Pradeep, a police officer based in Benoni, South Africa, grew weary of his monotonous routine. In search of thrill, he devised a bold scheme to rob a bank.

He booked an early flight from Johannesburg to Durban, rented a car upon landing, and made his way to a nearby bank. Before leaving his vehicle, he put on a wig and a fake beard. Once inside the bank, he pointed his gun at the teller, insisting she fill his bag with cash. After successfully obtaining the money, he quickly left and caught the next flight back to Johannesburg.

The robbery went off seamlessly, leaving Pradeep buzzing with excitement. This thrill ignited a series of plans for more bank robberies, one after another, until he was frequently flying to Durban on his days off to execute yet another daring theft. He even started hitting up local banks in Johannesburg during his lunch breaks. With his ingenious disguises, he could pull off the crime and then seamlessly return to the area, leaving witnesses completely unaware that he was the very person they were describing.

Pradeep had honed his skills in bank robbery to perfection; he was intimately familiar with the intricacies of bank security systems, allowing him to dodge capture time after time. Over the course of four thrilling years, he successfully executed heists at around 30 different banks, with each adventure delivering an adrenaline-fuelled thrill.

One fateful evening, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. At a vibrant party, he indulged a bit too much in the drinks and struck up a conversation with his buddy Larry. Fuelled by a surge of confidence, he started bragging to Larry about his latest bank heists, insisting he was a master in the art of robbery.

Larry worked for SAMBO, a branch of the South African Police Service focused on combating organised crime, economic offences, and corruption. Bound by his oath and the responsibilities of his role, he realised he could not stay silent about the secret and chose to bring it to the attention of his superiors.

Upon Pradeep's return from Durban, having just pulled off another bank heist, the police were poised and ready at the baggage claim. He was taken into custody and sentenced to 18 years in prison. However, Pradeep wasn't about to give up; he began devising his escape plan even as the judge delivered his verdict.

While he was incarcerated, he crossed paths with a man named Mpande, and shortly thereafter, he met another fellow inmate named Fanie. Both were serving sentences for robbery, and before long, the trio developed a solid friendship that would see them through their time behind bars.

After nearly three years of incarceration, the trio concocted a bold escape strategy. They initiated their plan by having Pradeep and Mpande feign injuries, successfully persuading the prison guards to escort them to an external physiotherapist for care. Upon arrival, they seized the moment, overpowering the guards and taking their firearms. Armed with the guards' weapons, they commandeered the physiotherapist's vehicle and made a thrilling escape. Following their flight, they opted to lay low for some time.

Several months went by, and they launched a daring assault on the prison where Fanie was held captive, guns blazing, and managed to break him out. Now that the trio was back together and on the run, they had to find a place to lay low.

Pradeep was filled with restlessness, craving the thrill of robbing banks once more. He, along with his two accomplices, set off on a daring escapade, starting with one bank and swiftly moving to the next, then a third. Their spree continued as they hit bank after bank, all while sporting ridiculous disguises: giant sunglasses, bushy moustaches, and fake beards. They may have looked comical, but their synergy was impressive, allowing them to complete a heist in under five minutes. On some occasions, they even managed to rob several banks in a single day without being apprehended.

As their exploits gained notoriety, news of the bank robbers spread like wildfire through the community. Surprisingly, many locals began to rally behind them, captivated by how they outsmarted the police. Pradeep, Mpande, and Fanie found themselves in the spotlight as unlikely heroes, affectionately dubbed "The Invisibles" by their growing legion of fans. The frenzy surrounding them was palpable, and their faces were splashed across every news platform, igniting discussions far and wide. They untimately became South Africa's most wanted.

Over a span of several months, the crime spree showed no signs of slowing down. The gang found shelter in various safe houses, seized every chance to rob banks, amassed a significant amount of cash, and filled their leisure time with a parade of escorts.

Pradeep had a disturbing tendency to target unsuspecting young women, posing as a professional photographer. He lured them to his hotel room with the allure of a photoshoot, only to take advantage of them in a shocking way. One brave victim mustered the strength to report his heinous behaviour to the authorities.

With the threat of being captured hanging over them, the three quickly formulated an ingenious escape strategy to leave the country. They decided to obtain a yacht, aiming to make their getaway by sea. They believed this maritime route offered a greater sense of safety.

Using a fraudulent passport, Pradeep headed to Australia to finalise the discussions surrounding the yacht sale. Meanwhile, back in South Africa, law enforcement was closing in on one of the gang's secret locations. It appeared that some of the gang's escorts had tipped off the authorities. At approximately 4:00 am, the police surrounded the location, with Mpande being the sole occupant of the hideout. Police ordered the gang to come out with their hands raised. In a surreal moment, Mpande, still dripping from his shower and entirely naked, reached for his weapon and found himself in a frantic butt-naked shootout with law enforcement. The police burst into the house, and gunfire erupted around him as he dashed from one room to another, firing back at his pursuers. When they finally cornered him, he made a tragic choice, turning the gun on himself and ending it all.

In the meantime, Fanie received a tip-off that the police were closing in on them. He quickly made his escape, using a counterfeit passport to catch a flight to Greece. By the time the police conducted their raid on the gang's safe houses, he had already vanished. However, in one of those locations, they discovered photographs of a woman whom Pradeep had assaulted several months earlier. This evidence not only corroborated her account of being exploited by him but also linked the safe house directly to Pradeep.

The safe house provided crucial information that directed the police to the yacht they had purchased. From there, they traced a crew member hired to navigate it, who revealed that Pradeep was meant to transport the yacht to Australia. This development led law enforcement to conclude that Pradeep might be in Australia. Local newspapers caught wind of the story and began featuring Pradeep's photo, causing residents in Melbourne to be on the lookout for him.

One fateful morning, everything began to unravel for Pradeep. He was browsing a used car dealership, eager to find a new car, worried that his old one might give him away. The salesman, having seen Pradeep's face in the local newspaper, kept quiet at first but later decided to alert the authorities.

That night, the police made their way to Pradeep's apartment, forcefully entering the premises. But to their dismay, Pradeep was nowhere to be found. But just when it seemed like they were at a dead end, one of the officers spotted him whizzing by on a bicycle. There was no doubt about it; he recognised him instantly. The police officer dashed over to confront him. Realising what was happening, Pradeep jumped off his bike and made a run for it.

The police officer pursued him relentlessly until he finally caught up. Pradeep, who had been feigning surrender, suddenly lunged for the officer's shotgun. In a split second, the officer reacted by drawing his secondary weapon and fired four shots into Pradeep's chest, resulting in his immediate death.

Fanie, the sole remaining member of the trio, ended up in Brazil, where he tried to pull off another heist. Unfortunately, his plan failed spectacularly, resulting in his arrest and a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

"Now that I knew fear, I also knew it was not permanent. As powerful as it was, its grip on me would loosen. It would pass."

Louise Erdrich, The Round House

Quick Reads

Love In The Skies
Kourtney was absolutely passionate about skydiving, to the point where she would leave her husband and kids at home every weekend just to soar through the skies. With Theodorer as her skydyving partner, their shared passion for jumping out of planes soon led to a deep connection and a love story that unfolded in the skies every weekend, sharing intimate moments.

Kourtney eagerly anticipated each upcoming weekend to steal some time with Theodore. Little did she know that Theodore was also involved with another woman, Gwen, who was an avid skydiver and deeply infatuated with him. Gwen was aware of Theodore's relationship with Kourtney and was not pleased. Determined to remove Kourtney from the equation, she set out to make it happen.

Gwen's attempts to sabotage Kourtney's affair with Theodore were all in vain. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't seem to put an end to Kourtney's affair with Theodore. The anonymous letters and creepy phone calls only added to Gwen's frustration. The situation was made even more challenging by the fact that Gwen and Kourtney were friends who shared thrilling skydiving adventures.

Gwen and Theodore had a lovely dinner out one evening, but when they returned to Theodore's place, they were greeted by a surprise: Kourtney was there, ready to spend the night with Theodore. Gwen had to keep her composure and spend time with both of them, hiding her feelings of jealousy. The night took an unexpected turn, with everyone finding themselves crashing at Theodore's place. Kourtney and Theodore shared the bed, while Gwen made do with a sleeping bag on the living room floor.

Gwen found herself sprawled on the living room floor, overwhelmed with frustration. In a sudden burst of anger, she jumped to her feet and grabbed a pair of scissors. Without a second thought, she began dismantling Kourtney's skydiving equipment that was lying nearby. She meticulously cut through the parachute, removing the pilot chute and severing the crucial straps.

Two weeks later, Kourtney, Theodore, and Gwen were all geared up for a thrilling skydiving experience with a larger group. As they soared up in the plane, excitement filled the air. They leaped out and formed a perfect formation, but disaster struck when Kourtney's parachute failed to open. Despite her skydiving expertise, fear crept in as she frantically tried to release her reserve chute. With no luck, she plummeted over two and a half kilometres to the ground. Down below, a woman in her yard suddenly heard a crash and went to check. She discovered Kourtney in the bushes, and it was clear that Kourtney didn't make it. The police got involved and took Kourtney's parachute to a parachute expert for investigation. Without delay, the expert concluded that the parachute was tampered with. He also pointed out that the pilot chute was missing.

One morning Gwen unexpectedly showed up at the police station with the missing pilot chute, claiming that Kourtney's gear was not sabotaged. However, her actions raised suspicion when the police realised that they had never disclosed the missing pilot chute to anyone. When questioned about how she knew about it, Gwen's refusal to provide details landed her at the top of the suspects list.

Following additional police investigation, it was discovered that Gwen, Kourtney, and Theodore were involved in a love triangle. It was revealed that Gwen had spent the night in Theodore's living room, near Kourtney's skydiving gear. She was found guilty at trial and sentenced to 25 years in prison for sabotaging Kourtney's parachute, leading to her death.
Lost At Sea
As the elderly couple looked on, they witnessed a peculiar sight: a man crawling through the sand. He was naked, barely able to stand, clutching a knife, and shouting something in a language they couldn't comprehend.

Willem, a fearless fisherman who braved the dangers of the deep sea to reel in Geelbek and Cape Snoek along the cold Atlantic waters. One morning, he made the spontaneous decision to embark on a two-day fishing escapade. With his usual fishing buddy unavailable, he sought out a replacement. That's when a young and inexperienced angler named Ashley eagerly stepped up to the challenge. Together, Willem and Ashley set sail on the Atlantic waters.

Over the course of two days, they dedicated themselves to fishing and managed to accumulate a total of 500 kilograms of fish. This impressive catch would bring in a tidy profit once they returned home, equivalent to a week's earnings. Unfortunately, their journey back took an unexpected twist as they set sail homeward. Without warning, a massive storm descended upon them, filling the boat with water. Panicked, Ashley grabbed a bucket to scoop out the water while Willem fought to steer through the turbulent waves. Luckily, the storm eventually subsided, revealing land on the horizon.

They were approximately two hours from the shore when the boat's engine began to stutter and eventually stopped. Willem quickly grabbed a two-way radio and contacted his boss to inform him about the engine failure. His boss enquired about their location, but their GPS had malfunctioned. As if things couldn't get any worse, the storm began to gather strength, causing the boat to be violently tossed around by towering waves, lifting them up to 10 meters high before dropping them back down. Upon realising that the 500 kilograms of fish they had caught were making the boat unstable, Willem made the decision to dump it all out. They continued to throw overboard anything else that was not useful, such as extra ice and fuel, in order to lighten the load and restore stability to the boat.

When the two-way radio suddenly went silent, Willem and Ashley had already been working tirelessly to remove water from the boat for a couple of hours. Despite their best efforts, the engine remained stubbornly inactive. Willem's anger boiled over; he was seething with rage and completely lost control. He grabbed a club typically used for killing fish and violently smashed the boat's engine. In a fit of frustration, he tossed the dead GPS and radio into the water.

With nightfall and dropping temperatures, the two men had no choice but to huddle under an overturned cooler for warmth and shelter.

Meanwhile, back on land, a search party was organised to find the missing duo. However, the relentless storm continued to rage on, making visibility extremely poor. After three days of fruitless searching, the decision was made to call off the search.

Five more days dragged on before the storm ceased its fury. Willem and Ashley were left disoriented, realising they were in the middle of nowhere. Hunger gnawed at their stomachs, and there was no food or water left on the boat. With Willem's tools lost at sea, he had to improvise. He spent time honing his skills at catching fish with his bare hands. They had no choice but to eat their catch raw and drink their own urine to stay alive.

One fortunate day, a seabird landed on their boat, giving them a stroke of luck. Willem wasted no time in seizing the opportunity and swiftly took the bird's life. They managed to sustain themselves by consuming the bird for a couple of days until rain finally poured down, allowing them to gather water to drink. For approximately two months, they survived by eating raw fish and collecting rainwater whenever possible.

With each passing day, Ashley underwent a transformation that deeply affected his demeanor. Sinking into a state of despair, he rejected any form of sustenance. The mere idea of consuming raw animals repulsed him to the point where he abandoned eating entirely. His condition worsened, prompting Willem and Ashley to fear the worst. In a desperate move, they made a pact: if Willem survives, he will reach out to Ashley's mother with a message intended exclusively for her. He reluctantly agreed to the plan.

One rainy morning, following over three months of being adrift at sea, Ashley succumbed to starvation. Willem was heartbroken to find himself alone. The bond they had formed during their harrowing ordeal was strong, leaving Willem feeling incredibly isolated. He found himself conversing with Ashley's lifeless body, unable to let go. After six days, he came to the realisation that it was not healthy to continue pretending the corpse was still alive.

He shoved Ashley's lifeless body into the ocean, then continued to survive on his boat adrift at sea. Another month passed, and Willem was still there, living off the land, catching fish, drinking rainwater, and talking to birds and dead fish.

Suddenly, Willem spotted a new type of bird - not the usual seabirds, but land birds. In the distance, he could make out a mountaintop, which turned out to be connected to an island. It was a glimmer of hope that maybe he could keep his word and deliver the message to Ashley's mother.

The island was approximately an hour away, and Willem steered his boat in its direction. As he neared, he plunged into the water and swam for dear life to the shore. Upon reaching it, he found himself too feeble to stand, completely unclothed, and armed with a knife for safety. He laboriously crawled onto the beach and into the jungle, where he came across a house occupied by an elderly couple. They saw him crawling around naked with a knife, shouting in Afrikaans. The elderly couple ended up helping him get to the hospital.

So what is this island that Willem finally landed on after being lost at sea for more than four months? Willem had drifted almost 2800 kilometres all the way from coastal Cape Town to the Tristan da Cunha island.

A month later, after being rescued and coming back to Cape Town, South Africa, he paid a visit to Ashley's mother and was able to pass along Ashley's last message to her.

His incredible story landed him a book deal, but then Ashley's family sued him for two million rands, claiming half of the book sales.

What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?

So I lie, who all day long
Want no sound except the song
Sung by wild barbaric birds
Goading massive jungle herds,
Juggernauts of flesh that pass
Trampling tall defiant grass
Where young forest lovers lie,
Plighting troth beneath the sky.
So I lie, who always hear,
Though I cram against my ear
Both my thumbs, and keep them there,
Great drums throbbing through the air.
So I lie, whose fount of pride,
Dear distress, and joy allied,
Is my somber flesh and skin,
With the dark blood dammed within
Like great pulsing tides of wine
That, I fear, must burst the fine
Channels of the chafing net
Where they surge and foam and fret.

Africa?A book one thumbs
Listlessly, till slumber comes.
Unremembered are her bats
Circling through the night, her cats
Crouching in the river reeds,
Stalking gentle flesh that feeds
By the river brink; no more
Does the bugle-throated roar
Cry that monarch claws have leapt
From the scabbards where they slept.
Silver snakes that once a year
Doff the lovely coats you wear,
Seek no covert in your fear
Lest a mortal eye should see;
What's your nakedness to me?
Here no leprous flowers rear
Fierce corollas in the air;
Here no bodies sleek and wet,
Dripping mingled rain and sweat,
Tread the savage measures of
Jungle boys and girls in love.
What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set­­
Bough and blossom, flower, fruit,
Even what shy bird with mute
Wonder at her travail there,
Meekly labored in its hair.
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?

So I lie, who find no peace
Night or day, no slight release
From the unremittent beat
Made by cruel padded feet
Walking through my body's street.
Up and down they go, and back,
Treading out a jungle track.
So I lie, who never quite
Safely sleep from rain at night--
I can never rest at all
When the rain begins to fall;
Like a soul gone mad with pain
I must match its weird refrain;
Ever must I twist and squirm,
Writhing like a baited worm,
While its primal measures drip
Through my body, crying, "Strip!
Doff this new exuberance.
Come and dance the Lover's Dance!"
In an old remembered way
Rain works on me night and day.

Quaint, outlandish heathen gods
Black men fashion out of rods,
Clay, and brittle bits of stone,
In a likeness like their own,
My conversion came high-priced;
I belong to Jesus Christ,
Preacher of humility;
Heathen gods are naught to me.

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
So I make an idle boast;
Jesus of the twice-turned cheek,
Lamb of God, although I speak
With my mouth thus, in my heart
Do I play a double part.
Ever at Thy glowing altar
Must my heart grow sick and falter,
Wishing He I served were black,
Thinking then it would not lack
Precedent of pain to guide it,
Let who would or might deride it;
Surely then this flesh would know
Yours had borne a kindred woe.
Lord, I fashion dark gods, too,
Daring even to give You
Dark despairing features where,
Crowned with dark rebellious hair,
Patience wavers just so much as
Mortal grief compels, while touches
Quick and hot, of anger, rise
To smitten cheek and weary eyes.
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.

All day long and all night through,
One thing only must I do:
Quench my pride and cool my blood,
Lest I perish in the flood.
Lest a hidden ember set
Timber that I thought was wet
Burning like the dryest flax,
Melting like the merest wax,
Lest the grave restore its dead.
Not yet has my heart or head
In the least way realized
They and I are civilized.

Countee Cullen

Bookshelf

Amagama Enkululeko! Words for Freedom: Brings together short fiction, poetry, narrative journalism, and extracts from novels and memoirs to showcase local literature as a means to understand South Africa's history. Featuring a foreword by Zakes Mda and a mix of well-known and overlooked struggle writers, this anthology of poetry and prose provides a glimpse into how everyday life was influenced by historical circumstances.

Equal Education

From a small city-state in the early 1600s, the Kingdom of Dahomey grew to be a significant force in West Africa two centuries later. The expansionist plans and dualism where every male role has a female counterpart of its rulers were well-known. This led to the growth of women as royal guards, elephant hunters, and, ultimately, warrioresses, who had a significant impact on society. Up to the end of the nineteenth century, Dahomey's kings relied on the agoji, a group of fierce and fearless warrioresses, to protect their country. French invasion in the area was resisted by King Bhanzin and his elite agoji soldiers, but they were eventually defeated by the superior weaponry of the adversary. Despite Dahomey's conversion to a French colony, the women defenders' legacy lives on in the country's history.

Letitia Degraft Okyere

The Kingdom of Dahomey, a West African kingdom that ruled for more than 300 years. It's the land of cannibalism, voodoo, brutal kings, beauty, and cruelty. This incredible story is unknown to many of us.

History Encounters

At fourteen, Adunni dreams of getting an education and giving her family a more comfortable home in her small Nigerian village. Instead, Adunni's father sells her off to become the third wife of an old man. When tragedy strikes in her new home, Adunni flees to the wealthy enclaves of Lagos, where she becomes a housegirl to the cruel Big Madam and prey to Big Madam's husband. But despite her situation continuously going from bad to worse, Adunni refuses to let herself be silenced. And one day, someone hears her.

Abi Dare

Since 2012, new land laws have been put in place in Kenya, but why is there still more land grabbing happening? Why haven't the laws been able to fix the unfair land distribution issues that have been around for a long time? This book says that fairness should be a big part of any talks about changing land ownership in Africa.

Ambreena Manji

This bestselling relationship self-help book investigates and reveals how powerfully addictive unhealthy relationships can be - but also gives a very specific programme for recovery from the disease of loving too much, a problem that plagues women everywhere.

Robin Norwood

An intriguing anthology that explores the rich fabric of Southern African tradition and culture. Readers will find a wealth of historical narratives presented in the oral storytelling style within its pages, providing insights into the experiences, customs, and beliefs of the region's diverse peoples.
Every tale offers a window into the rich tapestry of Southern African life, from the myths of great warriors to the counsel of ancestors. This collection honors the timeless value of storytelling and extends an invitation to discover Southern Africa's enduring legacy via the craft of narrative.

Stephen Apolima

This poetry book is filled with all things sunshine without ignoring the storms. Pain is real. Anxiety is real. Depression is real. Hardships in life are real. I hope when you pick up this book you feel heard and comforted. Even if it doesn't seem like it right now, your sun will rise once again.

Jennae Cecelia

This book has more than two dozen stories of Indigenous resistance to the privatisation and allotment of Indigenous lands.
Land privatisation has been a longstanding issue that has led to Indigenous peoples being removed from their traditional homelands. Allotment Stories explores this conflict by sharing stories of Indigenous communities fighting against land schemes that seek to dispossess them.

Daniel Heath Justice, Jean M.

Every tale astonishes with its melodies, warmth, and linguistic mastery.

Gothatone Moeng

"If sharks were men," Mr. K. was asked by his landlady's little girl, "would they be nicer to the little fishes?"

"Certainly," he said. "If sharks were men, they would build enormous boxes in the ocean for the little fish, with all kinds of food inside, both vegetable and animal. They would take care that the boxes always had fresh water, and in general they would make all kinds of sanitary arrangements. If, for example, a little fish were to injure a fin, it would immediately be bandaged so that it would not die and be lost to the sharks before its time. So that the little fish would not become melancholy, there would be big water festivals from time to time because cheerful fish taste better than melancholy ones.

"There would, of course, also be schools in the big boxes. In these schools, the little fish would learn how to swim into the sharks' jaws. They would need to know geography, for example, so that they could find the big sharks, who lie idly around somewhere. The principal subject would, of course, be the moral education of the little fish. They would be taught that it would be the best and most beautiful thing in the world if a little fish sacrificed itself cheerfully and that they all had to believe the sharks, especially when the latter said they were providing for a beautiful future. The little fish would be taught that this future is assured only if they learnt obedience. The little fish had to beware of all base, materialist, egotistical, and Marxist inclinations, and if one of their number betrayed such inclinations, they had to report it to the sharks immediately.

"If sharks were men, they would, of course, also wage wars against one another in order to conquer other fish boxes and other little fish. The wars would be waged by their own little fish. They would teach their little fish that there was an enormous difference between themselves and the little fish belonging to the other sharks. Little fish, they would announce, are well known to be mute, but they are silent in quite different languages and hence find it impossible to understand one another. Each little fish that, in a war, killed a couple of other little fish, enemy ones, silent in their own language, would have a little order made of seaweed pinned to it and be awarded the title of hero.

"If sharks were men, there would, of course, also be art. There would be beautiful pictures in which the sharks' teeth would be portrayed in magnificent colours and their jaws as pure pleasure gardens, in which one could romp about splendidly. The theatres at the bottom of the sea would show heroic little fish swimming enthusiastically into the jaws of sharks, and the music would be so beautiful that to the accompaniment of its sounds, the orchestra leading the way, the little fish would stream dreamily into the sharks' jaws, lulled by the most agreeable thoughts.

"There would also be a religion if sharks were men. It would preach that little fish only really begin to live properly in the sharks' stomachs.

"Furthermore, if sharks were men, there would be an end to all little fish being equal, as is the case now. Some would be given important offices and be placed above the others. Those who were a little bigger would even be allowed to eat up the smaller ones. That would be altogether agreeable for the sharks, since they themselves would more often get bigger bites to eat. And the bigger little fish, occupying their posts, would ensure order among the little fish, become teachers, officers, engineers in box construction, etc.

"In short, if sharks were men, they would for the first time bring culture to the ocean."

Bertolt Brecht, Stories of Mr Keuner

Poems

We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.

There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things

And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.

That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.

And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here

And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.

Ben Okri

The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light,
The sciences were sucklings at thy breast;
When all the world was young in pregnant night
Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best.
Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize,
New peoples marvel at thy pyramids!
The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes
Watches the mad world with immobile lids.
The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh's name.
Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain!
Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
They went. The darkness swallowed thee again.
Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,
Of all the mighty nations of the sun.

Claude McKay

Pot of love,
Dot with life!
Spot of peace,
Hot like the sun;
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
My identity,
My continent,
My Country,
My land,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
Mama Africa,
Africa! Africa!
My identity,
The Colour of my Skin,
The muse of life,
The muse of my mind,
Africa! Africa!
Cultures and Traditions,
My continent,
My Country,
My land,
My identity,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
Mama Africa,
The continent of my birth,
With the muse of my mind to the world so sweet!
Poetry,
Way of life;
Presenting my works to the world,
From Africa!
Being an African,
Born and raised in Ghana,
My identity,
My life,
Love and art!
Love and life,
Peace and joy!
Mama Africa,
Africa! Africa!
Mama Africa,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
With the fragrance of life and the romance of nature;
The beauty of creation,
The Harmony of life,
Mama Africa,
The Symphony of the truth!
With righteous morals;
Africa! Africa!
Mama Africa,
The colours of life,
With the aroma of creation;
Love Brewed In The African Pot!

Edward Kofi Louis

Africa Africa Africa!
Oh the once mighty and heroic Africa
Why has thou grown so cold?
Why has thou remained thus numb?

A fremd is here in thy enclave
Battling thy home without mercy
And battering thy all in thy all
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!

Thy peace is stolen
And fear injected in thy veins
With thy activities all at halt
All by same unwelcome visitor.

Thy hands are caged
And thy mouth silenced with mask
While thy children die in numbers
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!

Hunger is dire in the land
Yet thy children are home and docked
For the fear of the fremd
And thou dost nothing.

Thou keepest quite, oh Africa!
In the midst of all these
Waiting for the Whites to solve thy puzzle
And the world to come to your rescue.

When hast thou grown lazy, Africa?
Where are thy ecumenic powers?
Where are thy roots and thy foods?
What happened to thy herbs?

Why art thou dependent on the Whites?
Why hope on them for solution?
Why look akimbo, oh Africa?
Can't solution come from thee?

Are thy bushes there in vain?
Thy creatures and powers to create
Africa, recall thy deeeds in the past
And mights and beauty in the days of old.

Arise, oh Africa, to save the world
For a fremd has trapped the earth
And the key with the earth remains
Arise oh Africa, and find ye the key.

Arise, Africa, Arise
Leverage thy powers and flowers
The world is waiting for your
Arise, oh Africa, arise

Izunna Okafor

One of the last (if not the last) of Africa's
tallest trees has fallen
Yes, Kofi Anan breathes no more
Death has stolen one of the last true sons of the soil
Death has stolen one of the last of Africa's favorite sons
Africa is weeping!
Africa is mourning!
Africa is weeping!
Africa is mourning!

One who was an embodiment of integrity is no more
Africa is mourning!
One who was Africa's pride and joy breathes no more
Africa is inconsolable!
One who was a compass of morality is late
Africa is weeping!

Oh Africa! Was Kofi your last born?
Is any of your favorite sons still alive?
Corruption is rampant
Integrity is not in any of our leaders vocabulary
Moral decay stinks up to the heavens
God and His angels must be closing their noses.

You join your fellow brothers
You join other favorite sons of Africa
You join Jomo Kenyatta
You join Patrice Lumumba
You join Julius Nyerere
You join Steve Biko
You join Nelson Mandela
One of Africa's tallest trees has fallen
Kofi Anan breathes no more.

Qiniso Mogale

Africa, Our Africa

Africa of Green and Black, of colors in between
Africa of people, of love and light, from within

Africa of ethnics and languages, of long told history
Africa of cultures and traditions, a rich tapestry.

Africa of strife and victory through colonial time
Africa of struggle through imperial crime

Africa of war, both tribal and civil
Africa of peace, condemning evil

Africa of hope, freedom and liberation
Africa of growth, of change and innovation

Africa of then: men, women - slaves to capture
Africa of now: men, women - reclaiming our valor!

Muna Zee

No end of story has been told, several legends have been born; tiny runnels have wiped out into the Nile; massive water courses had gorged the Indian and the Atlantic.

Africa is the native land of all mankind species, our cherished fatherland is the continent of Africa; you are always welcome to Africa.

Jewels are found in the stain atop, pure beauty is found in our hearts; giving hope with full-blown vision.

For many people of the world, Africa is time and again seen through a spare monocle, purified curtain abodes of indigence, deprivation, illness, dearth, and blues.

Yes, we have our threat, it's true, but we are a people of physiques, resilience and faith; African elevation comes alive as a cloud nine.

Africa is a continent of countries, clans, of peoples; each with its olden days, its voice, its rainbows; its bounty of rituals, the diversity of its arts; and the charm of its civilization.

Africa is a nook of titanic conceivable of chow that is appetizing, fervent and sweet; Africa is not a spot of shadows, but a distance of light of a nightmare and opportunity; Africa is not a hole of pity, but a place of influence and self-respect.

We are the offshoot of a proud continent, Africa is where the sun steps up and bents with a scorching effulgence; making it a place where every day is a sunny season.

Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?

So I lie, who all day long
Want no sound except the song
Sung by wild barbaric birds
Goading massive jungle herds,
Juggernauts of flesh that pass
Trampling tall defiant grass
Where young forest lovers lie,
Plighting troth beneath the sky.
So I lie, who always hear,
Though I cram against my ear
Both my thumbs, and keep them there,
Great drums throbbing through the air.
So I lie, whose fount of pride,
Dear distress, and joy allied,
Is my somber flesh and skin,
With the dark blood dammed within
Like great pulsing tides of wine
That, I fear, must burst the fine
Channels of the chafing net
Where they surge and foam and fret.

Africa?A book one thumbs
Listlessly, till slumber comes.
Unremembered are her bats
Circling through the night, her cats
Crouching in the river reeds,
Stalking gentle flesh that feeds
By the river brink; no more
Does the bugle-throated roar
Cry that monarch claws have leapt
From the scabbards where they slept.
Silver snakes that once a year
Doff the lovely coats you wear,
Seek no covert in your fear
Lest a mortal eye should see;
What's your nakedness to me?
Here no leprous flowers rear
Fierce corollas in the air;
Here no bodies sleek and wet,
Dripping mingled rain and sweat,
Tread the savage measures of
Jungle boys and girls in love.
What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set­­
Bough and blossom, flower, fruit,
Even what shy bird with mute
Wonder at her travail there,
Meekly labored in its hair.
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?

So I lie, who find no peace
Night or day, no slight release
From the unremittent beat
Made by cruel padded feet
Walking through my body's street.
Up and down they go, and back,
Treading out a jungle track.
So I lie, who never quite
Safely sleep from rain at night--
I can never rest at all
When the rain begins to fall;
Like a soul gone mad with pain
I must match its weird refrain;
Ever must I twist and squirm,
Writhing like a baited worm,
While its primal measures drip
Through my body, crying, "Strip!
Doff this new exuberance.
Come and dance the Lover's Dance!"
In an old remembered way
Rain works on me night and day.

Quaint, outlandish heathen gods
Black men fashion out of rods,
Clay, and brittle bits of stone,
In a likeness like their own,
My conversion came high-priced;
I belong to Jesus Christ,
Preacher of humility;
Heathen gods are naught to me.

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
So I make an idle boast;
Jesus of the twice-turned cheek,
Lamb of God, although I speak
With my mouth thus, in my heart
Do I play a double part.
Ever at Thy glowing altar
Must my heart grow sick and falter,
Wishing He I served were black,
Thinking then it would not lack
Precedent of pain to guide it,
Let who would or might deride it;
Surely then this flesh would know
Yours had borne a kindred woe.
Lord, I fashion dark gods, too,
Daring even to give You
Dark despairing features where,
Crowned with dark rebellious hair,
Patience wavers just so much as
Mortal grief compels, while touches
Quick and hot, of anger, rise
To smitten cheek and weary eyes.
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.

All day long and all night through,
One thing only must I do:
Quench my pride and cool my blood,
Lest I perish in the flood.
Lest a hidden ember set
Timber that I thought was wet
Burning like the dryest flax,
Melting like the merest wax,
Lest the grave restore its dead.
Not yet has my heart or head
In the least way realized
They and I are civilized.

Countee Cullen

Millions queued in lines before Arbiter Of Disputes.
Hopes were high,
Duty and resolve holding firm.
Hearts dance with spirit of Emancipation,
Each with ammo stronger than bullet,
Ready to dislodge a fiendish cabal out of Power.
All conscious of the long night of tribulation.
Singly, the weapons were discharged
Into The Receptacle Of Liberty;
Upon which they received baptisms of Freedom.
Inside the altar tugs of war ensued:
Invisible fibres bound and aligned aspirations.
Popular Will prevailed.
Bearing the scars of Apartheid,
Indigenous people celebrate the birth of Democracy.
Ballot Box had come at a great expense;
At all costs its sacredness shall be preserved.
Those were the surviving heroes and heroines of Mzansi.

Chinedu Dike

With promise of job,
he lured her into a cane field.
His gentleness a veil of sanity.
Lurking in his mind,
a perversion of sex instinct:
'Bind her! Torture her! Kill her! '

Deep within comfort zone
suddenly brandishing his bludgeon,
countenance wearing mercilessness -
sight of which imported terror into her spine.
Desperate plea for mercy fueling his excitement.
Menacingly, her clothes he demanded.

Hissing in agony like pine tree,
gnashing her teeth before the incubus, she stripped.
Her nudity assaulting his senses,
eyes flaming with lust,
he took stock of the bared flesh:
'Beautiful! Submissive! Horrified! '

Bound and gagged,
fantasy translating into reality,
all hell broke loose...
Urge gratified,
with her undergarment around her neck,
he sealed her fate.

Sixteenth victim of the unhinged mind:
Single mother of two horrendously maimed.
Not quite long,
no sooner had he got home
than long arm of the law tapped his shoulders:
DNA found on victims had matched his.

Karma forced to be lenient,
he lives albeit in confinement.
No Death Penalty In Mzansi.

Chinedu Dike

Comments


Aloha i write about your the
Dec 21, 2024

Hallo, ek wou jou prys ken.

Awesome, good read!
Nov 19, 2024

Shiba was tamed until he was not. So Shadow varnished into thin air 🤔

I can't find The Republic 😭😢
Nov 11, 2024

I remember reading "The Republic" from this website but now I can't find it. 😢😢

Enjoyed reading Love is blind
Oct 11, 2024

On Love is blind, Layla should have left Raymond immediately after the first incident. Or maybe Raymond used muthi 😃

My go to nook for quick reads
Oct 07, 2024

Interesting reads. I enjoy the games as well

Love in the skies
Sep 25, 2024

Cheating Koutney, she cheated to her demies. Lessons to be learned. If only she remained loyal to her husband.

Love is blind
Sep 11, 2024

Rayray is a savage.

Love triangle
Sep 09, 2024

I enjoyed Love In The Skies. ... I can relate :(

The Republic - Part 2 ???
Aug 24, 2024

Mzizi wa Kenya

Love is blind indeed
Aug 11, 2024

Is it fear, love or stockholm syndrome

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