My head felt like mathogothanio. And something was making so much noise. Damn it! Who could be calling at this hour? I was not picking if it was Tom. This drinking thing was going to kill us if corona didn't do it first. And working from home was so hard. Really, some things are just … Continue reading Corr-on-u’s


Dry Wells

Rehema Zuberi

I am an eavesdropper. I don’t stand ears perched on doors or windows to listen to conversations. Neither do I exert my concentration on people’s business to get the drift of what they are up to. More often than not, and if this was a breach of privacy in an ongoing court case, I would be representing myself with the strong argument, words naturally float to my ears.

Take this evening for instance, my backpack on, legs making the strides required to cover the long journey to the school gate for my commute home. Two ladies in front of me are talking. On reaching my ears, a smile tugs at my lips. Not because the content is a joyful or sly matter, but because they know not what I do.

Lady 1: Imagine Marianna anakubali chali yake amchape hivyo. (Imagine Marianna accepts to be beaten by her boyfriend)

Counterpart: Tumemewambia…

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Inktober – Day 4: Spell


“Let me have my school bag!”

Emeka chased his oppressor with fear as solid as a rock in his heart. He had never stood up to any of the big boys yet here he was, in pursuit of the notorious Jid. They ran across what was left of the football field after Reverend Uzo’s family had randomly planted corn on it, stalks rising and leaning as the hot breeze willed them to. Mama Uzo, the school janitor, claimed that the land belonged to their family because the ‘oyinbo‘ men gave it to them as a parting gift in return for letting one of their children attend the seminary every year. It has been eighty years since then and she still talks about it like it was yesterday.

A month ago, Emeka had been the hearty addition to Umuoke Grammar School’s sixth form. Strange it was, a pupil joining…

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