We Must Return to Our Throne

But our blessing is turning a curse

The mighty warriors no longer want to fight

The farmer forgets to reverence his hoe

The cutlass that paved his path

Is now concealed beneath his lush soil

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Smoked Dreams of Sofia Town

Poem by Tralone Lindiwe Khoza

We have touched the reflections of Sofia Town in our dreams

Felt the pulse and the afflictions of our people

Kept to the red roofed, haunted houses and sassy Shebeen queens.

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“Nigerians are bringing crime to our country” – Debunking the lie used to rationalise xenophobia

They should also, whilst they are at it, do some soul searching. They should reflect on the value of human life. They should imbibe the spirit of pan-Africanism and embrace the principles of human rights.

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Cornrows

Because to have made it is to be able to afford a wig or a weave. It is not to look after your hair properly or to still have your cornrows.

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First winter

That Christmas, as we began our British lives, my parents bought a Christmas tree. It made up, somehow, for the snow which did not come.

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On the fifth day

I suspected she had wished that I stay out of this heat as much as she wished I had never learnt of it.

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