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African Writers’ Corner
RSS FeedAchebe buried like a hero
Abdulrazaq Magaji
2013-05-30, Issue 632
He survived many battles in his long and eventful life and, when he answered the final call, Chinua Achebe immensely earned the hero’s burial accorded him by an appreciative citizenry
ICC World Cup veteran from Africa!
Happy birthday, John Nagenda
2013-05-02, Issue 628
Neither money nor political power can earn you lines in English cricket literature that say, ‘He was a mercurial skipper’ who was ‘elected a vice-president of the Nomads’; ‘He was a leading personality in the club’
Fare Thee Well Achebe
Odomaro Mubangizi
2013-04-09, Issue 625
Fare thee well great literary spirit That inspired millions To dream a new. Fare thee well great literary mind That provoked many a mind To think creatively. Fare thee well great literary giant Father of African literature Who spiced words for eating. Fare thee well prophet of social justice, May things not fall apart as you depart; May anarchy not befall the African literary world. May you join the great ancestors As you cross the great river; Rest in peace as you await The second coming. We are no longer at ease Without you; For you were our arrow of God Shooting without missing. You are our man of the people Traversing the ant hills of the savanah; Adieu great literary soul, spirit, and mind.
The day I wore my best clothes
John Samson
Jacaranda School, Std 6, Malawi
2012-11-28, Issue 608
Winning essay in the 2012 Royal Commonwealth Competition
Fifty years of whining!
Uwineza Mimi Harriet
2012-11-21, Issue 607
Where are we now? Guinea pigs of slavery Murderers of our own blood while we sing of freedom! Now complacent and helpless Pretense of humanity Suffocating Pluralism Covering to suppress How we whine! Of foreigners’ deeds Decorations of covered crimes? What are we doing different? How they turn into their graves! The great heroes of motherland Who fought through mountains and valleys! Thinking it will come to pass! * The poet Uwineza Mimi Harriet, is a M.A Candidate in Peace and Conflict Studies at Makerere University, a blogger, an author and activist. She has co-founded a think-tank called Peace Associates Network Africa and works with a human rights organization in the Horn of Africa.
Tragic called the kid
Amira Ali
2012-09-27, Issue 599
How do you holler And not be heard A fury of injustice That has numbed us stern Fury killed a dream Killed the kid Who dreams football on streets Caught in the axis Tragedy and injustice To the world Ain’t nothin’ but a thing Call it an –ism Euphemism has a name for it Collateral damage Isn’t that what they call it? An explicit offense Made inoffensive Tragic called the kid Dream gunned on the street Football His dream His defense For street dreams For the explicit offender The dream Dealt on a kid Dealt on misdeed Unnamed coffin That was the end of the kid The world should be On bended knees Crying out life How hollow is the prize Dealt on a kid Living on Dreams… Football… Streets… © afrodisiatic expression
New Year, new flower
Elyas Mulu Kiros
2012-09-19, Issue 598
It is a new year Ethiopian New Year I smell flower Yellow flower Ethio flavour And there, I see her My sweet, my lover Red is her colour She is far but near She melts my heart Like chocolate Dark brown sweet She is my summer My red flower And now am falling My heart is warming My soul is dancing So don’t come winter To change the colour Of my red flower It is a New Year Ethiopian New Year A new beginning Let’s be forgiving Let’s stop bittering And start greening Love is a winner Basta grudger The sky is clear So nothing to fear Life is so short So why we fight Let’s just enjoy it As we can lose it Before we know it There is a New Year And new flower Around the corner Yellow flower Better than power That makes us bitter That feeds us anger That kills our love And our poor dove It is a new year Ethiopian New Year Fresh flower Breathe in the air We shall have no fear As we catch fire As we desire Deep in our heart For love as we melt
Dambudzo Marechera’s undying legacy
Dobrota Pucherova
2012-09-12, Issue 597
A new book on the celebrated Zimbabwean writer, with rare archival materials, adds fresh angles to the debate about his contribution to African literature.
Timbuktu: The far place
Ishaq Imruh Bakari
2012-07-26, Issue 595
The flimsy mask of sovereignty unravels in the desert sand The border posts and sentry gates designed to imprison the poor and the innocent mean nothing in a season of pestilence At the presidential palace in Mali vagabond soldiers Came to play their video games and all came tumbling down those who curse their parents will always perish those who invite hyenas to dinner will always be the main course And so the feasting is here for all who do not build And now the grand carnival is the drunken show in town Follow the tears in the dust tracks along the path of armoured cars Decipher the strange inscriptions all camouflaged in the fumes that they expel glistening with the branded labels of the infidels They bring no clean water for those who thirst They bring no healing hand for the sick They bring no food for those who hunger They bring no light for the blind for you who feast on destruction for you who worship in the name of AK47 & Kalashnikov know that every brick unhinged in the Sahelean shifting sand will be the chain around your neck to the hell reserved for tyrants For all the blessed who have gone before For all those in modesty who will follow For all the saints who stand among the sinners For all those mindful in wisdom of the strident path For all in piety knowing the limits of their exaltation For all the simple things bequeathed in abundance Timbuktu is a far place the beacon that will bloom again in the rock of faith ©Ishaq Imruh Bakari
Question of faith
Dennis Mosiere
2012-07-12, Issue 593
Don't forget to oil your elbows and cornrows the caking dryness of your cuts and bruises. We mustn't reveal the true nature of things. You cannot forget to put yourself together pretty, dress up the scars and put on some lip-stick on your dry, peeling lips, dye dying shoes, weather the changing tide fashionably, who knew you had it in you? Let's not forget to speak to things as if they were for them to become, courage contained comes from the curious ravings of mad men, sometimes called faith. Umbrella on a sunshiny day, waiting for the rain to clear, blue sky. We cannot succumb to realism Too harsh to face we can hardly relate. When the waiting becomes wanting, Job's patience combined with David's courage, Paul's letters reaching out from time past I become the song of broken, desolate souls. So until the rain shows up to quench this parched ground and make the fruit sprout, I arise each day to my routine and do my thing. Wait. Let the herald arrive with my revelation, Erase the desolation. He's not late or early, Write on time. *Dennis Dancan Mosiere aka Grandmaster Masese is a poet,musician,actor,writer/editor, human rights educator and a Fahamu Pan-African Fellow For Social Justice. Founder Member,Mstari Wa Nne Performance poets, http://mstariwanne.blogspot.com/
Libation – a poem
For my elder student
Dennis D Mosiere
2012-06-28, Issue 591
I remember the days when you hold a jar of water A metal gong Then you shout that our ancestors must be called they must be heard You shout, CALL THEM! CALL THEM! Yes we call them our ancestors I guess they cheer our ambition to reunite with them these lines are a sign that, like libation, my soul is yearning for liberation unity of mankind spirituality, may we free our minds Dennis D Mosiere
The music of obokano
Dennis D Mosiere
2012-06-28, Issue 591
(English version) It is me, Masese Now am coming from Bundo Look how my body smeared with ebundo* is shining Am going to the battlefield with a hummer I have carried with me a spear and a mallet I have come as a warrior With warrior spears Belongings and the spirit of warriors Listen to the way I play the Obokano* Trumpets and flutes I will not close my eyes even if it’s misty So misty and clumsy like heavy sounds of trumpets Even if you pierce my waist with a spear-chigi!* I will sway and fight like grass On a mountain against strong winds I come Wearing clothes like moving stream of water Now, stand over there and watch, don’t move closer Look! The way I am preparing shields Put them down to cover the soil like heavy drops of rain One man army, one man government I am the only son like the eye Even if you trouble me, I can hide in a basket And come out with a dagger If we wrestle I will defeat you, like it is a wedding Weaken you, make you wither before they come to separate us Before we hold hands and fight I and you will not draw I burn like fire glowing from ekerende* and esasi* Grow and spread further like Emanga* and Esameta* ranges Grow and spread so you can play pianos- Nda! Nda! Nda!* Don’t be jealous you may walk naked Then you burst – NDA! If someone troubles you, Don’t worry yourself too much Be silent and look for a piano Or go to your bed and sleep -NDA! END NOTES 1. Ebundo – a type of paint made from some specific soils and clay that was used as a kind of body protection from dirt or in ceremonies 2. Obokano - an eight-stringed harp from the Gusii people of western Kenya 3. Chigi - the sound made by a spear when it pierces flesh 4. Ekerende and esasi - these was a traditional tools of making fire by using a dry wood,ekerende, with a stick to drill; esasi is dry leaves mixed with dry dung that is fed to the spot of contact between the wood and the stick. 5. Emanga and Esameta are two great ranges in Gusiiland and normally people are told to spread out (grow) and produce like the two ranges 6. Nda - the sound of music/strings, largely onomatopoeic here *Dennis Dancan Mosiere aka Grandmaster Masese is a poet, musician, actor, writer/editor, human rights educator and a Fahamu Pan African fellow for Social Justice
Ethiopia today
Elyas Mulu Kiros
2012-06-14, Issue 589
Sea of nostalgic generation River of Facebook nation In and out migration Limited freedom of expression No room for innovation, But for incarceration, Parroting, or imitation ... Strong interest in destruction, Not in building a lasting foundation Almost impossible to tolerate difference And to still be friends Lack of political moderation Torpedoes in silent ocean Radicals left and right Few with a practical mission statement, Vision, and commitment Almost all stuck in the past Not too many visionaries But plenty of revolutionary wannabes And swarms of counterrevolutionaries, Comrades, cadres, copycats, bullies, Elitists, opportunists, ideologues, Egotists, character assassins, and rogues Relics of the bygone years Most anachronistic Few original or unique Little or no political compromise But bravado and false promise Fake democrats Allergic to alternative viewpoints Almost everyone wants to lead, but few followers Not too many look forward—thus, stagnant progress Confused youth Trapped in a maze … Have we learned at all from the past: From the red blood or feudal mindset?
Our lady of the trees
Natty Mark Samuels
2012-05-03, Issue 583
This short play celebrates the late renowned Kenyan environmentalist and Nobel Peace laureate Prof Wangari Maathai.
Ancestral Song
A Poem For Voices
2012-04-19, Issue 581
BAMILEKE: I am a Mod Ngam Man of spiders Often called a diviner. I am Bamileke Born in Cameroon Observing the Earth Spider. VOICES: He lives underground With the nature spirits Our ancestral messenger. BAMILEKE: Earth Spider takes his pick Movement of leaf and stick. VOICES (chanting): He knows the ancient ones. Earth Spider, tell us what you see; We await your diplomacy. DOGON: I am a Hogan Diagnosing for the Dogan, Sands of the Bandiagara. Come, Sand Fox There are sticks in the sand There is drought in the land. I invoke your presence; I am the Sunset Chanter. VOICES (chanting); Bandiagara Mountain of freedom For the Dogon of Mali. DOGON: Tell us Sand Fox Our precious visitor; Have we offended our ancestry? BAULE: I am called Komien Within the Baule My special pot called Gbekre. Once upon a time The mouse could speak Of that the Baule toast. Now he talks Through the movement of sticks For us in the Ivory Coast. KARANGA: I am an Nganga Throwing dice called Hakata; Made of wood Bone or seed. Between Ancestor and Karanga, I endeavour to intercede. Trusted and respected I divine, I pray; For the Karanga of Zimbabwe. VOICES (chanting): Ancestor, ancestor The Healer wants to talk with you. Whether with mice Or the use of dice Diviner wants to talk with you. ZULU: Being a Sangoma I also use bones. I am Nguni. That is the Zulu, the Xhosa The Ndebele and the Swazi. VOICES (chanting): Come with the bones, Sangoma Come as quick as you can Tell us of Unkulunkulu Are we drifting from his plan? ZULU: From Unkulunkula I received a special duty. Having done my training, Knowing herbs and animals; I can make the sacred Muti. I was possessed I did not choose this profession. Unkulunkulu called me, Through my ancestor, To be a healer of this nation. VOICES: Blessed Babalawo It’s not time for you to go. Here comes another someone With troubles in his head; I think he’s sinking in the flow. YORUBA: I am Babalawo With the gift of Ifa Giving to my people the Yoruba. A gift from Olodumare Through his servant Orunmila To me, here in Nigeria. VOICES: You with great knowledge of Ifa We beg you, do not go. Her illness moves fast Her days grow slow. YORUBA: I am a busy Babalawo. ZANDE: To raise them from their woes To reach the spiritual height I use what God has given us; Divination by the termite Two branches in one termite hill. One from one tree One from another. And in their eating Knowledge begins to gather. You’ll find us in the D.R.C The C.A.R. and Sudan- Those who are called the Zande. You will see us by the Congo As well as by the Nile, Praising the one called Onyame. POKOT: I am a Pokot elder From the land of Kenya, But just like Dogon in Mali Our divination, Whether by goat or by shoe, Is performed for us by an elder The elder of the older. Shoes of he who is missing are thrown. Like the Zulu bone The Yoruba palm nut The Maasai stone. We continue to interpret the unknown. VOICES: The longer you live you get closer to the Shrine Attracted by the Crucial Flame. We get closer to Creator, Called by this and that, God of a thousand names. Bamileke: Si Dogon: Amma Baule: Nyamien Zande: Onyame Zulu: Unkulunkulu Yoruba: Oludumare Pokot: Torontot Karanga: Mwari VOICES (chanting): Ancestor, Ancestor The healer wants to talk with you. Whether by mice Or whether by dice, Diviner needs to talk with you. ©Natty Mark Samuels, 2010
My job as a poet is to tell the truth
Poetry Parnassus interview, with Steven J Fowler
Shailja Patel
2012-04-19, Issue 581
'My job as a poet is to wake myself up and take responsibility for learning the truth. That means doing hard work, looking beyond headlines, being willing to interrogate data, structures, systems.'
We are watching you
Benedict Wachira
2012-04-05, Issue 580
We were not there when you enslaved our forefathers We were not there when you showed us your brutality through colonisation We were not there when you forcefully stole our resources We know what you did to Kimathi, Kwame, Lumumba, Modibo, Barka, Samora, Sankara, Hani and all those who opposed your interests on our continent But that was in the past Today we were born, we have grown and we are watching you We are watching you as you continue plundering the Congo We are watching you as you steal our minerals through force when corruption fails We are watching you as you put up your AFRICOM bases in Djibouti, and your Lilly-pads all over We are watching you as you dump nuclear waste on Somali coast, and as you support their terrorists from behind the scenes We are watching you as you suppress our economies every time they threaten your hegemony We are watching you as you continue to corrupt and to compromise the leaders that your system imposes on us We are watching you as you succeed in brainwashing some of us with your powerful global media We were painfully watching you, as you negated the rule of law in Ivory Coast, through the gun We were painfully watching you, as you murdered our Brother leader, through the gun We were painfully watching you, as you took Zimbabwe’s economy to its knees Today, your killing instincts are leading you into CAR, in the guise of following some Kony fellow Today, your killing instincts are taking you into Mali, in the guise of restoring ‘democracy’ Today maybe, Niger, Nigeria or Algeria will be where you will sent your religious crap heads and divisive empty heads But what you may not know is that Today we were born, we have grown and we are watching you The Sankaras are in their thousands The Kimathis are in their thousands The Kwames are in their thousands The Samoras are in their thousands The Hanis are in their thousands The Gaddafis are in their hundreds of thousands Maybe you cannot see us Because the only avenues we have are the demonstrations, the blogs and the never aired press conferences Continue thinking that we are asleep, or that we are some ‘lazy intellectual African scums’ Yes, we are few in numbers, but what we lack in numbers, we compliment with our energy and zeal Our forefathers foresaw this age An age where you would view us as some backward people An age when some of us would view us as a lesser people That was why they left for us the magnificent Pyramids all along the Nile Pyramids that you once claimed were built by you, Pyramids that you today claim were not built by humans That is why they left for us the Great Zimbabwe So developed they were, that you once claimed that the builders came from elsewhere That is why the left for us the complicated underground structures all over Structures that make a child’s play of your subways and skyscrapers That is why they left for us the arts and cultures With rhythms that you cannot understand All these are a reminder, So that when we see them, we may hold our heads up high, we may be proud of what we achieved, and we may remind ourselves that we need to regain our lost glory, and bring humanity back into the world Just like the phoenix, our continent is burning, and the heat is preparing us, preparing us to rise Just like the lion, we will soon roar, and we will care for nothing, but our freedom and dignity We have studied your ways You use your military superiority to rule on us You take advantage of our goodness to splash your wrath on us You may not hear our voices, neither do we care We are organizing We have learnt from our past But most importantly We are learning from your past and present And when we rise And when the fire starts to burn You will realize that the generation has arrived And we shall not forgive, we shall have no mercy, we shall keep our Utu aside We shall use your methods to instill humanity into you A worse fate will meet your local stooges and puppets For we have seen that love can’t work for you And we shall end all this Once and for all Because we are tired of watching you 1st April 2012 9:36pm
Mona
Elyas Mulu Kiros
2012-03-29, Issue 579
‘Mona’ is a work of fiction, based on the based on stories of Ethiopian women who have been to the Middle East as domestic workers.
Shades of anger
Rafeef Ziadah
2012-03-08, Issue 574
'I am an Arab woman of colour, and we come in all shades of anger.'
For Katonda and Mukasa
and the people of the lake
2012-03-01, Issue 572
I come and sit here as often as I can. Beside the lake, under my favourite fig tree. To relax, to contemplate. Or if I have a problem, it is a perfect place to search for solution....
Defenseless, exploited, abused, and ignored
Elyas Mulu Kiros
2012-02-22, Issue 571
The plight of domestic workers in Middle Eastern countries and the lack of laws to protect them inspired Elyas Mulu Kiros to write a poem.
A small list of wonders
Emmanuel Iduma
2012-01-26, Issue 567
The project will bring together a group of ten emerging writers whose writing, it is hoped, will help construct a newer scope of African identity.
The definition of our era: the 21st century!
Lance Constantine
2012-01-11, Issue 565
This era will only adjust to accommodate to anything uncommon. And if you feel like the least likely amongst the rest - then you are the one. Because we live in a historical era - all you need to do is start and whatever you is great enough to leave a legacy and historical imprint - just because of the era we live in.
A Prayer for Bigwala
Natty Mark Samuels
2011-12-22, Issue 564
Dedicated to the remaining few, in Busoga, Uganda.
torture song
Devorah Major
2011-12-22, Issue 564
listen can you hear it pull the wires and plugs out of our ear sockets...
WHO
Nebila Abdulmelik
2011-12-15, Issue 563
Who assassinated freedom And buried it 10 feet under? Who wrongfully convicted justice And incarcerated it indefinitely? Who orphaned peace Scarring it eternally? Who crippled progress, Handicapping it permanently? Who overthrew hope And replaced it with fear? Who paralyzed love? Who?
1000 times
Nebila Abdulmelik
2011-12-15, Issue 563
1000 times before We said never again And here we are 1000 times over Again Making meaningless pledges Which you can’t consume Guiltily plastering your sores So that they may be out of sight And so out of mind But the benjamins don’t heal your wounds Rather they leave them festering Your empty bellies Swollen with sorrows over our empty words 1000 times before We said never again And here we are 1000 times over Again
thoughts on freedom
devorah major
2011-11-29, Issue 560
to not want some say that is where freedom lies to be always in the moment some say that is where freedom lies there is no freedom some say some say our world is defined by one creator who has determined the rules and regulations that c...
Song of the wretched
Mphutlane wa Bofelo
2011-11-16, Issue 558
We have no stereos Droning love ballads To lull us from our reality The only music we Know is the wordless symphony Of the buzzing stars The bright eye of the night Candles our hope We don’t know Various shades Of lamps and globes but We know the colour Of the moon The only show Our eyes can Afford us is The flaunt Of the rising sun & The display Of the falling night...
Tunisian Fire
devorah major
2011-11-03, Issue 556
For Mohammed Bouaz, the vegetable seller who set himself on fire December 17, 2010 in the Tunisian city of SidiBouZid.
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