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ITANILE MAG

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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ITANILE EBooks/DOWNLOADS

  • 1,500.00
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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.

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  • 2,500.00

    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

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  • Prisms cover

    Prisms: Itanile Issue 9

    Sold By : Itanile

    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 - 211)

ITANILE PUBLICATIONS

BACHELORETTE

We should be dancing under the glow of the yellow bulb. My thick afro hair glistening in the bright light. A gramophone on the big brown cupboard in front of the table. A radio on the ottoman, its antenna stuck out like antlers. I should be dressed in a polka dot red...

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Why Did I Count The Slave?

Chief Oluyemi was a very wealthy man with two sons. He was well known all over Igada because of his kind gestures towards everyone and his good services to the people who came to him for assistance. He was very kind to the extent of knowing when one was in need. The...

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Sussuration – In Poetry

Susurration And here, at the crossroads, hesitation lingers like the pounding voices of migraine. My head ― a anvil of hooves, stammers in scattered dialects like this melancholic mumbling of water-bodies. On my spine is a hulk ― a sulking sketch of paranoia with...

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A TALE OF HOPE

My skin, coloured as shades of earth, Considered of no worth than dirt; They called me nigger, And made me a gold-digger. They made sweet bitter, And filled pools with my tears. The world looked on; Apparently, no cared. My hands became acquainted With miry depths of...

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