Wsa Rebirth January 2020

WRITERS SPACE AFRICA
JANUARY, 2020
PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE AFRICAN WRITERS DEVELOPMENT TRUST
20:
Rebirth
An Unusual Friendship
A Worm is but a Butterfly
VOL. 4 NO. 1
JAN, 2020 WRITERS SPACE AFRICA

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET
1 EDITOR’S NOTE WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
Editor’s
Note
T
here is a thing about life that makes it impossible to do
it all in one go without any error or regrets: it's the
human factor. In that regard, retrospection makes the
idea of a second chance all the more compelling. Just as we
cannot appreciate light without knowing darkness and we
cannot appreciate good without knowing bad, so also, we
cannot appreciate second chances without going through
first experiences.
Regardless of what you believe in, life is designed to give us a

second chance, and as benevolent as life is, so is writing. You
don't have to get it right the first time. There is always
another chance, another perspective.
Whatever is born anew, whatever is given a second chance,

whatever comes again, is itself the tangibility of hope.
Writers' Space Africa (WSA) has stood true to itself as a

platform that gives emerging African writers a place to show
the best of their first. The Rebirth edition is a chance for us to
do it all again: new milestones, greater strides, tighter
community. The writers published in this edition have
touched on subjects of culture, faith, society and identity, all
in relation to the theme. I hope you, the readers, enjoy
reading their work as much as the team did.
The new year is always replete with fresh vows and

excitement for possibility. I'm excited to see what comes in
over the course of the year 2020 and it is my hope that you
will find new light and new wonder in the things you thought
were old (and of course, may WSA be one of those things).
This year is like the Phoenix Year. The Phoenix, a mythical bird
which is born again at the end of its 500-year life; the bird
burns itself to ashes and rises again from those ashes to start
life anew. This means that for such a creature, the end is
never an end; it is simply a beginning.
The year 2020 significantly lies at the end and the beginning
of a decade. Like the phoenix, nothing has ended. Everything
has simply begun again. May the year be good and kind to
you.
Always remember, ubuntu.

Warm regards,
Nabilah.
WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH
WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA EDITORIAL CREW 2
Editorial
Crew
PRESIDENT & FOUNDER
Anthony Onugba
CHIEF EDITOR
Nabilah Usman - Nigeria
ARTICLES/ESSAYS
Neo Space-Poet Masetlane - Botswana
Francis Mkwapatira - Malawi
CHILDREN'S LITERATURE
Peter Blessing Pever (PPBlessing) - Nigeria
Ngalim Jusline Veeyeenyuy – Cameroon
FLASH FICTION
Tanyaradzwa Nonhlanhla Lisa Mtema - Zimbabwe
Christina H Lwendo - Tanzania
POETRY
Benny Wanjohi - Kenya
Omadang Yowasi - Uganda
SHORT STORIES
Kimberly Chirodzero - Zimbabwe
Fomutar Stanislaus – Cameroon
PUBLICITY
Rehema Zuberi (Resh) - Kenya
20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

3 TABLE OF CONTENTS WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
Table of
Contents
Editor’s Note 1
Editorial Crew 2
Table of Contents 3
Short Story 4-9
Flash Fiction 10-11
Children’s Literature 12-14
Columnists 16-25
Poetry 26-37
Reviews 38-45

WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA SHORT STORY 4
SHORT
STORY

5 SHORT STORY WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
An unusual
Friendship
Fatima Damagum
Nigeria
I
t rained on the day I met and she appeared to be staring at
Jummai. The type of light something on her feet. She was
showers that start early in the very tall and had the characteristic
morning and carry on well into the Fulani features of people of Agadez
evening. The kind of rain my Hausa descent.
people would say caused 'zazzabi'
(fever). How rain can lead to fever is 'So, what brings you to the hospital
a scientific theory that is yet to be today?' I asked merrily. Nothing was
discovered. going to dampen my mood.
I digress. Jummai shifted uncomfortably in

her seat and as if on cue, the older
Rain always makes me feel happy, woman began speaking. She was
and as such, I had a large smile on her sister in-law; her husband's
my face when I welcomed Jummai, older sister. She had brought
my first patient, into the consulting Jummai from the village to be
room. So cheerful was my mood examined at her brother's request.
that I did not notice how apathetic Examined for what? I asked. Sister
she looked. A middle-aged woman in-law exchanged looks with
trotted in after her and sat on the Jummai and swallowed hard. She
chair usually reserved for patients' wanted me to examine her privates.
relatives. “Why?” I asked. All the while,
Jummai had still not spoken a word.
We exchanged the customary She was staring hard at her large
pleasantries. feet. Sister in-law shrugged and
mumbled incoherently.
I noticed she did not make eye-
contact. Her head was bowed down I looked at Jummai and asked
quietly: 'Do you want me to She had never been to school and
examine you?' had hawked 'awara' (soya-beans
cake) instead, from the age of six.
She nodded ever so slightly, I Her mother died when she was
almost missed it. about eleven years old after a
protracted illness, I presumed to be
I got up and arranged the screen for Tuberculosis.
privacy and asked her to undress
and lay down on the couch. Her first marriage was at the age of
15 years. She had never had a
That was when I saw it. menstrual period. The man was a
young farmer who had taken a
I was visibly shaken, but quickly put shining to this tall, broad
on my professional face. I reassured shouldered, flat chested girl. Two
her and asked her to dress up. days later, he returned her to her
father and divorced her.
It was then she opened up. Jummai
was born with both male and Her father was aghast. Why? He had
female genitals. And while it is a said nothing. Jummai had also said
common congenital anomaly seen nothing. She cried throughout the
in babies, I had never seen a grown night.
adult with both parts. As a child, her
mother had shielded her and Jummai remarried one year later to
protected her secret. She had a cloth trader who was in his
grown up in a polygamous setting thirties. He already had one wife
of three wives and 19 children, in a and was fairly well to do. The
rural village in Bauchi. Back home, marriage lasted one month. He
such things were not discussed. however had the courtesy to
discuss with her father about her Jummai broke down in the middle
predicament. Jummai's father had of her story to wipe away tears.
summoned various marabouts who After she had regained her
promised to pray for her for a token composure, she continued.
amount. They had chanted many
incantations, fasted and sacrificed a Her father had sent her away to live
whole cow, but everyday Jummai with his sister in a nearby village. It
had woken up without any change. was there she met husband number
She still had not seen her menses 3. He had two other wives and
and her breasts were slight fatty wooed her with gifts. Her aunt had
mounds which could not fit into any no idea. Jummai hid her secret well
brassier. Worse still, her manhood and prayed this new husband would
was still very present and had not accept her.
shrunk away as they promised. She
was in despair. A local barber had On her wedding night- she told him
brought up the idea of cutting off the truth. He had been shocked but
the penis, but she was scared and she pleaded with him to let her live
ran away to her aunt's house for with him, even if he never had
two days. marital relations with her. She was
tired of returning home in shame.
By now, she had become the talk of She had cried hot, gut wrenching
town. She was a freak. What was tears and he had taken pity on her.
she? A man? Maybe. After all she Husband No 3 decided to send her
had a penis. A woman? Definitely. along with his sister to Kano for
She had been brought up as one treatment.
and she had a vaginal opening. A
Hermaphrodite? What? I knew, at this point that she most
likely had Klinfelter's syndrome. Her
hands were coarse, and her transgender people were fighting

shoulders were broad. Even with for the right to be recognised, a
her delicate Fulani features, she young illiterate girl from Bauchi
could pass for a handsome man. I wanted nothing than to be normal?
asked her what she wanted. She Life can indeed be a cruel joke.
looked at me strangely.
Meeting Jummai made me research
I explained to her, that we would more on her condition and the
run a few tests to confirm her various methods of management.
gender, after which she would When she returned, I assembled a
undergo a few procedures to help multi-disciplinary team. The results
her become whichever gender she of her test were as expected. She
chose. I referred her to psychiatrist was XXY. She had no uterus and her
for counselling after setting up an vagina was just a small opening
appointment for her. which was blind ended. Her female
hormones were very low, but most
Throughout the day, I was numb. I importantly, she wanted to remain
didn't know what to feel. Anger at female.
her parents and our society who
had made such things a taboo to It has been many years now and
talk about and as such had failed whenever memories of Jummai
her? Sadness at the young 19-year- cross my mind, I become humbled. I
old girl who was in so much remember, the numerous clinic
emotional pain that it was palpable? visits and our long conversations. I
I kept recalling the way she stared recall her husky voice over the
at the floor and the gentle way she phone whenever she called in
wiped away her tears. Humour at despair and wanted reassurance
the thought that in this era where about her treatment. I remember
the strong, silent tears of pain, she

shed whenever she visited the
gynaecologist for her serial dilation.
More than anything else, I recall
vividly her shy smile of relief, when
she woke up from the surgery that
removed her most distressing
physical attribute.
Jummai's treatment spanned a

whole year and during that time,
our friendship grew, blurring the
lines of professionalism as I
accompanied her from one
specialty to another. In a way, I felt
responsible for her; like a big sister
would; ensuring that she didn't miss
appointments and making sure she
followed through with her
treatment, difficult as it was. Truth
be told though; I soon became the
student because from her, I learnt
resilience and the power of hope,
will and courage.

WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA FLASH FICTION 10
FLASH
FICTION
“
However, she couldn't think of that
now. She had a task to accomplish
and she had been reborn for it.”

11 FLASH FICTION WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
Reborn
Ogechukwu Egwuatu
Nigeria
S
he's the one", the quiet admission of the return of her daughter, or of the pain of the
the elderly mother and grandmother departure she knew would come much too
who was serving as midwife for this soon. She reached for her daughter and her
birth was met with silence. Those few words mother handed the bloody child to her
were enough to silence the screams of both wordlessly; she could feel the disapproval
mother and child. " Is she really?", the young oozing from her. She ignored her and took the
woman lying on the bed covered in sweat and child. "Aduke", she said, her voice barely above
blood asked with a shaky voice which spoke of a whisper as she stroked the child's cheek.
hours of crying and screaming. Without a
word, the older woman brought the child to Aduke stared at her mother. She was sorry to
her, turning its hand to show the mark on the cause her so much pain, but she had to return.
wrist. The sight of the mark brought back She was lucky to have been given another
memories of the burial ceremony. Tears she chance. If she had to return again, she would
didn't know had stopped were streaming ask to be born to another woman somewhere
down her face again. At the burial, they had far away. She had caused this one far too
said the rituals would keep her from coming much pain. However, she couldn't think of
back, and if not, the mark would make her that now. She had a task to accomplish and
think twice about it, yet here she was. She she had been reborn for it.
wasn't sure whether her tears were of joy at
WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA CHILDREN LITERATURE 12
CHILDREN’S
LITERATURE
“
The voice came again, “she is gone
child, she is gone.”

13 CHILDREN LITERATURE WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
The Baboon and the

Giant Banana Tree
Mosekiemang Kealeboga
Botswana
I
t was a cold night and Sedi the baboon was up mama.” Her mother did not respond. Sedi
sleeping with her mother. They had walked came closer and started to shake her “mama
miles in search of water and food. The wake up, it's time, the sun has come…” Before
draught had killed lot of baboons that season she could finish her sentence, a small voice
and only a few were surviving and most of interrupted her. “She is gone child, she is gone.”
them had to search for food and water in Sedi looked around to see who was talking, but
different places. Sedi was still young. She she did not see anyone. The voice came again,
couldn't do much without her mother. That “she is gone child, she is gone.”
night her mother only managed to find enough
to feed Sedi. The mother was weak. Her hands Sedi noticed that the voice was from the little
and feet were sore with blisters. She was tired plant beside the rock on which her mother lay,
from carrying her, Sedi couldn't sleep that she was surprised but responded anyway “she
night and the cold didn't help. She wanted to is not gone, she is here. Can't you see her? She
help her mother. is here”. She tried to shake her mother again,
“mama wake up, wake up.” The little plant
When morning came, she tried to wake her explained to her that gone means she has
mother. She thought her mother was just cold passed on and she is not coming back. Sedi
and wanted to sleep more. She called “mama, shook her even harder; she was crying so hard
mama, wake up, the sun has come out, wake her eyes were sore. She didn't know how she
WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA CHILDREN LITERATURE 14
was going to survive without her mother. The eyes. She thanked the plant and the plant also
little plant let her cry and sleep for a moment; asked for a bit of water; she did as the plant
when she woke up, she cried a bit more. told her and something magical began - the
plant grew tall.
“You have to dig deep and bury her,” said the
plant. “How am I going to do that? I am too She had never seen such a giant tree in her life.
little to dig. I am also going to pass on like her. I The water started to fill the rivers and other
am not going to survive. I am so thirsty and plants started to grow. The water carried her
hungry” she sadly responded. She walked mother. She tried to stop her from being carried
around the rock and wondered what to do. away by the flow. Now with a huge voice, the
“I cannot leave her here. I should dig…no, I'll die plant said to her, “let her go. She is going to
too. No, I'll dig enough to bury her and leave. watch over you wherever she is; she is resting
Oh, what should I do?'' and happy for you.” “Goodbye mama” Sedi said.
The giant tree started producing banana fruits
She sat for a moment; the plant kept telling her for her to eat. This was so magical that animals
to dig before it got dark. She started to dig. The of different sizes and types began to show up.
soil was not as hard as she had thought. She She recognised some of the baboons from their
kept digging, 'I can do this', she told herself, village, and they hugged and lived happily ever
weak and hungry as she was. Just as she was after.
about to give up, she couldn't believe her eyes.
She dug again, “water!” She jumped and
screamed, “water!” She laughed hard as she
She was overjoyed. Tears flowed from her
15 COLUMNISTS WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
COLUMNISTS

WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA COLUMNISTS 16
“
I can now stand on my two feet
financially with a career I am very
proud… talk about “Rebirth 2.0”.
“
I have to rebirth my ways, what does
Africa have to do to achieve rebirth?”

Life
as we
Know it
Rebirth 2.0
Ugbede Ataboh
I
recently waltzed into a new decade of my
life, guys. I woke up on my birthday feeling
liberated from the targets set for me by
family, friends, society and myself to meet
before clocking 30. God in heaven knows I
tried to meet them all, but I guess He alone
knows best.
I feel liberated from the target set for me by

my family, my dad especially, to marry before
25. Few days after my graduation he said to
me…
“Better marry quickly now that you are fresh

out of the university. I don't want any agaracha
in my house!” I am so glad He knows better;
time is indeed a great teacher for both the
young and old.
Those of you who know me, know how I fell

into the trap of a religious fanatic just because
I was trying to meet up with the “marriage never-ending dark road. Guys! You all know
target” when I was 24 years old. Thank God for “Black don't crack” right? I remember when I
delivering me and giving a fresh start. This life tried bleaching my skin in my early twenties
na wa oh! because I wanted to look “exotic”. It was a total
disaster the moment I could no longer afford
I feel liberated from the career target set for me the “Half caste set”. People of God! I looked like
by “my school friends.” The idea was to make an old woman on crack!!! Thank God my skin
our first million at 22, live fancy free in a rented healed and bounced back.
apartment at 23 and own a luxury car at 24. Oh
boy! See cruise…if only life was this straight I feel liberated from the unrealistic standards I
forward. If wishes were horses, beggars would set for myself - “Happy ever after” without
have a jolly ride mehn! worries, challenges or troubles. One true love to
walk into the sunset with – the kind of love that
I feel liberated from contemporary societal is void of betrayal; the pure kind of love that can
standards… the kind of standards set by a only be found in the bosom of the Lord. I was
community of confused “money miss road” such a naïve and unrealistic creature. Looking
socialites who know nothing about my back now, I realize how pathetic my
struggles, pain, background or dreams. The kind expectations and standards were.
of crazy standards that throw happy people into
a state of madness and frenzy because they do I feel liberated from the grudges I carried for
not have a certain type of waist line, bust size or years because of the betrayals I experienced
hip line. Just the other day, a colleague of mine with friends, lovers and family members. Those
at work wailed about how unattractive she felt grudges were nothing but venomous burdens. I
because she did not have full hips and breasts. made a decision to cast my burdens aside and
love even harder. Oh yes! The more betrayal I
“Ugbede leave all this one you encountered, the harder I loved the next time.
are talking oh! I am ready to This act alone brought genuine peace to my
go to any length just to have heart, soul and spirit.
big boobs and ass…there is
this Hajiya at Wuse market When I clocked 29, I felt lost and out of sorts. I
who sells breast and bum was ashamed of who I was because my career
enlargement pills. Babe! This was not blossoming after years of graduating
woman even mixes Half caste from the university; even my artworks were
lightening cream. When I am being priced like crayfish. I had no set career
done using the complete set path, spouse or children. I felt the universe had
ehn…you sef go toast me” cheated me by dealing me unfair cards. I looked
“Wawu! Gelato on point!” I in the mirror and felt ashamed; I was not
respond diplomatically. “someone worth knowing” because I spent the
significant years of my twenties trying to find
love and look a certain way instead of working
Heaven knows I felt and still feel a deep sense of hard at developing my talents and buttering up
pity for her. Pity because it will lead her down a my university certificate by furthering my
19 WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA COLUMNISTS
studies. I stared long and hard at myself in the

mirror. I experienced an epiphany that spoke
to my wounded ego and sad heart.
“The journey to wholeness begins with self-

actualization”. The soulful message rested on
my consciousness softly, but hit me like a
sledge hammer. There and then, I decided to
enroll for a professional course with the aim of
transforming my raw talents into marketable
skills. Not only that oh! My people, I prayed
and cried out to the God of all creation from
the core of my being. I prayed because my
future, life and sanity depended on it. God
being ever faithful blew wind upon my sails
and gave me extra support and uncommon
favour for every effort. People of God! There is
God oh! I am a living testimony!
As it is, I have crossed over to the other side of

twenty. I have no point to prove anymore; I
have no set targets to meet because I basically
failed woefully at achieving most of them
before 30; the world has turned her attention
to the upcoming ones. The spotlight is no
longer on me so I am free to live my life the
way I see fit. By failing to meet personal and
societal expectations, I succeeded at gaining
my own freedom. I've never felt so alive, so
free, so beautiful…so accomplished. I do not
have a husband and children at home, but I
feel complete and well rounded because as an
individual, I can now stand on my two feet
financially with a career I am very proud… talk
about “Rebirth 2.0”.

The
Rebirth of
Africa and
Religion
Leo Muzivoreva- THE OBSERVER
Allow me to reintroduce myself, I was born and

bred in the Catholic church. The doctrine of
Catechism is part of my DNA; the Holy Grail
engraved in my memory. I am a staunch
Christian, I believe. I graduated with a double
major in History and International Relations for
my first degree. That too influences a large
part of my thinking. My religion and my
education are at loggerheads as I deliberate on
the issue of the rebirth of Africa. Christianity as
a religion was used as a tool in the conquest of
Africa, a historical landmark which changed
the world order in unimaginable proportions.
The advent of colonial rule altered traditional

religions in Africa significantly. Colonialists
interfered with the African way of worship.
Where the modes of worship conflicted with
those of the colonialists, restrictions were
placed on religious practice. African cultures
were seen as primitive and were gradually
impoverished through neglect and suppression When Africa gained independence from colonial
by colonial hooligans. The African succumbed to tyranny, it was political independence and as
the colonial perception until African Traditional Africans we remained largely economically
Religion died a natural death. dependent on former colonial ruffians. Scores of
years later, there has been no significant
The conversion of Africans to follow a change. On the part of religion, there has been
monotheistic faith such as Christianity started no movement to liberate ourselves from undue
as far back as AD 300 under the rule of foreign influences. Africans appear to have
Constantine, the Roman emperor. Christianity completely abandoned their indigenous
was to become a dominant religion during the religions. Although to a limited to extent, many
Roman empire, spreading first in the North of practice certain cultural beliefs — these,
Africa, then rest of Africa. Polytheism, which however, play second fiddle to Christianity and
was at the core of African faith, was Islam.
undermined by the spread of Christianity. Islam
was also gaining traction and spreading in North What defies logic is the choice of Africans to
Africa and Asia at an alarming rate. This made continue following Christianity in the modern
the Romans edgy as they saw the new religion day, when in fact Jews — whom we would have
about to displace them from their still tenuous expected to be Christians, since Jesus Christ
position. was a Jew — largely follow Judaism. Of about
seven million Jews in Israel, only just more than
Many of those converted to Islam were not only 2% are Christians. Why do Africans follow
those of indigenous beliefs, but Christians. This Christianity when a significant number of Jews
gave rise to the crusades in AD 1096, a series of themselves do not follow this religion nor see
wars by Christians to win back “their” holy lands Jesus Christ as the Son of God and the Messiah?
from Muslims; such crusades were brutal acts
by greedy religious leaders of the West. Later, The rebirth of Africa has become even more
the Christian missionaries travelled through urgent under growing re-colonialisation under
Africa, working tirelessly to replace - by hook or the false guise of globalisation. Africans need to
by crook - both indigenous beliefs and Islam reclaim their religion and culture, and discard
with Christianity. They came to Africa armed many of those which were imposed on them, by
with Bibles in one hand and lethal weapons in embracing Afrocentricism as the essential
the other. Christianity thrived under colonialism element of the African renaissance as
and, together with Islam, became a dominant popularised by former South African President
religion in Africa. Thabo Mbeki a few years ago.
Colonialism succeeded not only in intruding on In Mbeki's words, “An essential and necessary
the religious beliefs of Africans and replacing element of the African renaissance is that we all
them with Christianity, but also — as we very must take it as our task to encourage she
well know — both the politics and economics of [Africa] who carries this leaden weight to rebel,
Africans were hijacked and looted through to assert the principality of her humanity — the
colonial thuggery. fact that she, in the first instance, is not a beast
of burden, but a human and African being.
“An entire epoch in human history, the epoch

of colonialism and white foreign rule,
progressed to its ultimate historical burial
grounds because, from Morocco and Algeria to
Guinea Bissau and Senegal, from Ghana and
Nigeria to Tanzania and Kenya, from the Congo
and Angola to Zimbabwe and South Africa, the
Africans dared to stand up to say the new must
be born, whatever the sacrifice we have to
make — Africa must be free!”
Looking at colonialism in retrospect, it derailed

all the attempts and progress made by
Africans for the civilisation of Africa. It is The
Observer's humble opinion that religion is
pivotal in any attempt to realise an African
Renaissance. The current status quo will
ensure that Africa will always be playing catch-
up. It is only now that Africans are trying to use
Christianity to make International influence, an
endeavour that the Europeans used a century
ago. I will be going to church regularly this
year, that is what is indoctrinated in me
personally – I have not been attending Mass
lately. I have to re-birth my ways, what does
Africa have to do to achieve rebirth?

At a
Cost!
EPISODE ELEVEN…
Amami Yusuf
Nigeria
Z
arah had no idea of what the time was
when her eyes finally came open, nor
could she sleep back no matter how
hard she tried. The sounds of crickets lurking
around and the general darkness made her
scared. She wondered how much longer she
would have to remain there- terrified. She tried
to avoid looking outside the lorry's window,
just as she tried to keep her imagination in
check. But as hard as she tried, somehow, she
always ended up doing the exact thing she
tried avoiding. She stayed a long time before
she finally began hearing movement just
outside- a slight shuffling of feet, a loud
croaking cough and little flashes of light, which
was most likely from a little flashlight, Zarah
thought. She was grateful for the sounds and
movement and soon, she was even more
grateful as the day began to break.
Though the sun was not out yet, she could see
her new environment more clearly now than
the previous night when she arrived. One by
one, the parked trucks slowly began to move,
vacating the road and continuing with their
journey to various destinations. Before long,
there were only two trucks left on the road- She was almost certain her well-crafted plan
Kajiru's and one other which had broken down. would work out and everything would go on
The two drivers of that particular truck had fine. Just as she was about to voice her
gone at night in search of a mechanic and thoughts to him, the truck pulled to a stop and
were yet to return. Zarah knew she was he signalled her to wait for him.
becoming a burden to Kajiru already and
wondered what he was going to do about her. “AUNTY JOY'S HOME FOR GIRLS” Zarah read
She feared he was going to leave her all alone the old rusty signpost just in front of an equally
and head-on with his journey. This realization old and rusty dark green gate. She was curious
brought a nagging fear to her heart and hot about this place, but not curious enough to
tears to her eyes. Just as she was wondering want to go in and find out. The sight didn't look
what Kajiru's decision would be, so was he. He appealing, yet she sat still and waited. It was
lay awake beneath the truck for most parts of almost a thirty-minute wait before Zarah saw
the night, thinking. He finally got up briskly, Kajiru returning alongside a lanky, fair-skinned
almost bumping his head as he rose. Whether lady. She wore a bright lemon-green shirt,
he finally realized the day was getting bright which revealed both her arms and a skirt which
and soon the FRSC would be out and fine him stopped just above her knees. Zarah went
for parking on the road or whether he finally wide-eyed staring at the lady. She also left her
thought of what to do about Zarah, only he hair open and in a frenzy. It was only then that
knew. Zarah also noticed the other women who were
out at that time. She gasped and put her hand
“Ina kwana, baba” Zarah greeted immediately to her mouth. She couldn't understand why
he got into the truck, to which he responded they were walking about without covering
with a smile and asked if she had slept well. their hair, why some of their hairstyles were far
Just before she answered, she heard Adamu from the usual cornrows she was accustomed
climbing into the back of the truck. He soon to. She also wondered about their clothes and
settled in and went straight back to sleep. why other body parts besides their palms, feet
Kajiru seemed to have read Zarah's thoughts and face were exposed. She remembered
on why Adamu had been sleeping so much; he Zainab then, and how the mothers back in
smiled and explained that he had had a little Dutsin-ma dragged the ears of their daughters
too much local alcohol. Zarah remembered and warned them not to associate with her.
seeing him puff on a cigarette one of the times The thought of all these, as well as the sights
they stopped while still journeying to Lagos. before her greatly disturbed her. Her father
She nodded her head in response to Kajiru's would be disappointed if ever he saw her
statement and said nothing more. For a dressed like one of these women. He would
moment - only a brief moment - she never approve, and she knew.
considered pleading with Kajiru to take her
back to Katsina. She would beg them to give As Kajiru and his companion got to the side of
her a different punishment, and she would be a the truck where Zarah was seated, they
loyal and dutiful wife to Mohammed. She stopped. Kajiru put his hand in through the
would bear everything if that would guarantee window and opened the door from within - the
her being with the people she knew and loved. handle control attached to the other side of
the door was broken and impossible to use. He

noticed Zarah's hesitation to open the door, and
now, her hesitation to get down from the
vehicle. He looked at her and smiled again- the
assuring smile she had started getting
accustomed to in the past 24 hours. She came
down quietly and slowly.
“Hello!' the lady greeted cheerfully and

extended a hand to Zarah, shaking a reluctant
Zarah's hand.
“My name is Lucy.”
“Do you speak English?” the lanky lady, Lucy,

asked again, seeing that Zarah had not
responded to any of her comments. Lucy turned
to face Kajiru, in a bid to get answers from him
as Zarah still didn't respond nor make any
attempts to reveal that she understood. He gave
an uncomfortable and apologetic smile and
turned to face Zarah. He lowered himself to her
height with both hands on his hips. He
immediately noticed her eyes filling with tears
and he immediately wished the situations were
different for the girl.
“Kar ki damu. Za'a lura da ke.” He assured her

that she would be well taken care of. She
wished she could go with him, but reminded
herself that she couldn't. Within the last 24
hours plus with their silence and little
conversation, she had grown attached to him.
He as well didn't want to leave her behind but
he had no choice. He placed an assuring hand
on her shoulder, “zan dawo, wata rana.” He
promised to be back, someday. The uncertainty
of the day he would return forcefully released
the tears which had welled up in Zarah's eyes.
She hugged him and sobbed into his large grey
shirt. It was like saying goodbye to her father
once again: the uncertainty of seeing again and
a future so blurred.
WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA POETRY 26
POETRY

27 POETRY WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
Resurgence
Comfort Nyati sdb
Zimbabwe
Dissolve the old self in me, let rain wash away

The past sorrows to flow in gutters
The oceans to reserve my thriving past,
Disband my bygones far from memory.
Recuperate the diminishing vigor

To gather the fragrance of the New Year and,
Re-establish a novel covenant with You.
That sustains life for a while without end.
Revive brilliance in me Lord!

As I stand at the foot of the year
Worn out with harvesting a new breath
That prolongs life with fresh blood.
Resurrecting from the timeworn year

I'm swallowed in the marvel of newness,
All is wonder of the first-hand moon,
That retains light anew and tells of bright tidings.
Let the messianic rebirth evolve around me,

To sow forgiveness were hate invades
To water the seed of love in desert hearts,
And reap the fruit of a soothing year.

New Leaf
Mukonya Mukonya
Kenya
Alone, she sat outside,

Barely lit compound...
All sulky, she laments,
About life, she reflects
Trouble, sorrow, tears, have been her company,
Suffered young, never knew happiness,
Her birthday, no gifts, wishes; no family
Life's screwed; useless. No reason to live.
Then up she looks; meets beautiful constellations;

Twinkled, as if talking to her; singing even.
She smiles... Smiles! She smiled! Disbelief!
Life's been dull, could be beautiful
No more laments, no regrets; new book, new her
She's turned 20, no teen...
She'll smile, freely, broadly.
She'll live.

I am a child
of Time
Titilope Monsure
Nigeria
I AM A CHILD OF TIME
I am a child of time; a birth to fate!
Alas!
I'm a broken clock counting in antagonist gears;
many times,
it says 'twelve' when it's already dawn.
My story is like that of an 'Abiku' predestined to a fate of multiple

death and birth
before he later stayed put, efflorescent and suit-able...
Since all these whiles,

I was locked behind my age— in a womb of my lifetime,
scavenging the company of time;
immature yet ripening and seeking a Re-birth.
I hunt the tail of every next year for a big catch in a lagging den on
my palms;
and like so, I am tied down with shackles of budding hope
at one corner of myself longing to be redeemed someday.
I live hence over the seasons;

though my mind was an old mirror tarnished with years of
experience and wish,
its reflection was still as crystal clear as ever but broader than I can
remember.
Yet I stood by my horizon over the nights staring, aging

and reaping cognizance with the rising of the sun at the dayglow.
For my life is a planned episode broken into order of times;

not until one lapses I can't live another—
now I realize that if I never outgrew my girths
and stretched to every borne---
I might forever be stuck right in that Womb--dead!

The
Dawning
Edo-Omoregie Praise
Nigeria
Sorrow and anguish could be heard in her cries

You could see the pain, especially in her eyes
You see, dad had gone up to the sky blue
But his greedy relatives stuck to us like glue
Mom had been beaten down

By loss, grief, suspicious questions and frowns
There always was a wrangle when she tried to speak
Like the forty-year-old eagle, she became just as weak
Once full of life and flight
Only to have her talons plucked and beak bent without a fight
They made sure to subdue us during the set up for the burial
At age ten I could interpret their actions as cruel
Just two weeks after the funeral

Mom had to make a plea to her boss
Seeing that her competency at the hospital was on trial
Yet dad's brothers tried to choose from his cars with a coin toss
Hiding the keys got me a beating, but it made sure they left with
nothing
Two hours later mom came home very tired

But her fatigue faded upon seeing me battered
She was livid, no longer timid
My uncles came back a-knocking, but mom wasn't cowering
Spine straight, she strode to the door with a purposeful gait
And I knew all that was left
Was to clear the ashes and watch a fiery rebirth.

When I
Slumber
Adeyemo David
Ghana
When I fall into the slumber

Of death,
Let my soul lumber
Into the gates of eternity,
Far above the terrains of the earth
Let life's memories

Replay itself like a motion picture…
Let my unfulfilled dreams

And unrealized potentials
Relive themselves in another world,
In a reality surreal
To the existence I once led…
Oh! When I fall

Into this deep slumber,
Allow the termites to plunder
The remains of my carcass asunder
For I will rise again,

In a realm beyond the
Burdens of these bodily pains…
Life after death is real,
I will surely be born again into a new being
A warm is but
a Butterfly
Temani Nkalolang
Botswana
Pain is the nakedness that comes under the cold

harmattan wind;
Grotesque and gruesome in repose!
But like a pupa in metamorphosis, intrinsic for the big

bang;
Charles Darwin!
Love is but a narcotic to the brain, immersing your

mental
faculties to the Dolly Parton, Kenny Rodgers duet, “I love
you to the
Moon and back!”
Leaving you lonely in a desperate, “Jolene, Jolene, please

don't
take him just because you can!”
To know pain is to know love, for to live one has to know

the
Intercourse between heaven and earth!
Like a farmer with cutting shears, life prunes the

innocent
childhood arrogance and ignorance!
Wounds heal, leaving scars so ugly they are beautiful!

Pain is a necessary evil, woven into the tapestry of life!
To go through it is to go through a furnace, to come

from it
is victory; rebirth!
Rebirth
Ogunsuyi Adekunbi
Nigeria
There is a tomb with my name

Yes, I own a grave
The cemetery has hairy armpits, I could tell
from the embrace
I am empty, waiting for skeleton to be poured
into me like a tank
Skeleton is a frame
The frame means I will become a picture
someday
With a smile or not, a fear or a thought
I thought graves were quiet
I thought quiet means I shouldn't think
A termite is the strangest friend
A stringent friend
This is no longer a grave
I shall leave
Living is the only place I can think
Thinking is all I want to do
To wash off the mud, I think of a name
Zohar, meaning light
Meaning I have been dark
Meaning my mind has a shadow
And I need a new womb
Probably a placenta too
To be born again the grave must vanish
The girl must defeat the dark
And shake the dust.

It is
Time
Petronella Nyirenda
Zambia
I should take a break,

Rest my body and lay mind amongst the softness of night.
I should lie down in submission of labor.
I should,
But stars have a habit of falling and burning whatever haven I have
left.
Earth is known to shake and tremble under its own weight.
So, it is time for me to move out.
Everything I own is in a box.
The windows to my soul are closed.

The curtains are finally drawn,
The drapes are too heavy to be moved, to be changed.
You can't see what's on the inside, because I'm not done sweeping,
Not done with reinventing, renovation.
It's a small space with a lot of potential.
So, let me clear the air,
Let me clear the smoke,
Let me clear my mind,
Let me start again,
With purpose, with intent, with control.
As much as God will allow.

A Love,
Reborn
Grace Tendo Katana
Uganda
Surpass my worries
Let not my trail fade.
Glimmer, I will see you
Like a budding flower.
Let not my trail fade,

Quench my thirst
Like a budding flower,
May my spirit rise.
Quench my thirst.
As segments of our hearts unite,
May my spirit rise
To beckon my inner self to life.
I give my all to you

To cleanse away the chaff.
And like a Phoenix from ashes,
May our love be reborn
To flourish, with a satisfied zeal
Of happiness, and of affection.

Born Again
Maruatona Tshepo
Botswana
Born again
Love again
Live again
I found myself, finding myself in me
Only to relive a past I could not conquer
Whilst yearning for a future I could not touch
This led me to be stuck
Stuck in the present
Waiting for what my imagination should present
And yet, I still find myself yearning to
Be Born again
Loved again
Living again

New
Coats
Omadang Yowasi
Uganda
Put away those rags,

Take this fine linen.
Your sandals are worn-out,
There's still an extra mile.
Lizards have moulted
To take over new coats.
Out of broken bones,

You'll stand.
Out of deep water,
You'll wade.
Out of broken walls,
Your home will stand.

WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA REVIEWS 38
REVIEWS

39 REVIEWS WRITER’S SPACE AFRICA
GENRE: FLASH FICTION.

WRITER: TOCHUKWU PRECIOUS EZE, NIGERIA.
TITLE: BE ANYI, OUR HOME.
REVIEWER: AKINRINADE FUNMINIYI ISAAC, NIGERIA.
"Be Anyi, Our Home" is a Flash Fiction written by Nigerian writer, Tochukwu
Precious Eze. This can be found on page 7, December 2019 Edition of WSA
Magazine. The story is written in the first person. The writer introduces a
character that's seen as an observer at a festive event in the Igbo tribe.
Where she stands watching, the Ogene team catches her attention with
how they burned voraciously in passion, zeal, and strength. She describes
how their dancing steps can make a man forget his worries. As if the scene
of the Ogene team isn't enough to lighten up the atmosphere, she sees
Nnenna; the lady. The soil danced around her feet as she tangoed with the
air around her body. When her body goes low, her name is found on the
tongues of the whole town. Nnenna! Nnenna! They all scream! In fact, with
the way it's described, one will wish to enrol in Nnenna's dance group, if
she has any.
The observer doesn't stop there. She sees men talking over the music, kegs
of palm-wine being passed around, and the children chasing one another.
What better way can one celebrate a festive season than this? Finally, the
observer's ends at a point no man on Earth would want to miss; something
that without it, an event has yet to take place. Do you think you know what
that is? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Why not visit page 7 for the full gist.
The lines are well painted with imagery, figures of speech, and local
content. It's well-written flash fiction.

GENRE: POETRY
WRITER: MORWMPHAKA SELLO HUMA, SOUTH AFRICA
TITLE: KWANZAA
REVIEWER: NNANE NTUBE, CAMEROON
"Kwanzaa" is a narrative poem of four stanzas with an irregular disposition

of verses: long and short. Through the traditional African way of
recounting stories, the poet uses elements of oral tradition such as songs,
dance, beating of drums, rituals and libation to lure his readers to love the
beautiful story told with images of local colours: harvest, kola nuts, drums
etc.
The introductory verse swiftly gives the reader an idea of what "Kwanzaa"
means. Historically and etymologically, the name "Kwanzaa" which is
firstfruits, comes from the sentence, "matunda ya kwanza" which in Swahili
means “firstfruits of the harvest”. The poem focuses on a festival of the
firstfruits' harvest. It later becomes a holiday instituted in 1966 by Dr
Maulana Karenga, a black radical FBI stooge, founder of United Slaves, a
violent nationalist rival to the Black Panthers.
This festival is a 7-day celebration of community and heritage observed by

many African-Americans from December 26th to January 1st. Therefore, Sello
Huma's "Kwanzaa" is a timely publication that props into the annual
cultural and traditional values of African festivals especially with the advent
of Christmas and other celebrations.
The first and fourth lines of the 1st stanza, "we never forget the roots / and
the riches from the soil,” give us the purpose of the celebration and an idea
of the celebrants.
The core message of the poem lies on the celebration of African communal
feeling through words such as "sharing", "togetherness", "Ubuntu", "love";
all expressions that go to tie with the 7 principles of Kwanzaa (also known
– Unity
– Self-determination
– Collective work and responsibility
– Cooperative economics
– Purpose
– Creativity
– Faith.
"Kwanzaa" therefore is a celebration of Africa's pride and core values.
Sello Huma is an excellent African poet whose skills in crafting African

tradition should be encouraged. The way he narrates the amazing African-
American harvest festival aims at projecting Africanness and the nostalgic
feeling of being African - the son of a rich soil that never fails its people - is
simply fantastic.

GENRE: CHILDREN LITERATURE

WRITER: PRINCESSIA MREMA, TANZANIA
TITLE: GIRLS
REVIEWER: NGALIM JUSLINE VEEYEENYU, CAMEROON
"Girls" written by thirteen-year-old Princessia from Tanzania, is published in

the children's literature section of WSA online magazine, December
Edition. Princessia acknowledges and recognises that girls are beautiful
lyrics crafted by the Almighty maker whom she qualifies as the finest artist
and his creation, girls, are masterpieces. She warns against those who
seduce and harass girls and encourages all girls to stand firm and strong no
matter the adversities.
Coming from a girl child, this great poem is suitable for children,
particularly girls. The message is clear and a booster to girls who may
already be suppressed by patriarchal societies. The language is simple, but
the meaning could be deeper than it appears. Thus, women in general still
have a lot to learn from Princessia's message.
Themes such as empowerment, determination, glorification and

admiration of beauty (nature) and many others are glaring in the poem.
The poet's attitude is one of disapproval towards cultures that suppress the
girl child; she has an attitude of encouragement towards the girl child.
Girls remains a must-read for all. Kudos, young writer.

GENRE: ESSAY
WRITER: MUYAMBO MWENDA, ZAMBIA.
TITLE: THANKSGIVING IN AFRICA.
REVIEWER: OGALO ODUOR BERNARD, KENYA
Festivals are found in almost all societies in the world, if not all. What
makes some festivals more pronounced, more visible, more attractive and
more consequential than others? Like, what makes Christmas a global
festival - at least in Christendom - than the Kulamba festival of the Chewa
people of Zambia? Or Incwala of the Swazi of Swaziland? Or Ayiza of the
Ewe people of Togo?
“Thanksgiving in Africa” is an essay that explores the understanding of

festivals in different communities around the world, especially in Africa. To
attempt an understanding of the meaning of festivals in Africa through a
Western perspective is to attempt an assassination of the very festival you
seek an understanding of. Africa is a continent with multiethnic
communities that treasure different traditions and cultures. In Africa,
according to this essay, thanksgiving festivals are based on harvests and
therefore, are dictated by the natural world (devoid of Western definitions
and influences). Each community has different ways of celebrating and
giving thanks. To ignore any of these traditional and cultural festivities is to
ignore the community itself.
This article raises the question of the authenticity of modern festivals.

Besides, the little known traditional and cultural festivals, especially in
Africa, are argued to hold as much currency to the concerned communities
as the global festivals to the modern celebrants.

GENRE: SHORT STORY

WRITER: CHRISTINA H LWENDO, TANZANIA
TITLE: BEFORE FOREVER BEGINS
REVIEWER: OMADANG YOWASI, UGANDA
Before Forever Begins is a short story published in the December edition of

WSA magazine. It is written in the 3rd person omniscient point of view. The
prevailing atmosphere around the setting is of music, both Christmas
carols and secular songs. Nusura (the main character) is rummaging
through piles and piles of clothes, but she's not getting one which matches
her pending marriage ceremony. She's vexed up and after many attempts,
she lands on one which she doesn't wait to try out. She goes to the
changing room and she's face to face with the mirror. She tries to force a
smile when an anonymous woman comes in staring at her. The woman
intuitively realises that she must be scared about married life. She throws
down clothes she has come with and picks one to try out. It's so beautiful
that Nusura undoubtedly loves it. The woman decides to give her a small
lecture about the dos and don'ts in marriage. When she decides to leave,
Nusura begs her to attend her marriage ceremony.
The theme of pretence is highlighted in the story. Nusura pretends to shed

tears, she pretends to cough when she wants to laugh, and the woman she
meets in the changing room is later found to be a man. This brings out a
twist in the story.
Symbolism is used in the form of the "mirror." As Nusura looks in it, she
tries to project into her future in marriage. She doesn't find it happy. This is
the reason she smiles vaguely at the thought of it.
Character and characterization: Nusura is naive and uncertain about

everything especially her marriage dreams and if they'll come true. The
woman is witty and loving. She comforts Nusura giving her parental advice.
The setting is significant and relevant to the theme of 'Festival'. In

paragraph one, we hear Christmas carols, then the final marriage

GENRE: COLUMNS
WRITER: AMAMI YUSUF, NIGERIA
TITLE: AT A COST
REVIEWER: COLIN STANLEY KARIMI (THE_POWERHOUSE), KENYA.
The column talks on the damaging stereotypes caging African women and
their plight to acquire set standards by modern society. It is true that in
some parts of Africa, people especially those who believe in tradition, pry
into such successes for self-interest. With the character, Zarah is
dethroned from the favour of her father's best interest for her future and
she is plunged into the nasty jaws of tradition. It is evident that in some
parts of Africa, the female gender is at stake with tradition, casting shade
over the bright future of African girls. In this column, one is unsure of the
detrimental consequences Zarah faces, but it is without a doubt that she
overcame her challenges concerning tradition. Nonetheless, her quest
engages her identity and is fruitful, but comes at a cost. One can assume
that Zarah fell out of her father's favour by following what she believes in;
thus, she crushes negative aspects of tradition and becomes victorious in
finding her piece of mind. However, her father is distraught by her decision
and disowns his daughter primarily because of tradition. The column is
short and precise, yet it gives a diverse perspective of what the female
gender goes through to find identity in Africa.

WRITERS SPACE AFRICA
Advertise your Brand
in our Monthly
Magazine
Send a mail to wsa@writersspace.net to get your
Ads Featured in our next publication
Start a Project
with us today!
we make you feel like a king
.ng
olori.ng olorinigeria

Wsa Rebirth January 2020

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Wsa Rebirth January 2020

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Wsa Rebirth January 2020

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

WRITERS SPACE AFRICA

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE AFRICAN WRITERS DEVELOPMENT TRUST

JAN, 2020 WRITERS SPACE AFRICA

Regardless of what you believe in, life is designed to give us a

Whatever is born anew, whatever is given a second chance,

Writers' Space Africa (WSA) has stood true to itself as a

The new year is always replete with fresh vows and

Always remember, ubuntu.

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

Short Story 4-9

Flash Fiction 10-11

Children’s Literature 12-14

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

I digress. Jummai shifted uncomfortably in

hands were coarse, and her transgender people were fighting

the strong, silent tears of pain, she

Jummai's treatment spanned a

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

The Baboon and the

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

I feel liberated from the target set for me by

“Better marry quickly now that you are fresh

Those of you who know me, know how I fell

studies. I stared long and hard at myself in the

“The journey to wholeness begins with self-

As it is, I have crossed over to the other side of

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

Allow me to reintroduce myself, I was born and

The advent of colonial rule altered traditional

“An entire epoch in human history, the epoch

Looking at colonialism in retrospect, it derailed

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

the door was broken and impossible to use. He

“Hello!' the lady greeted cheerfully and

“Do you speak English?” the lanky lady, Lucy,

“Kar ki damu. Za'a lura da ke.” He assured her

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

Dissolve the old self in me, let rain wash away

Recuperate the diminishing vigor

Revive brilliance in me Lord!

Resurrecting from the timeworn year

Let the messianic rebirth evolve around me,

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

Alone, she sat outside,

Then up she looks; meets beautiful constellations;

20: REBIRTH WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET

I am a child of time; a birth to fate!

My story is like that of an 'Abiku' predestined to a fate of multiple

Since all these whiles,

I live hence over the seasons;

Yet I stood by my horizon over the nights staring, aging

For my life is a planned episode broken into order of times;

WWW.WRITERSSPACE.NET 20: REBIRTH

Sorrow and anguish could be heard in her cries

Mom had been beaten down