Facebook timeliness are the best place to find out what’s being read and what’s being written and to also find out who is doing the reading and the writing. This is where I meet a lot of writers and readers. Thank you Zuckerberg, the Facebook streets have been good to me. Continue reading
Like most of the residents I host on the blog, I have never met Flow, I actually didn’t even know her as much as I knew the other writers before her residency. When she first sent me a message asking about the residency criteria I remember thinking, “This name sounds so familiar,” and before I answered her message I took some time to try and remember where I first saw the name. Twitter! he is very active in the poetry world and she has come up on my timeline a couple of times but not often enough for me to finally click on her page and do some research. Continue reading
It’s a Sunday afternoon, my sisters and I are setting the table next to our uncle Takitsi’s garden. We wanted the table to be on the green grass, next to the purple flowers and the red roses, because with the purple flowers dominating the garden, you could tell that it’s already spring. Continue reading
The final Moholoholo battle, the great battle, was fought in 1864. It’s been more than 154 years now since the war between amaSwati and Basotho ended but still our family mourns. We are still carrying our grandfather’s great-great-great-grandfather on our young shoulders, carrying their weight on our young shoulders. Our grandfather, Hangane was one of the warriors from the Swati tribe. Continue reading
My sister and I aren’t best friends, we fight a lot and some days we go to bed not talking to each other. We always find something to disagree about. One of our big disagreements is the color of the sun. I say it is orange but Temakhetselo says the sun is red so we don’t always see eye to eye. We do agree on one thing though, that the sun is beautiful when rising and hot during the day. Continue reading
In this family we pray. Every evening we go out to draw God’s face on the sky. It’s easy for Gogo, who leads the prayers, to draw God’s face when the moon is full. Mama told my two siblings and I that Gogo was given the moon as a gift by her late grandfather Enyetini, which means ‘in the moon’, before she married Mkhulu. Continue reading
I entered the thatch-roofed hut with my eyes closed. The rising smoke from the heaps of burning impepho rushed through my nostrils and settled behind my ribcage. My grandmother’s chanting beckoned memories and chased demons in one haunting melody. My right of passage was being prepared as I tranced into another world beyond the embers, into a dream.
‘You can’t,’ I told him.
‘Of course, I can!’
‘Sizwe, you can’t be serious.’
‘But I am,’ he replied, firmly. Continue reading
Malume Simon sat on the front stoep of his old house every morning to watch the sun filter its way through the skyscrapers. In his younger years, the landscape looked completely different to this concrete high-rise, but he knew that even this was just another slow advancement to a new world. Continue reading
I destroy homes, tear families apart, take your children and this is just the start.
I am more costly than diamonds, more than gold, the sorrow I bring is not a sight to behold. Continue reading