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We are delighted to announce that submissions are now open for our January 2023 Issue. Aligning with our commitment to promoting emerging and established African voices, submissions are open to all African writers. For this issue, submissions of any theme or genre are...
Itanile Magazine is pleased to announce the winners of the Itanile Award for 2022. In rewarding the efforts and commitments of literary creatives for advancing the African experience through storytelling, we select winners of the award from works we publish from...
To be honest with you, this is not one of the parts of editorial work that's fun. Putting it all together—where we are, where we've been, and all the stuff. It's tedious, just like a baker making her wedding cake. It would be nice if someone else did it! Yet, we've...
The melanin queen was perched on a bar stool, Checking me out from head to shoe. Her eyes were made up with eye shadow, blue, And they seemed to be saying, ‘Oga, I want you.’ She took me to her place near the train station. I was like, ‘Is this the real thing or...
Though the oceans rage & the waters imagine a vain thing; though the sun scorches the earth's skin & it's rays sear pain onto my dermis. Yet will I stand by my window, & listen to the voice of the wind preaching hope. There are various melodies that...
These are the times We are in dark times, my love. The morning still sweet in the awful sepia sky & I can see war women through my misty window, Sitting graciously, Reciting the rosary on a front porch. Somewhere, at the back of a house, A drum softly thunders...
We are pleased to announce that entries are now open for our second reading period. Aligning with our commitment to promote emerging and established African voices, submissions are open to all African writers. For this issue, submissions of any theme or genre are...
1. my country as a metaphor for joke in my country, we have forgotten how to shiver when we see serrated bodies in short video clips. the gunshots do not cause birds to fly, women to gossip, or children to scamper for safety. but, there is a headless body on the floor...
It was what she had always prayed for. Life. A new life. An opportunity to make life. An opportunity to bring life into the world. After years of trying, she finally got what she wanted, a little bulge that turned into a bump. It was a difficult journey for her, but...
I started writing poetry, intentionally, in 2017. Studying literature in secondary school was mostly the catalyst. I fell in love after reading the poets we were taught
To be honest with you, this is not one of the parts of editorial work that's...
The melanin queen was perched on a bar stool, Checking me out from head to...
Though the oceans rage & the waters imagine a vain thing; though the sun...
These are the times We are in dark times, my love. The morning still sweet in...
We are pleased to announce that entries are now open for our second reading...
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When we invited writers for this Issue, submissions of any theme or genre were welcomed, but especially so for works that explore the concept of journeys through the lenses of travels and tours―what it means to travel, to seek out new places. To write a story or a poem or an essay, writes Garth Greenwell, is to make a claim about what we find beautiful, about what moves us, to reveal a vision of the world, which the writers in this Issue have done with their work.
(Downloads - 118)
I’m pleased to say that it felt like home journeying to the birth of this book. Of course home is where the “art” is. This chapbook contains 20 poems scribed from the very core of my heart.
“Dancing With The Tides” sends a message or talks about the need to being in equilibrium with the happenings in the world and not to be too attached to one specifically.
(Downloads - 11)
Abebi
Cries of a baby
Tears of Iya Abebi
Evil some people call life
Isn’t it darkness that brought her to life?
At birth she takes a sweet full
Colostrum it is called
Nigeria, I call Abebi
Iya, I call her forefathers
Abebi did not grow like others
When a father drinks the milk,
of the child
Doesn’t the child’s belly get bigger?
Abebi did not take in
Enough milk while growing,
even though, filled with milk and honey
Abebi is now weaned on garri
In seven chapters, the narrator in this expository comic tell stories, story after story of the trending and laughable events on TwitterNg. While it appears to be ‘just for the laughs’, the narrator also exposes readers to deep memories of grief and loss experienced in the street.
The poet takes us on a journey along the palm-fringed beaten earth roads of his childhood home in rural Sierra Leone. Travelling with Ibrahim from boyhood to adulthood, from lonely forest paths to the teeming ghettos of Freetown
The works featured in the Prism issue have told a variety of truths. In May the Thirtieth, the poet writes, “I come from a place / where we are closest to sunrise”. You, the reader, could argue the veracity of this admittance.
(Downloads - 209)
