I vividly recall the awe-inspiring wonder of my early years, when becoming an adult felt like the ultimate goal. I used to watch my parents, aunts, and uncles, convinced they had everything figured out, and I admired them with a mixture of reverence and envy. Life, however, had other…
Trees of life
The sweet smell of oranges
Their juices trickling and dribbling down our cheeks
Wetting our throats
Quenching our thirsts
Its nectar tickling our buds
Providing of needed vitamins and great health
Beautiful and majestic indigenous trees
Nourishing earth
Soothing the ozone layer
Giving us life
So we can breathe again
Engulfed in their shade
Toxic fumes tampered by their…
My name is Godfred Enyan, but I’m popularly known as King Sobada from Ghana. I have a BSc in Administration with a focus on Public Administration from the University of Ghana.
I am a young Ghanaian using music as an advocacy tool to raise awareness about gender equality and women’s…
If you had told me a decade ago that I’d become a voice of creative influence in Uganda—while raising two sons, surviving the chaos of post production, and working on studying human rights law in Japan—I probably would’ve laughed, spilled tea on your shoes, and gone back to sketching…
I have fewer stories hanging on my gullet.
Untold stories of moments we shared,
and the laughter that quaked the room.
This is because I do not write in times of happiness.
I went through my pieces—
they carry grief like an infant,
cradled in my mind to this day.
Darkness overshadowed those moments,
or perhaps I…
I hope you remember
the poem from your birthday.
Let’s set aside my reeking anxiety,
how I failed your audience,
how I couldn’t articulate,
and how shame sought me
with persistence.
What I’m trying to say is—
I hope you remember
how much I valued you,
to the depths where lava is found,
the core of the earth,
the core of…
“The world doesn’t revolve around you.” –
A phrase that clings
like stubborn gum to the back of my pants.
Its presence numbs, its toxicity stains,
leaving me to tremble in a futile struggle.
Fingers wearily try, way too hard, to peel it away,
but others notice the hue from afar,
under their unspoken radar.
I keep…
Postnatal care seems to go hand in hand with the familiar scent of Dettol, the warmth of pap, and the soft puff of dusting powder. But once a child is born, not every mother steps into celebration; some step into waiting rooms, where the air is heavy with exhaustion,…
Imagine this: a wide, clear blue African sky above you with the horizon that disappears behind the green hills and mountains, in a village filled with old, interesting stories passed down through generations. This is where I come from. My roots are fixed deep in the red most fertile…