African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
It’s going to rain, and from the occasional hissing and rumbling in the sky, it sure promises to be a heavy downpour. The wind blows through your baggy clothes, sending freezing chills down your spine. Water droplets disperse on your forehead and trickle down your…
A REQUIEM TO MY FATHERS SHADOW IN MY EYES I am a fracture of water from my father’s eyes – like a drop of rain in the mouth of a spacious stream / I fetch my father in my vein – and named him D…
I can feel your disappointment At me, at what you have become You had so many plans and goals That 100 days writing challenge The stories you wanted to publish All of which I seem to have fallen short of You were so happy, so…
I look at the calendar on the wall; October 10. Ten months since Fred left home. He has not replied to my letters for two months now. Is he still alive? The thought flits through my mind, and I force it away with all my…
The clock on the wall of the yellow-painted room you own chimes. You take a glance and it is 6 pm. The time when your faith would drown again. Peppermint soaked in cold water runs through your bones down your feet. Soon, she will be…
PIERCING LOVE My placid face, Silently speaks of my pang. My belligerent thoughts Awakens me at night, Making my heart quiver and ponder. He steps in Like a gallant lion Ready to devour his prey. His malicious countenance, Makes my heart shudder. His titillating eyes…
Once were years when we gathered as brothers in the huts of our compatriots, breaking kola nuts in fellowship of the brotherhood; pouring palm wines in remembrance of the blood that binds us. Oh. Once were years, when we gathered, munching kola nuts, gulping…
1. “My boy, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. Come, let us leave before it’s too late!” “Mama, I can’t. You know I can’t! We can’t keep going like this—” “Dede… Don’t leave us now. We’re all we have in this world.…
When we lay you, gently, in the most glorious mahogany box. And you are borne high on shoulders of six pallbearers. When we march, lazily, like a pack of starving school children, dressed in black robes and red eyes and pale faces. When we surround…
i was a toddler at the coast watching older children nailing their own canoes, set for their own sails, set for their own start, away from their beginnings. i was a toddler at the coast watching older children enter the fleet as helmsmen, cruising…
