African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
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…
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…
