African Writing Online; Fiction homepage

African Writing Online Home Page

About Us

News

interviews

Memoirs

Fiction

Poetry

Tributes

Art

Reviews

Abubakar Ibrahim
Arja Salafranca
Austin Kaluba
C. Mark-Beasant
Chi Onyemelukwe
Chris Mlalazi
Chuma Nwokolo
Cynthia Price
Dibussi Tande
Dike Okoro
Diran Adebayo
Egya Sule
Elizabeth Joss
Fiona Jamieson
Gertrude Makhaya
James Currey
Jarmo Pikkujamsa
Lakunle Jaiyesimi
Lauri Kubuitsile
M. M. N'Dongo
Megan Hall
Melissa de Villiers
Mildred Barya
M.Mashigoane
N Ayikwei Parkes
Nourdin Bejjit
Obe Mata
Patrick Iberi
Petina Gappah
P. Makhanya
Phindiwe Nkosi
Raisedon Baya
Rosemary Ekosso
Sachdeva Gaya
Tanure Ojaide

          Credits:
   Ntone Edjabe
   Rudolf Okonkwo
   Tolu Ogunlesi
   Yomi Ola
   Molara Wood

	Night Calls *Abubakar Adam Ibrahim*	That was how it started. They talked about their studies, comparing notes. Then they got personal.
Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons. A routine as fixed as a marriage now. What you really want is some contentment, some security now, and all you have, though, is this.	Cleo and Nic Arja Salafranca
	Maria's Vision Austin Kaluba	Listen you untutored whore The husband is your lord and protector Someday, he can give you loving slaps Don't cry out and wake the neighbourhood.
The boys hovered a bit, trying to prove their manliness. Trying to take over decisions she normally made. As if something told them that having lost her husband, she had lost her senses as well. Like telling the girl that she could stay in one of the small bedrooms in the main house.	Identity Theft Cheluchi Onyemelukwe
	Terminal Talk Chuma Nwokolo	As you can ssee, my ssstammer is fully gone now. I know it’s sounds a little callous for a husband to say to his comatose wife that things are going sswimmingly. But after ten years of marriage, you know me, Etie, the truth and nothing but the truth...
I started to pose like a model and soon we were prancing around the car park, the famous international model, dancing and posturing, while the equally famous photographer took shots for a well-known fashion magazine	My Brother's Eyes Cynthia Price
	Four Women Gertrude Makhaya	The woman offered her a quick, sharp, little smile. ‘There’s some really nice marked-down stuff in the basement.’ ‘Really? Is that where you shop?’ ‘Look, I’m just trying to help you. You have been drifting around all this time.
"Paddy wish for your world," she said softly so only I could hear. And I wished for every one of those seeds to make Silvy love me, love me not Jimmy-Ray. I saw us one day married, and she was as beautiful as ever and we were happy and we were in love. I blew as hard as I could. The cottony seeds flew up like rockets,	The Dandelion Wishers Lauri Kubuitsile
	Chameleon House Melissa de Villiers	London seemed like the best place in the world. So you grew up in a police state that put you in jail? That was way too much information for people here. They got embarrassed if you brought it up, just like nobody cared if your father ass-kissed his colleagues at work and called them kaffirs at home.
After Hester Muponda lost her first child and she turned her face to the heavens to pour out her grief, her church people said to her, find your strength in God, they said to her. After the second child followed where the first had led, she bent her face into the folds of her Zambia wrapping cloth.	The Lament of Hester Muponda Petina Gappah
	Erode Phindiwe Nkosi	Erode; a process of weakening in the authentic present. It’s rusting beyond oxidation as flickers of dominant spectrums palpitate. The wear away of wholeness, the disintegration of a unified artwork into a segmented jig-saw puzzle of realities.
That was the work of a very experienced waitress. Her eyes lingered briefly, haltingly, over his and he thought he caught a look he knew in them. A look of loneliness,	In This Hope Sachdeva Gaya

interviews

Send to a friend

Copyright © African Writing Ltd & respective copyright owners. Enquiries to permissions@african-writing.com.