African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
#1 – On the Surface How do you tell the dead they are no longer alive? How do you plead with the beast that the mother denied? – From the tales of noon It was hot. But not scalding hot. Just hot enough to bring…
Read Break #1 here I won’t lie, the food was really good. And it’s helped me calm down too. The situation is still dire, but at least I have a better handle on my thinking. I sit down and think. There has to be…
“I don’t think this can work between us anymore…” I never thought that these would be the last words I’d ever speak. I always imagined my last words would be something along the lines of ‘Always show love and kindness to people’ or ‘Make your…
Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major blared out from the surround sound speakers of the quaint, comfortable living space. The home, barring a few discarded items here and there, was tidy and pristine. Up in the art room, he worked tirelessly at…
I’d always loved toy dogs. Ever since I was a little girl, I always wanted one. But dad would hear nothing of it. Mum hated dogs and that was it. I mean, what harm could they do? They were just tiny creatures needing love and they also kept company. …
I gasp heavily for breath as I open my eyes. They slowly focus, and what I see is a little strange. Quite a quaint room; bare walls, simple door, a window with the blinds down, and a was-white-but-now-kinda-grey ceiling I think. My ears are ringing loudly. Or…
There was chaos. All around the boy was chaos. But it was a welcomed chaos. Because now, they were no longer captives. The ship was rocked by the waves of the turbulent waters and the screams of the captors. Here and there, small fires were burning under…
This is a portrait without an easel, a painting without a canvas, floating freely in the seat of memory, unfettered by the constraints of reality. It is emblazoned in my mind, a haunting creation of an artist’s craving. It sits in the seat of my consciousness, this portrait…
Where had things gone so wrong? Where was that fork in the road that he had taken a wrong turn on? How did it all come to this? Segun thought about these questions as he drove to the office.
Pen to paper, I’ve lost the words To tell To say To describe This abstract feeling that comes When I know that I really don’t Know anything at all; When I look at beauty and all I see Is sadness. When I look at the…
