Author: Aress Mohamed

Aress Mohamed is a writer from Garissa, Kenya.

Yet she could not remember her own name. She tried recalling all the female names she knew, certain she would recognise hers once she heard it. Fatuma. Naima. Khadija. Hawa. Malyun. Zainab. Ambiya. Batula. Rukiya. Ifrah. Quresha… None sounded like the name she would know to be hers.

Cooked Meat via @theMagunga
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The boat drifted on the endless sea, lugging the twelve remaining passengers. Seven men. Four women. And a child, seemingly asleep in its mother’s arms. The sea had carried them for four days now. Sometimes she was dreamy and pensive, and she lulled them with her heaves and sighs, like a mother rocking her child on her bosom. Sometimes she threw them into the humid Mediterranean air. Other times she would slap their faces with water, stinging their eyes with salt. Their heads oscillated between looking up to the heavens and bowing down to the floor of the boat. They…

For Whom the Light Shines via @theMagunga
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I sat there on the seat of that barbershop, and looked at my hair through the mirror, taking one last glance, as if to permanently brand the image to my memory, perhaps so I could remember who I once used to be. The whole thing―in those long seconds of loneliness and anticipation, the loneliness of a king who lost his crown―felt like a ritual: the barber’s seat served as the proverbial altar, the loud Lingala music on KBC Radio the accompanying sacrificial chant, the old, rugged, blunt Philips shaving machine the weapon to sever my head, to deliver the offering.…

Entangled via @theMagunga
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*A story of love and loss, of pains and dreams* I thought about it every day for the twenty five years that I’ve lived here. I think about it sitting here behind this old rugged sewing machine as I observe life in the camp, as the wind blows fine dust across the expansive field. I think about it on those nights that sleep refuses to come, as I stare at the darkness lying in my tent. I think about that night that changed everything. It was New Year’s 1991, in Muqdisho, and I was about 14. I remember waking up to…

A Home By Any Other Name via @theMagunga
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