Among other writings, Mr Mwanaka is currently working on a book of creative non fiction titled Zimbabwe: The Urgency of Now. His work has appeared in several journals, anthologies and magazines in over 27 countries. Some of these works have been in translation, notably into French and Spanish.
By Sima Mittal
“Who should I take away from you this time?” The God of Death asked in a small voice, “How about your brother’s son?”
“That Uncle Manju is a beast. He beats up his wife,” Sunitha accused. “He doesn’t deserve to live, take him instead.”
Sima was born in India in 1974, and moved to Arusha, Tanzania in 1978. In 2002 she settled with her family in Dar es Salaam, where she has been a resident ever since. She studied in Tanzania, India and the USA and holds a Bachelors of Engineering in Computer Science. Her love for writing grew…
By Uzoma Ihejirika
“As you eat, you cannot help listening in on the banter of the other men. You listen to them recount stories: funny stories, scary stories, crazy stories, you-must-be-joking stories. A man laments the robbery he faced in the hands of traffic officials; another man narrates how he had sex with a ghost posing as a prostitute; another man recounts his ordeals with a female boss; yet another narrates how he had finished, wait for it, not one, not two, but seven cartons of beer.
Your phone rings. You retrieve it from your breast pocket and glance at the screen. Unknown number. The restaurant has become too loud to answer a call. You hurriedly wash your hands and go outside.”
Uzoma Ihejirika is a Nigerian writer. His works of short fiction have appeared both in print and online platforms.
Attitudes towards fashion are influenced by the ways in which a society appreciates aesthetics. For most teens, the imperative to define their identity happens through high school culture and celebrity fashion. At social gatherings like the Buzz Teeniez Awards, celebrities’ dress codes are taken very seriously. This implies that any celebrity who dresses in a sloppy manner could dent their social capital. And the desire of youths to emulate celebrities in turn boosts manufacturers in the fashion industry.
Catherine Anite is a Human Rights advocate. Her work focuses on the promotion and defense of freedom of expression, media rights, and access to information. She has over four years’ experience working with journalists, women, children and refugees. She is the Chief Legal Officer at the Human Rights Network for Journalists in Uganda, where she defends and represents journalists at police stations and courts of law, analyses and publicises laws and policies that impede on freedom of expression, publishes work on media rights, trains journalists on professional standards, promotes media self-regulation and spearheads media rights campaigns.
Pat Robert Larubi is a news reporter with a rich experience in multi media and communication.
He has covered the war and post war recovery process in Northern Uganda. As a social entrepreneur, Pat has managed Destiny Film and Television Academy. This is a youth community journalism training centre aimed at empowering the youth of Uganda with basic skills in photography, videography and sound production.
I knew I wanted to be an artist as early as when I was 15 years old. So when I made the decision to pursue a degree in industrial art at Makerere University Margaret Trowel School of Industrial and Fine Art, it was no surprise to my family and friends.
I still ache for home. For the cold, biting dry Harmattan, dusty and cloudless sky. My ears still long for Hausa music, their thin soups made of vegetables with little oil and meat, and spiced with dawadawa. I really miss fura da nono, mia kuka, pate and masa. I wish I could apologize to Juju, hug papa once more and rub my face against his stubbly chin. I miss Halimat and how we used to talk. But now I feel something akin to hatred for her. When I think of her, the hole where my heart used to be widens, and I feel a deep kind of pain tear through me. My eyes water and my head pounds. My hands shake, and then breathing becomes a chore. My lungs begin to feel heavy and so I stop. I try not to think about Halimat. And I don’t feel much anymore, for this feeling has slowly consumed me.