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  Uduak Isong O.

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African Writing Archives

Current A.W.


Annette Quarcoopome


Annette Quarcoopome


You said kill him and our love changed. It was no longer a quiet love that did not fight and did not scream. Kill him. And my heart burned. You stole the knife from the pantry.

'Is this not my great husband?' She said rubbing her palms together. 'So it is possible to see him everyday like this? I did not know that the world economy would not collapse without his business trips.'

'Maybe he is not asleep,' I said glaring at her.


Ayobami Adebayo

Ayobami Adebayo
David Chislett


Child's Play

David Chislett

“Take it nice and easy like, we won’t hurt you,” the Hoody voice speaks again, “Just nice and easy up into the park here and then you can go n your way.”

Don’t be so dramatic. There are many sewing machines in Africa.

Maybe; but there are more machine guns these days. The tongue that has tasted blood can no longer savour oil. No, my brother, the dua-dua is dead. Long live the guerrilla.


Singer & Song

Chuma Nwokolo
Chuma Nwokolo
Domi Chirongo


Warning Shots

Domi Chirongo

It had lurched into the sanctity of my parents’ bedroom. Power, prying and guiltless, had forced itself into the intimacy of our home, desecrating its sacredness and homeliness. 3 weeks after the invasion, my mother’s bruises had not healed.


Rumours of War

Kangsen Feka Wakai

Kangsen Wakai

Khaled Al Khamissi



Khaled Al Khamissi

the government has planted in us a fear of hunger. It’s made every woman hold her husband by the arm and say to him: ‘Mind you don’t go out. The kids will die.’ They planted hunger in the belly of every Egyptian, a terror that made everyone look out for himself

In the morning they are woken up by heavy commotion. Mimi’s house is filled with people and the police are inspecting a neat pile of black ashes. A pair of half-burned brown boots lie carelessly near the ashes.


A Sister's Chant

Mncedisi Mashigoane

Mncedisi Mashigoane

Walter Craveiro/Link



The Whistler


“And why do you call him the Whistler?”

“Because he whistles!” Padre shot back, with a strange expression.

“Yes, but we can all whistle!” smiled KeMunuMunu, the Travelling Salesman.

She is oblivious of the pounding mass that assaults the teacher. He sits on the chair, eyes focussed on her lips. He makes out that she would like extra lessons but he cannot hear her words. He is reading her lips and watching for her tongue. .


The Teacher

Phephelaphi Dube

Phephelaphi Dube
Uduak Isong Oguamanam


Uduak Isong

‘Take this for the weekend Mama, feed my baby well for me.’

‘Ha, this is too much’, Mama would respond making no attempt to return the neat notes.‘God bless you my son, May everything you touch turn to gold.

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