The sunny afternoon revealed the faces of sunburnt women walking along the coast of Kisumu.
She was not beautiful either. Beauty was not the stuff anyways. You’d grown enough to know it was not about beauty or about the soft faces or unending smiles, but you could not tell Mother this.
maybe men are the truest carnivores i want to eat you it is a
THE LONG HAUL – In Fiction
When it started, I thought, A lifetime chance it was. A twenty-two-wheel long haul truck with eighteen automobiles atop. Enroute to the capital city.
The fluttering heart,
The comforting silence.
The stares when l thought you weren’t looking.
The smiles to cover up my discomfort each time you caught me staring.
There’s something surreal about the way the writer describes the passing of time. I can almost tangibly feel the Grey in the surrounding and scenery he describes.
n this euphoric burst of prose, E.C. Osondu who won the 2009 Caine Prize for African Writing with his story “Waiting”, talks about African storytellers
LET ME TELL THIS STORY- A memoirI know there are azure skies not touched and
I had asked him to, as a birthday gift to both of us. He was 17 and didn’t quite know what to do because it was his first time, he took my virginity.
The prophet has just finished tapping their foreheads. They have been slain in the spirit.