African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
A melting pot of profound African literature and Lifestyle.
Poetry.
Fiction.
Creative Nonfiction.
Health Journals.
Photography
“Where I come from, the air is sea salt and fish. The sounds are loud road noises, trucks vrooming past, their fumes leaking into the air…” –Dzifianu Afi. It has been three years of nurturing and catering to the emerging voices of African writers from…
21/11/2025 05:01am “Yo! Whatcha doing ’round here?” The stranger is asking “What? Oh, you mean my moving around? I’m just trying to avoid the smoke, it feels like it’s teasing me…or is it? I mean…” “Psh… Nigga, you set the fire?” Some reptile, I suppose,…
That field over there has harboured more dry bones than the feet of those who go to rest their loved ones. Grasses like well-spread butter on slices of bread grace the terrain. Headstones at a few intervals peeked out from the ground like little billboards.…
The first thing you saw that day was a text from him. “I can’t wait to see you…” it had read, followed by the love and kisses emoji which made you want to dance and squeal with delight. You could not believe that finally, after…
It was Aunty Imelda’s fault. The buka rice and beans I had eaten had barely digested in my stomach when she said, “Is God not wonderful? We have success anointing at our church today. Go and receive anointing for your exams tomorrow.” I was taken…
Until the lion has his historian, the hunter will always be a hero. This is the power of a single story; this is the danger of a single story; that vital fragments of the narrative are eliminated and covered over. Most of history is fallacy,…
The metaphorical impression exuded by the titular cloak of Seun Lari-Williams’ poem collection is more or less one that every Tom, Dick, and Harry can relate to in one way or another without exception to the average reader or layman. As a matter of fact,…
To start a poem about bruises Is to say there’s something fleeting in my body, & I’m a home for cellos plucked off their strings So, there’s no way I can make music from my memories, To tell where a city’s fire met my chin…
In Father’s rhyming wall clock, whose tune zooms the path of the morning’s heart and ‘ding’ counting, makes way for dawn’s arrival. In the awakened sky, beaming rays through the window; in the early cries of chicks, trailing about defensive mother hens; in Father’s generous…
A City Our body is a broken city Inside a broken city The way a city burns & break, Grief and hunger have broken & beaten us A house burns, You put the fire out. But when the whole street is on fire, How do…
