Bottles of beer to their mouths, they all anxiously wait for him to at least say something, acknowledging that it is best to let a man crawl out of his shell on his own.
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The burden of loving this baby weighed him down like the chains that had shackled his forebears. And hers.
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Are you a bot?
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It is one of those mornings when you wake up with your troubles staring you in the eye.
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The sun shone brightly as if the ancestors themselves smiled upon the day.
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When the Black man ruled this land, things were very different. You see, me, I’m the brother of the wind; I am the altered destiny.’
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As soon as the smoke dispersed, a gorgeous woman with glowing dark skin was standing there.
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She sighed. “Everything grows here,” she said, pulling out more weeds. “If it’s strong, it lives. If not, then it dies.”
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Last night, she came into the world of my dreams and rocked it upside down. She was all of splendour and beauty.
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You hum the words of the poem again and again to the boy, smoothing his hair over and over as you do so. Already, you know that there is no more sleep tonight. You know this is where you will lie till the sun shines through those dancing curtains.
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The first time I saw the devil, I was four and didn’t quite make sense of what I saw. The second time I saw him, I was a year older and more articulate, but it was only for a fleeting second.
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I wonder what you think of how I look at you. How my hands linger when I touch you. I sometimes wish you’ll fall into my hands in total surrender, just like the cashew fruit.
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The room felt as if the earth had veered off its axis. The fan yet swirled. And Alice’s heart beat erratically in her chest. She had a voice, but she seemed to have lost it.
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There were fat men, enormous men, short men, men with bald heads, men with full beards, and gaunt, ashen men. They all had one thing in common. Seated or standing, they had their legs splayed and were contorted in various stages of pain, their expressions a montage of horrors.
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Alabi’s face began to take on a malevolent contour, but then he got a grip on himself. The poor boy was not responsible for his problems.
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I think of her eyes, wet, as they bade me goodbye from the neighbourhood we shared for a year. A proximity that had made my night visits possible, spontaneous.
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We let silence speak the words our mouth cannot; we let it tell the tales of her pleas and my forgiveness. Mayme might have been my citizenship insurance at first, but now, she is my wife, the woman I love.
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Winner of the Afritondo Short Story Prize 2020.
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A few months back, it would have been a death sentence just to walk these roads—gun or no gun. The war seemed to be truly at its end, and I was on the right side of that end.
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