Tag Archives: writing

There’s a tiny colonialist inside me.

I have no right to write about Africa, for her children have done so with a poignancy I couldn’t begin to touch (even if my skin were brown and I knew the secrets of perfect ugali). But from my beginnings … Continue reading

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Flawed

When my hands and my eyes were younger I held in them a pen as an idol And the paper as altar Mistakes were torn, thrown, buried But now – honesty, disillusionment, bravado Who knows? But the pedestal is gone. … Continue reading

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