Untitled Document


  Ovo Adagha
  K. King-Aribisala
  Talal H.An’nayer
  Chris. Anyokwu
  Zino Asalor
  Jackee B. Batanda
  M.A. Bowley
  Brian Chikwava
  M. Gomo
  Ivor W. Hartmann
  Tracy Kidder
  Fungai Machirori
  J.K.S. Makokha
  Andie Miller
  Mandy Mitchell
  Dango Mkandawire
  Ngugi wa Thiong'o
  Obi Nwakanma
  Chuma Nwokolo
  Chris Okigbo
  Michael Onile-Ere
  Nii Ayikwei Parkes
  S. D. Partington
  A, Quarcoopome
  Ato Quayson
  Bryony Rheam
  Hans Schippers
  Emmanuel Sigauke
  Vamba Sherif
  Danielle T. Smith
  Peter W. Vakunta
  Victor Ehikhamenor






Click to read full Magazine
with Vamba Sherif

Vamba Sherif arrives home in Kolahun

I was returning home after 20 years, and the man who was driving me there turned out to be an ex-rebel. The last time I saw Kolahun, my birthplace in Liberia, was in 1990 ...

Cover Interview

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Three Poems


Zino AsalorZino Asalor

Asalor is a Nigerian poet and Network Engineer. He is currently
working on his first collection of
poetry, The Diary that Became Man
and Other Poems.




























Trapped in Memory

He was there
Face smacked with scars
of violent age
bronze, blended behind
A flowery stockade
Sliced in slits when I pass
Always when I pass

A glimpse shared told of
Definitions; architecture
Early 1980’s, maybe 90’s
Truth caked somewhere
In cement, bound by the
Handshake of our eyes

But past familiar streets
Horizon slithers into foam
Fizzling with a pop at the beckon
Of all that is old and past
Mashed in the mud of history’s gutter
I am spat out
Colour rinsed from my shriek

He is there again
And I, here
peering through the smoky haze
Of blown-out candles
palming bribe and blade
Tonight I shall skin a god


Life and Death

I give you a look
You smile, rising
You smile at me
I rise, dreaming
only of lying down


Solo (For Miss Ratu)

The sight of you
Sparked a syzygy of senses
Thoughts in flux
Rushing rivulets
Bursting splash

An exaltation of physics for when dreams
And life collide
Life trickled into my veins
Slowly since then

I heard you left for Lagos
And joined the long traffic jams
Forever snail-ing its way to the bank
This Monday. Next Monday

Two months ago
.... Monday
I saunter to that spot
As if I lost a wallet there
On Mondays
Roaming back-stage hallways
Like I did, peddling promises

And at night, I return
To pound sleep
With heavy rumbles
My heart
Still laughing
At your joke.



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