Uwe, born in Rwanda, did his Bachelor of Philosophy program in South Africa.
He moved to Lyon, France, to study French-Language Literature.
He is currently working on a PhD in Semiotics.
In African Writing:
Befriending a Lie 
11 (Fiction)
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
I, always hurrying nowhere up Dust Street; she, always walking down the slope. There was nothing beyond our silent glances, or our monosyllabic hi’s, when they eventually came out, laden with a quiver that neither of us could decipher. No serious business at the end of our street (which wasn’t ours) except, maybe, for the first day, but when was that? No, we did not say good afternoon, nor anything as lasting. We said hi. Or rather she did, and I echoed. It may sound strange, but it took us weeks. One day, words came out of nowhere. They didn’t halt or falter, they flew out of my timid lips and invited her to have a seat — just imagine! — right there, on a stone. And she did. I sat on a stump in front of her. Suddenly I realize all this was happening and there was not a single word left inside me. I felt my heart beat fast and then I felt estranged, expelled from my own body. I could see it down-sat in front of her. It looked at her with probably the stupidest smile a face can endure. She smiled back, more smoothly, somewhat amused. And I, somewhere in the air, felt nude, away from my body, and I couldn’t feel heat nor cold, only sounds kept making their way to me, unaltered.
continues...
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