Aria Deemie

At just 24 years old, one might not expect such acute awareness, such tangible sensitivity, capable of recounting raw and painful realities with clear, transparent, effective words. But we are in Liberia, and she belongs to a generation born while the second civil war was still raging, enduring its effects in the difficult civil and…

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…

Love

She is beauty She is love She is the queen and then some Her love goes out to the fields and the oceans Her love goes beyond the sky and beneath the earth She runs after her shadow to break the chains of sorrow She hugs the universe To her, its for better for worse…

Wana Udobang, “Wana Wana”

Wana Udobang, also known as Wana Wana, is a Nigeria-based poet, journalist, documentary filmmaker, radio presenter and tv personality, whose production is at the intersection of women’s rights, social justice, healthcare, climate change, culture and the arts. Born in Lagos, she then graduated in the UK with a first-class Degree in Journalism. The experience in…

Fixable

You are fixable Hold my hand and let me mend your brokenness. It will hurt less the falling and crushing You will get better at sculpturing your bits and pieces. I won’t leave. I’ll wait for daybreak and we’ll figure out what to do with all this sunshine. *** Link to the Italian translation

Let me

Should I use my pen or lips to talk about the things that trigger me? And if I talk will you be able to listen and discern? But why is that my gender intentionally creeps and mocks at me? Maybe I should be silent like a dead bell but How am I going to change…

Melanin Queen

Her hands by her sideHead downShoulders dropped and eyes fixed on an unknown prizeShe snails by in fearFear of pointing fingers and heart breaking laughterThose words like a butcher’s knife swimsthrough her melancholic melanin skin She wonders if Odomankoma painted her in hasteShe has blood for tearsShe is her mother’s dreamThat moment form the womb,…

The Express Song

Broadcast live on your tv screens Away from the tear gas Inhaled on our behalf By journalists Professors clamour Claiming deprived salaries On our screens we view Fist fights on Parliament floors And we ask Will our Democracy Grow? We ought to know This is not a permanent flaw When words flow We only avoid…

Sponging

Maybe you will be a chronicle that none reads Except the one who makes the entry Or you will be a Facebook post Few will skim through Their fingers automated To click the like button. I don’t know and cannot tell And don’t care what you will turn out to be Because all I need…

You Must Know

You must know As little girls, we write about the struggles of our mums We glorify their pain as borne out of resilience in duties never understood The choring, the caring, the back-from-work, good enough to keep her a mother As little boys, we wonder what could be wrong with the masculinity of our dads…