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…
[Black] Privilege
Knows to call someone before hand, know someone before hand, or someone who knows someone before embarking on anything required by the government. [Why stand in line when you can afford to pay the necessary bribes to get the documentations you need?] Convinces me to pull out my English when asking for a service so…
Effie Nkrumah
Her name is Effie Nkrumah. Formerly known as Benumah, she is a multifaceted artist – writer, poet, actress and director – and she also works in the Academia. She tells AfroWomenPoetry that she started consciously writing in 2011: “I needed a way to get my questions and thoughts out – it was quite accidental but…
Sarah Lubala
Sarah Lubala is a Congolese-born, South Africa-based writer. Her family fled the Democratic Republic of Congo two decades ago amidst political unrest. They relocated first to South Africa, then the Ivory Coast, before returning to South Africa and settling in Johannesburg. She has been twice shortlisted for the Gerald Kraak Award, and once for The…
Jean Rhys
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…
A Deceptive Devil
You Chase her up hills and down valleys In the name of ‘love’ Easily she gives in Believing in so-called promises And ‘heaven like’ vows Luring her into indecent assaults Thinking she is impressing, She does it heartfelt Later you offer her gifts Penny in addition for ‘up keep’ Pretending to be loving and caring…
Social media love
Babes, Please I beg, Let us not waste time on grammar! The time between is too short to waste on long words, Want to is- Wanna and Going to is-Gonna Here we are, Fingering gadgets, Whatsupping, instead of twerking. Snapchatting instead of freaking each other, Groping clefts of throbbing flesh and skin Babes, Do not…
Jambula tree
When Sylvie and I are six we eat jambula till our tongues turn indigo then we travel home with night licking our heels. In the morning, our foreheads still anointed in violet blessings, we twine our stick-arms around its branches and stuff banana fibre dolls in the hollows of its roots. We swaddle make-believe babies…
Looking Forward
Hanging on small dreams the year folds itself in the tired sunset like a mimosa leaf It murmurs and screams new names old promises lies retold at the same place where songs are set on the loose in unplumbed laughter and tears We lay wreaths of frustration with no other option but to see hope…
I Am a Woman
When I was little I desired to be a woman A very alluring woman Like a lovely violet To love and be loved O! I imagined. Now I am a woman What more can I inquire? Am I thrilled? Am I loved? Am I myself? Who cares anyway? I’ve learnt to be a woman…