I was 13 when I fell in love with the whole of Didier Drogba. I had freshly become a football follower, a stubborn Chelsea fan. This was 2007, the age of newspapers and magazines, before browsing phones spread and newspaper stand crowds thinned and KickOff and SoccerStar made way for Goal.com. I was building […]
The Feet of Drogba Read More »
From “Blue Lake, Small Island,” snippets of an un-noted experience. It was 11 a.m. when we gathered in the backyard and left for the Village, Ali leading the way, her right hand gripping leashes to her four dogs. As we walked, we talked, in groups of threes and fours. Soon we arrived at a
From “Blue Lake, Small Island,” snippets of an un-noted experience. Four or so minutes after we touched down in Bole International Airport in Addis Ababa, right after we climbed the steps to the long passage in Terminal 1, a small crowd of about twenty—women, men, bags on their backs, boxes in their hands—stood blocking
A Language Problem Read More »
Not all of them—can’t possibly write out all of them—but most of what I’m listening to right now, the songs I’ve played the most, alphabetically. “Africa,” Karl Wolf, feat. Culture I can’t remember where I first heard this song but it completely stole my heart. Before now, the last time I listened to it was
My Playlist and Some Thoughts, Vol. 1 Read More »
It is a poignant joy to discover yet another young writer living on the continent with the talent and potential to measure with the established. The first time I read J. K. Anowe, one morning almost two years ago, we were in a small room, in a mutual friend’s apartment, and I had just met
The Self-centric, Subversive Poetry of J. K. Anowe Read More »
First written on 11 August, 2016, on Facebook. Monk. Astronomer. Artist. Architect. Priest. Psychologist. Lawyer. Monk. Historian. Writer. Physicist. Painter. Actor. Activist. Academic. These, at different times in my life, are the things I have wanted to be, or have been pushed to be, or now am, or know that I would one day
Monk. Astronomer. Artist Read More »
Written on 25 August, 2016, on Facebook. Strange. In the past few days, I’ve taken to replaying Aaliyah—“Try Again,” “More Than a Woman,” “We Need a Resolution”—only to make an unexpected discovery today: that today, August 25, is the 15th anniversary of her death. She died in a plane crash, in 2001. Even though
A Night with Aaliyah Read More »
I am with friends, those ones who have become family, when I realize that the book on the marble table is John Berger’s and our faces, my heart, brief as photos. A small white book whose particular existence, out in the world and in this room, I have been unaware of. It lies there, beside
A Bit of John Berger Read More »
I should begin by confirming that I’m neither a music critic nor a video expert. Billboard has been my go-to, as it is millions of music lovers’, for not only charts and stats but also for how to engage with the work of certain artists who I’m unsure of, how to think about sounds and
On Billboard’s “100 Greatest Music Videos of the 21st Century: Critics’ Picks” Read More »
1. When I write prose fiction and poetry, the sparks that birth my words ignite from within, a thing riotous and chaotic, kindling and kindling until cooled, but when I sketch essays or anything else, it all begins with a small, calm flame outside of me, a gathering glow out there in the world. Mornings,
The Coo of a Blue-Plumed Bird Read More »