Where I come from, they don’t name a child until seven days and seven nights have passed. They wait, because to name something is to…
She would talk to her god, often, and he would respond. ‘But,’ she would start, as far back as she could remember, ‘but why is…
I was fingered once on my back in front of the maize cobs that waved in my mother’s backyard. I remember itchy grass and an…
“Grandpa, Chinedu is too small to take snuffs. Don’t you know that you are destroying his lungs by giving it to him? You ask your…
Originally published in Arts and Africa * This man Madam Nyambura calls Daktari does not look to me like a doctor doctor, maybe just one…
If brevity is indeed the soul of wit, then just how many words does a writer need to tell a story? I asked a few…
