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The polarization of the countries of the world into developing developed nations has brought in its wake a dichotomy in the perception of ideas, concepts and cannons by different specialists in these divides...

Every Day Is For The Thief

There are many things to like about this little book that purrs gently, ever so gently. The book exudes the quiet confidence of a writer properly centered in the beauty and challenges of his being...

Tokunbo Awoshakin has successfully brought the realities of being a legal immigrant in the United States to the doorstep of all of us...

Burma Boys and Strange Wars

Have you ever read a book that you could never put down because you feel this weird obligation to finish it? To relive that experience, buy Biyi Bandele’s book Burma Boy...

Sister Atta, you speak to me in your book. You speak to me from deep in the bowels of my ancestors’ coven. You speak to me howling, bawling, and soaking me in the song of our mothers’ grief...

He sat in his room in the hostel and wondered why he had sent that accursed email. It was all he could think of for it somehow suggested he was much sillier than he allowed himself reasonable leash. In those weeks of hurting emptiness, he wondered if there was anything wrong with his sending the email. Was the problem not that he detected a poorly concealed hostility...

About 'urn - A Short Story by Segun Akinyode

My journey home was uneventful until I stumbled on a group of policemen. They had mounted a roadblock at a roundabout. I was sure the blockade was illegal because the group was so concealed, that I nearly walked through it before a voice ordered me to halt. I knew instantly I was in trouble...

I had been warned that city people were conniving. She absolutely couldn’t be one of them. Conniving people were rude and unkind. She had woken me up and offered to help me - that is a sure sign of kindness, right? Lamely I tagged behind…

Trims of Blood - Poems by Henry Ajumeze

I walked past my father's shrine

past Ikenga, shelter of gods stringed with amulets

i walked past the narrow path

littered with ant-holes...


I remember waiting for my grandfather to tell me

The tales of life before the drought

And the accompanying strangers

Would they ever leave?


In your hisses I here the clock’s clicks

And the approach of nature’s train

To take me home...


Moo - Poems by Stephen Oladele Solanke

We are...the revolving door
the windmill
the splush of dripping blood
the jerking at the drop of life...

She rushed him to the hospital. She would seek orthodox remedies for her husband. She also sent for her father. He would consult a Babalawo, to seek the source of his ill health and if possible, appease the gods to intervene. She was shocked when the doctor announced that her husband had AIDS...

If I Die Unsung...A Poem by Olasunkanmi Sanusi

I was born at the stretch of a home
where survival was everybody’s song
Strife was our wine and betrayals our oil...

Do the dead speak with words, serrated by syllables as is known of walking figures? Are words thrown up, like mines, from relegated sepulchers in the manner of whispers heavier than the songs of heroes? Do they crack shells of obduracy, and, with light strides, seek out change; illuminating, with the speed of rays, the path to progress and the skeletons that had been out of sight?

I knew my siblings had not been too happy about my decision to come back to Nigeria when I finished my master’s program in Canada.  They could not understand how I could give up the opportunity to live abroad, an opportunity people prayed for, queuing up at embassies for visas and giving testimonies in church about…


The Worshipper – A Poem by Raïs Neza Boneza

I climb the hill of my feelings

To satisfy my sight.

I seek to find, my reason is lost.

In my estrangement my soul speaks...


February 13 - A Poem by Austyn Njoku

I prefer you in my dream
The dream I've hugged
For seasons with my soul...

The piano was the finest and most comforting thing in the loneliness of our big house. My fingers usually galloped out of it confused sounds and chords and chaotic arpeggios. But not so when Munachi’s gifted hands lifted forgiveness and sorrow and complexity out of the dark rooms of the piano...

Mama Africa - A Poem by Selome Araya

It is time

To lift me up

I am still your mama

And I know you...


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