Itanile is a literary brand that provides a platform for African writers to publish stories they want to tell about the African experience. We are committed to developing new audiences for African literature. We provide a storytelling platform that connects African writers with their readers
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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.
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I remember being with a friend who talked about how she used pain to suppress pain. She gave me an example where she had had a stomach ache and had pinched herself, saying that the latter brought a certain kind of pain that was sharp enough to distract her from...
The Magazine entries for "Wings to Fly" have been come in waves! We have however found these gems. They'll be moving on to the next stage. CFWriterz is thrilled to announce the shortlist for the 2018 Dec. Freedom Magazine Award.The following eighteen pieces...
LIFE AND MEDALS “I ALWAYS BELIEVE I CAN BE THE BEST, ACHIEVE THE BEST. I ALWAYS SEE MYSELF IN THE TOP POSITION.” _ SERENA WILLIAMS. The above statement was made by Serena Jameka Williams, an American professional tennis player, ranked No. 1 in singles on...
I loved my mother. She was my father’s typical script, playing roles that were directed only by patriarchy. My mother fitted perfectly into his constrained perception of what a woman should be; the type that says ‘you can only be seen but can’t be heard’. She was such...
I remember the first time I saw my father hit my mother. We were seated around the dining table having breakfast. My parents were arguing about something, their voices low, when suddenly, my father leaped out of his chair and in one forceful movement, reached down and...
Nana was telling us the story of the sun and the moon today. Rana and Wata. Nana's Hausa was spoken like she was the first student of the gods of the kanem Bornu empire. Even when she was wrong, it was difficult to tell and she seemed to hold her head high when she...
Does it still hurt? Does it still hurt? Did it feel like fire ants settling on your...
Elegy of a Boy who fell off the Cliff. Below the white linen on the medical barrow are putrid wounds; Of torn flesh, smashed marrows and stretched meat. The ruins and remains of a fall from four ten feet Of a faceless boy who tipped off the cliff bounds; Down through...
I am fine. The sadness in me finds no expression, So I paint a smile on my face While the sadness festers, Rotting the core of my being. Still, I wear the plastered smile of a happy chap, Always replying, "I am good," "Everything is fine " "It's nothing_, never mind."...
Upon This Road I have been walking upon this road longer than I can remember, all I know is that I am a peripatetic mosaic of tales held in place by colourful tears and granulated dreams mixed with an adhesive of pains that sear me to the bone I cannot but notice the...
