He was walking down the un-tarred road of Isieke, this boy with a neat afro cut and chalk-white shorts.
If there was someone walking along the street at that time, perhaps a teenager, said teenager would see him; this boy on chalk-white shorts and ripped red polo. The ripped red polo Read More
Survival, they say, is the first impulse, the first faculty in this side of hell. This is the picture of a heavily lit labour room, of a boy with moist as his first clothing, of a boy who refused to cry at birth. The watch word: “Survival is the first Read More
How do you tell the dead they are no longer alive?
How do you plead with the beast that the mother denied?
- From the tales of noon
It was hot. But not scalding hot. Just hot enough to bring consciousness back. The ground beneath felt loose and almost soft, but also rough Read More
“I read a lot of English books… I did not see myself as an African to begin with. I took sides with the white men against the savages… But a time came when I… realized … I was not on Marlowe’s boat steaming up the Congo in the Heart of Read More
And so it begins, guys and gals. The very first entry to Don't Cry.
Let's tune in!
#1 of 17
Where had things gone so wrong? Where was that fork in the road that he had taken a wrong turn on? How did it all come to this? Segun thought about these questions Read More
Nonso squinted as the sun's glare hit his eyes. He stepped out of the back seat of the taxi, the journey finally reaching an end. With his hand as a shield from the sun, he looked up to scan the area. There wasn't much. It was mostly a ranch with Read More