I think of the divided self of Jean Rhys in Dominica, her invisible self in London, and the depth, scope, scale of her writing: What was achievable in her lifetime is achievable now, the winter’s tale of Jean Rhys, and her tragedy of errors, of losing a child, and her failed marriages. She was a…
For the blues
It’s 4am and you’re awake like your body’s been paged. You’re wondering if it will be worth it to sleep for 30 more minutes before starting your day. They’re playing a senseless song on the radio and it feels like such a waste of airplay. So you tuck yourself in to rest your brain. You’re…
I Forgive You
I forgive you for the silence you become in the face of awkwardness, anger and emotions. I forgive you for sometimes abandoning me when I need you the most. I forgive you for that time when I was seven years old when you disappeared. I forgive you for not remembering the things you need to…
The wife of the born-again Christian husband in Kampala
The faithful wife of a born-again Christian husband is a baffled woman. She will slap her cheeks with a Bible So that she doesn’t laugh at the jokes of a pastor. After all her husband is supposed to provide all the humor that is necessary. She will hold her aching thighs together and pray for…
Feminist Bloodline
As i grow up i learn that knowing what i want is the most valuable thing for a woman, Same goes to a man What i don’t know is why men always have the final say Why a man says what he wants in a relationship and i am to accept it. Good or bad….
Sometimes Love
Sometimes love Is running for your life When your tanks are still full Of oxygen, When your heart is still alive, When you can still hear its sound Lub dub Lub dub Sometimes it’s saying “No more” And run for your life. Sometimes love Is choosing yourself, Is Loving yourself, Forgiving-yourself, Mending your own scars,…
The Gloria/Ascension
My darkest moments are those leading to my success,a hesitation where I question – do I deserve this?where my ambition drains like a time lapse in reverseand I set out to seek a great perhaps through verse. Notes tuck themselves back into books,passages fold themselves into memoriesmy tongue reabsorbs every spoken wordwhich precipitates into a…
If there had been an owl
My son died the death I should have died quietly – he went – in his sleep. On that morning the sun shimmered like it had showered in gold – I would have understood if there had been an owl – two hoots (one for each year he breathed). and no sun…
About Development
They tripped over that strange opaque place Lunged, twisted, and nearly fell on their face Gained ground on a rebound and then Fled from the potential site of their fall from grace This is the pattern repeated often, Never explained but should not be forgotten Not by those who witness the chasm Between the have’s…
Ruddy Morfaw
Ruddy Morfaw is a Cameroonian jurist, writer and spoken-word poet. For over a decade, she has worked with institutions in the area of human rights, peace, development and corporate litigation. She has been a researcher and human rights activist with the Cameroon National Commission on Human Rights and Freedoms (NCHRF), Southwest Region, and she currently…