African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
My Father’s Children My father’s children were fools, the spectacle of my village people. We danced naked under the first rains, savoring the sweet smell of the cloud’s tears on the dry parched skin of the village floor. Our little feet stomped on the muddy…
Darkness used to be cold, but now warmth is all I feel In this enclosed shell of mine. Madness used to drive me on, but now calmness is all I feel I think it’s a sign, I might go, soon. I was used to asking…
Survival, they say, is the first impulse, the first faculty in this side of hell. This is the picture of a heavily lit labor room, of a boy with moist as his first clothing, of a boy who refused to cry at birth. The watchword: “Survival is…
“So… you came…” my father said to me. I shrugged. “They called. I answered,” was my curt reply. My father—dead father looked at me from his casket, his once ebony skin the colour of faded parchment… no doubt thanks to the cool temperature from the mortuary…
Belie *sniff* *sniff* Do you smell that? *sniiiiiff* That… that metallic ting in the air. It’s a little coppery, isn’t it? Oh you smell it now, don’t you? Good. It’s your handiwork. You did it. You should be proud, you know. What, you aren’t proud? Oh… you’re actually terrified? Hahaha, you’re kidding…
The problem with the society of today is humungous, our social system has failed in numerous ways.
Society has this very narrow view on masculinity, one that I was a victim of.
Did you hear about Becky? What? No no no. Not Becky Lady Long Legs, although BL3 was definitely something right? Hehe, yeah. Those legs could wrap around anyone and take them hostage, didn’t matter the sex. Oh you didn’t know? Yeah, L3 swung both ways. I know, right? She…
He handed you a gun, “Shoot anyone that comes through that door, reserve one bullet for yourself, just in case.” Shoving the black pistol into your grip he grabbed you by the neck and kissed your forehead first, before your nose and then your lips. The kiss barely lasted a minute,…
