When We Talk About Tsile
It’s one of those evenings we’ve poked and picked and sold every bloody tin can down Black Soweto to raise supper that ends up tasting like a pot of paper. Fashek happens to know a ...
Strawberry Moon
Makena is ageing, but like most ageing folks, he doesn’t want to admit it. He can barely run, and when he walks, there’s a slight limp. He sleeps for 19 hours & he barely takes ...
Nobody Lives Here
Most nights, I take boat rides. Alone, with no music and no lights. Just me at the top rocking with the waves, slowly, till my time’s up and I’m headed home. I could speak some ...
Addictions
Black Ogbu is mad black. As black as false intentions. Right now, his face is a funny mess, like someone bashed it in with an iron pipe and asked him to smile. I no really like ...
I am My Hair
I am my hair. I am its story. I am rebellion, because when people conformed, I took a detour.I am my hair. I am its unlikely twists & turns, because my life has taken the ...
Rain
I like rain. I like how it makes me feel. I like how I stand by the window & watch the world cave in & go dark, like two huge palms cupped & carefully placed ...
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