Annie Quarcoopome

We are the results of letters unfinished
When someone immortalized an idea, etchings on paper
Hands cuffed in mid-word
We were born to only half the story
Blaming someone else for telling our history
And we go to fight once in a while
But we stop and think maybe we should sing instead of our stinking present and the blinging future we would like to have

For the worst words we could have heard were the truncated hand-me-downs of leaders cut down in more

The black horde was coming and you were afraid
Afraid you pushed and pushed and grunted as you did so
So you held them back long enough to feel the strength in your own arms
Arms that had tried eight times to drown that accursed black kitten

But then the black horde came anyway
Surging into the streets, across the big roads that divided
Them from
Into the towns of the nation
And they came, some chanting, some singing
But all more

African love stories? Is that an anomaly? We are tempted to ask this with Ama Ata Aidoo of the book that she edits. As we ask, we wonder what will happen to us if we step into this world. Will we meet the people we expect to meet: the drunken, cheating husbands and the cowed, abused wives? The stereotypes?

Leave your expectations aside. Bring with you nothing but a healthy amount of curiosity. For stretching from Sudan to South Africa, with Ghana, Nigeria, Kenya, Zimbabwe and much of more

Ngugi wa Thiong’o is a controversial man! I read some chapters from his Decolonizing the Mind and it was deeply thought-provoking. It made me think especially about what I want to call myself. Let me explain. Most bloggers consider themselves authors, writers. I call myself a writer. (A soon to be published African writer! Am I?

I suppose the answer to that would depend on how I define an African writer. For me, anyone who writes and is African, is an African writer. We will not go more

Farah’s second trilogy, Blood in the Sun, is made up of three works (two of which I know to be excellent) Maps, Secrets and Gifts. Obviously, this is an author interested in concepts. Generally, his works are amazingly lyrical, incorporating such unconventional elements as the use of first, second and third person narrative voices for the same character in the same novel, and the vivid and yet vague recounting of dreams whose meanings are not easy to decipher. The supernatural plays a more

To call The Black Insider a novel may be somewhat misleading. It is a loosely autobiographical account of the author’s stay in the “Faculty of Arts,” in time of “war.” Barricaded inside his room in the building he shares with an eclectic group of tenants, Marechera comments on the war without, mirroring excellently the one that rages within. The Black Insider captures the profoundness and insanity that characterise much of this author’s work. Despite his erratic style that has the potential more