping to Kaduna to continue the crimes he left off in Lagos, Collins meets Princewill who is also in his line of ‘business.’
Around the same period, they have a haul; and to celebrate, they go to a club where they meet two gorgeous girls that they split apiece—Bilkiss and Tolani for Collins and Princewill respectively.
On the ride home, a quarrel ensues between the two girls that morphed into a fight that roped the two men into it, and gets the DSS paged to them. Even, Collins wins a slap from Bilkiss. Still, Bilkiss is untowardly dramatic despite her ravishing beauty simply because her request for ribbed condoms is derided.
The theatricality of Bilkiss resumes after briefly stemming off earlier; she causes a scene after Collins lodges her and goes away to get some things and return to her. For this again, Collins wins some more slap.
Collins is obviously infuriated with the ignobility of Bilkiss and she makes to make amends in the way women are known to. But Collins resists her, and insists she freshens up first. She goes to the bath and slips and dies. Collins is thrown into an unimaginable discombobulation.
In time, his friend appears to hatch a plan of escape from the scene—in contrast, the DSS is ringing Bilkiss’ continuously unanswered phone.
Good to plan, they make progress on the escape but Princewill was bent on concluding a tryst with Tolani before he bids Kaduna farewell for good—that was not to be. Yet.
Collins waits them out but time was ticking against them as Bilkiss’ corpse was now found and the DSS were combing everywhere for them, and have instructed checkpoints to be poised. Nevertheless, they dodge a checkpoint on their way out of the city. Then, on top speed, their tyres burst and the car veers off and rams into a trunk, Collins badly injures and slips from consciousness, while Princewill dies from the crash—leaving the world with the one thing that seemed to transcend universes—memory—the fond memory of the consummate sex with Tolani.
The book assumes the rollercoaster plot run reminiscent of Wright’s Native Son. Coincidentally, both books involved unpremeditated murders and escape plans.
Akingbogun masterfully tells his story with poignant images, clear language, maximum suspense (and I must confess, I left off reading the book for a while simply to escape seeing some resolutions) as well as easy to comprehend structures (comprising short sentences and sustained rhythm); most of all, the book is fast-paced as if the quick plot retained some kinesis to engender an equally quick flow of the text.
Yet beyond the aesthetic appeal, Akingbogun’s message is vivid—the poetic justice the plot resolves into is a pointer that the author holds it true that crime never pays and must not be masked to. And though Collins wakes up in the hospital, handcuffed, and Princewill being dead—hence, they’d be no one to lend a voice, however feeble, that he had no hand in Bilkiss’ death. Still, the questions remain: what about the crimes of fraud he’s been perpetrating? What is meant to be the consolation of the victims?
Now, although we cannot peel off, like an onion bulb, the form from the content of this magnificent piece because the one enhances the other and vice versa; as we read, we hoped for a satisfactory resolution, and that the writer has served us.
I recommend this book for any kind of reading (for pleasure or for critical review) because it interrogates relevant issues garbed in enjoyable language.
The book is available in every reputable bookstore in the country and the continent, and can be ordered from various online platforms.
As an ensemble, two books are contained in one—one, Blood in the Water and the other, Waste of Sin which we are reviewing next. Two magnificent stories published as one book, yet kept markedly apart. Check it out.

Utibe Hanson is a writer as well as literary and cultural theorist. He is the author of the poetry collection, Unnoticed Presence of Things, and the study, Football as Literature: A Semiotic Reading.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

Let me take you somewhere. Not to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean — at least, not yet. First, to Lagos. Nigeria. Sometime in the late 1980s. A teenager who should probably have been revising for exams is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor of a library, holding a book that is older than most of the furniture around it, reading about a city beneath the sea.

This is my story of discovering a film that challenged everything I thought I knew about the gift of time, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to leap beyond your limitations and appreciate the beauty of growing old.
This story explores the paradox of immortality and why a movie from 2015 still resonates so deeply with audiences today.
I hope you find it worth your time.

This is my story, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to question what you know and leap beyond your limitations.
This story is about the audacity of belief, the power of a well-told lie, and the journey to unlearn the things that poisoned my teenage mind.
I hope you find it worth your time.

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

There is a peculiar kind of madness that does not arrive with hallucinations or trembling hands. It arrives quietly. At two in the morning. In a small desert town in New Mexico. It sounds like an idling diesel engine somewhere in the distance — except there is no engine. It sounds like a bass note being held by an invisible orchestra — except there is no orchestra.

Let me confess something. Long before LinkedIn articles, podcasts, and leadership keynotes became my world, I was a teenager sneaking to the library

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.
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3 thoughts on “Book Review – Blood in the Water”
Impressive review. Book will certainly make an interesting read.
No way! Akingbogun’s art is thrilling. Great review.
Thank you Debbie.