Africa
The Great Discovery, by Kenechukwu Obi (Nigeria) Posted 12/11/2010
A tall agbalumo tree stood at the center of the vast compound that lay sprawled in clusters of mud houses with thatched roofs. Surrounding the compound was a fence of bamboo sticks. Stray West African dwarf breed of goats of different colors, roaming about, sniffing around, for anything they could pick up and chew. Some of them pregnant, some of them not, and some were wandering with their young ones, with feces occasionally dropping from their anuses as black pellets. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon in Iseyin, a place roughly an hour and half ride by road from the historic city of Ibadan.
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You Smile, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 11/1272010
You smile though there is nothing to smile at. You are young in age but your heart is much older. You have endured the mishmash education of the body while your soul feels uneducated and yearning to be comforted. Your soul wants to hope on a job and a fat salary paid to you every month for your upkeep and luxurious lifestyle. But your body knows this is farfetched.You hope and hope because you are used to hope and live in a land of hope. You are a young graduate from the local university. You hope to have a job that will make you drive a car and walk boldly on the street like every successful young man in the city.
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The Locking Mechanism, by Nthenya Nzioki (Kenya) Posted 11/1272010
“My child, you must never behave as if your life belongs to a man. When you fall in love, learn to love the man without needing him.” As if it were only yesterday, I recall the rasp in my dear late grandmother’s voice as she said these words. Yet that sweet old lady has been dead for almost four years now. I think of her sunken yet oddly comforting smile that always touched her eyes and gave them a mischievous twinkle everytime she brought up this particular topic.
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The Late Comers, by Nthenya Nzioki (Kenya) Posted 11/13/2010
Kneeling there on the concrete veranda, shrouded by a light morning mist, was my friend Vera. It was she who was screaming, and the reason was cradled clumsily in her arms like a broken, bloody rag doll. It took me only a moment to take in the entire scene and understand what must have happened. The bloody puddle around where Vera knelt, clutching her son in her arms, said it all. Jeremy, sweet kind Jeremy had somehow fallen from the balcony!
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This One Harmattan, by Okey Egboluche (Nigeria) Posted 11/13/2010
At that instant she rushed out of the room. Obinna’s eyes followed her. He shook his head and placed both palms under his chin with his elbows resting on the plastic table. On the floor outside the building, she threw up. As she held her belly with her left palm, she could feel tenderness in her body and a slight heaviness around her breasts.
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Pages from a Suicide Note, by Isaac Attah Ogezi (Nigeria) Posted 11/5/2010
However, his attention was arrested by one particular notice inconspicuously stapled to the board. It was an obituary in an A4-sized paper, with the black-and-white picture of the deceased in matriculation wig and gown, faint but decipherable. Below the inset picture were endless condolences scribbled hurriedly by well-wishers and class-mates. Above the picture was the inscription: Gone too Soon, and below it was the deceased’s name and his level: Adoka Idadu, 500 Level. Samson could not imagine that this was his brother that they had grown up together. Since the news of his death got to him, he had not been himself. Everything bored him including life. But why did he have to do that? was the question on the lips of everybody. Why? Why?
The Gospel according to Lagos, by Olusola Akinwale (Nigeria) Posted 10/17/10
I had heard so much about Lagos before I left Enugu. The many flyovers; the molues; the loafers popularly referred to as area boys that lived under the bridge; the barking traffic;, the ever crowded Oshodi; the Bar Beach; mermaids that turn pretty girls and go to nightclubs to seduce and punish, perhaps kill, lecherous men; the statutes of the three white-cap chiefs that welcome you to the city.
Cousins, by Edward Eremugo Luka (S. Sudan) Posted 9/30/10
Dad calls on everyone to take their seats. My uncles and aunts sit on the chairs arranged in a semi circle. The seating arrangement ensures that they sit close to their wives and husbands. The young children will have to make do on the ground. Mats are laid out in front of the semi circle and we crowd on them. However, my eldest brother and cousins are given seats as well. They have all made it to the family gathering. Earlier, they had food and drinks and just talked about many things except the meeting.
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Juba's Gala Nights, by John Oryem (S. Sudan) Posted 9/18/10
When she is in good mood some days, Nora would be excited to share with me her experiences at her organization’s office. At times she would just behave as if I’m a stranger. Who am I, to chase away guests from our home when they were told, I was their lost son who have just returned in the country from the bush?
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The Crippled Marriage, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 10/3/2010
Never marry an oku elu, especially one whose breasts are public property. For when the sweetness of her soup of love disappears it leaves a bitter taste on the tongue. A very bitter taste indeed.
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Running Mate, byShadreck Chikoti (Malawi) Posted 10/3/2010
I decided to walk toward her gowelo at the end of the village. There must be something wrong with Tamara, I thought to myself. She had never been this late to any of our night meetings. As I walked, I could feel the grains of sand caress my feet and that is when I saw Tamara running towards me. And then, she went past me, towards the Kachere tree.
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Another Life, by Mubanga Mulapa (Zambia) Posted 9/11/10
It is mid-afternoon, and the African sun is glowing fiercely in a pale, blue sky. I am standing under the shade of an elm, at a place where the gravel road ends and the forest begins. This point, perhaps, is where civilization as I know it ends, for beyond this place there is nothing but green forest; there is no rail or proper road, and from now on, the only means of transport is bicycle and ox-cart.
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The Sentinel of Ubuntu, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 9/4/10
They were happy people then, extracting from the earth the bounty bestowed on them by Ngai, wanting for nothing, dancing all night, their bellies distended with good living. Their drums could be heard from miles away, joyful rhythms praising the munificence of Ngai, God of all that is. Yes, those were the days. Not any more.
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US/Canada
Once Bitten (Chapter 17), by Adam Smith (USA) Posted 11/15/11
Oskar pulled the blanket up a bit more around him, then glanced at Eli over the top of the newspaper they’d bought at the station in Norrköping. She was sitting on the opposite aisle facing toward the rear of the train, kitty-corner to him, pretending to read the sports section. There was no one else around, but they didn’t think it would be smart to sit together. He couldn’t see her face, only the white poof-ball on top of her tobogganer’s hat, joggling a little with the movement of the train.More
Never Fall in Love with a Girl (Who Doesn't Love You), by Ray Shenoba (USA) Posted 11/27/10
My name is Keonn Merritt, but my friends call me Sir Keonn. They say the ladies seem to think I’m their knight in shining armor. I must admit, I’ve heard ladies say things to that effect and I’ve even had some to come on to me, but their advances really didn’t faze me. See, I’m a one woman man, but my friends didn’t understand that part of my life. They have always told me that women come a dime a dozen and I should have more than one; however, I begged to differ. I’ve always felt that women are God’s gift to man. Little did I know that I would come to believe that there might be some truth in what my friends were telling me. Let me tell you a little about them: More
American History in Textbook Form, by Marshall Pickel (USA) Posted 11/13/10
Not only is the history of our country taught with a horribly strong patriotic sentiment, but generally with a misunderstood concept of the history of America by the writers themselves. America has never lived a lie as ruinous as that in which happens in classrooms every day. More
The Genome Kunstler, by Austen J. Brauker (USA) Posted 11/5/10
Crane wasn’t sure exactly why, but he stayed in Germany after the war. He had come to know the countryside quite well as a driver, and the differing characters of the little towns along the way. He enjoyed finding new places and often just wandered aimlessly. One place in particular caught his eye. He stumbled upon it by sheer accident, while exploring, lost and happy to be that way. A lush green park led past a river to some old buildings with strange and interesting architecture. It was a University, complete with expansive botanical gardens, which amazed him. Plants were friends. He had (learned- known) many of the different herbs from walking in the Michigan woodlands with his Grandma. The garden piqued his interest. . More
The De-evolution Quadrilogy - Part 4, Airborne, by Phillip Ghee (USA) Posted 10/31/10
During the last decade of the 20th Century and the first two of the 21st, the world had been hammered by epidemics, outbreaks and even occasional yet short-lived plagues. The last five years or so had been unprecedented in the decline of the aforementioned maladies. Featherweights like colds and flues had been beaten into submission. The more nefarious social diseases, the sexually transmitted diseases, declined dramatically, thus opening up another front vigilant for the watchfulness of parents of teenagers. Contagious disorders ranging from contact dermatitis and all the way down to contagious warts and Pink Eye were, at least in developed nations, going the way of small pox and leprosy. More
Tolerated, by Shenoba Ray (USA) Posted 10/31/10
In the summer of 1981, a black suburban pulled up to the front entrance of La’Neil State University. In the driver’s seat sat a wellgroomed, darkskinned masculine male, tall in stature. In the passenger seat, a small framed, fair skinned woman sat, putting on her makeup.. More
Someone on the Run, by Bev Boisen (USA) Posted 9/11/10
“I called my Dad to see if he c ould come and pick me up, and told him of my problem”. He said, “Yes.” Her Dad came into my office a few days later and thanked me for taking a good care of her, and he said he was glad that his daughter was alive, after such a long time. All along he thought she was probably dead. More
The Eternal Game, by David Seiter (USA) Part 3 Posted 10/3/2010
Ah, it has happened. I have died in my sleep. I see the snow piling up, but I am no longer cold. I stand now in another dimension. My tortured body is whole again, my dim eyes are clear, and my ears seem more attuned, as if they had been muffled; not only in old age, but throughout my life. I look down on my now dead and useless body lying there under the old tree. That body served me well, but I'm not going to miss it. More
Dear Jane, by Humanities & Film Class, Raleigh DeVry University Posted 8/30/10
Short film created July-August 2010 as a class project in Raleigh's DeVry University - Humanities and Film class. Creators/actors/writers: Nathan Ballentine, Allen Briggs, Jennifer Fuentes, Mitch Poole, Tracheta Riley, and Mary Williams. (Instructor - Dr. Bruce L. Cook)More
The Cursed Fortune, by Dr. Claude Shema Rutagengwa (Canada) Posted 7/25/2010
Drug Dealing... Johan Gate Street in Oslo is a well known in that Scandinavia nation: Norway. It is decorated with flowers and horse riding parades in spring to summer, while the winter flourishes the Royal city with the snowy wind. Just working on that beautiful heaving leading street in summer, I met an African-Arab who, with nice looking style, wore a jeans'n T-shirt style.
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The Man Behind the Star - 150th anniversary of Paderewski's birth - by Art Wielgus (US) Posted 6/127/2010
"There is no man in public life I admire more than Ignace Jan Paderewski," Colonel House wrote to Charles Phillips.
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Immortality, by George Chun Fat (USA) Chapter 13 - Evidence Posted 7/30/10
I have seen ghosts in electroweak manifolds. I have seen light ghosts in the sky. I have seen clouds that seemed alive. I have seen small ghosts in electroweak manifolds. I have seen black ghosts in electroweak manifolds. I believe I have seen immortals.
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Expert Execution - Chapter 21 - Rational Conduct, by Kevin Tatro (US) Posted 6/27//10
David had been here before. Turning the corner of the first building, he didn’t hesitate at the rusted steel door which was positioned oddly in a ten foot alcove carved into the min building and the unexplainable brick wall at the end of the alley. Knowingly, he put his shoulder against the heavy door, and lost no momentum as he entered a stairway which he knew led to the third floor. He grabbed the stair railing, and swung himself under the stairway, into the dark deserted space under the stairs, where even the homeless don’t go. There, another steel door opened easily, and David was now in the alley between the two buildings.
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A Knight's Pledge - by Zoe Tomassi (US) Posted 5/28/10
In one of the doorways, leaning comfortably against a tall, stone pier stood a lad of about sixteen. His green eyes followed the children and his mouth curved into a quiet, amused smile. The sun fingered its way into his short blond hair, and illuminated his polished wood lute, which was slung across his back. This boy had the distinguished job of court minstrel in the court of Royal Duke Dallas and his son, Prince Macnair. Suddenly, the latter royalty appeared, his youthful face brazen with anger. The children scattered as the sixteen-year old prince stormed into the middle of their game of Ring around the Rosie.
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No Free Lunch - Part 3 - by Phillip Ghee (US) Posted 6/13/10
The Trash Tax had come full circle. It had been such an oppressive and selectively enforced tax that it had greatly contributed to the trashing of America. When the idea of the tax was first introduced, in the early 21st. Century it was thought that it would encourage recycling and reduce the generation of needless waste. However, the Government (both Federal and Local Municipalities) being the primary offender of both above mentioned incursions exempted themselves from taxes and penalties. Next social institutions like hospitals and schools were given a free pass along with what was left of large Industry and Manufacturing. The Green- Eco and Environmental parties that endorsed the bill all became disillusioned and withdrew their support. Thus the bulk of the taxes and penalties were levied against the everyday American. This lead to widespread and illegal dumping. Any patch of vacant land, city or national park and even waterways were fair game for night time deposits.
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Facing History for Social Healing – Rwanda Survivor, by Dr. Claude Rutagengwa (Canada) Posted 4/24/10
In the past, I was thinking most of the time that I was the only one who thought that "remembering is my right" as a victim of the unspeakable genocide , and day-by-day I learn that I share the same thoughts and feelings with other different victims of violent conflict all over the world. As Martha Minow said, prohibiting the victims from remembering their past suffering is like insulting them and leaving rage to fester (Martha Minow, In Between vengeance and forgiveness, p.118).
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Psychological Interventions (Western vs. Local Approaches), by Dr. Claude Rutagengwa (Canada) Posted 2/27/10
There have been critics over Western psychosocial interventions in conflict areas. Most experts intervening to the fields are Western, working in different countries all over the world: Africa, Asia, and Southern America mainly. They face a big challenge related to the culture and customs, and they are not familiar with local traditions at all. Sometimes their work gets undermined by the lack of local context knowledge, which would ease their incomparable efforts to save lives for a better world.
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Most Biased Supreme Court Decision Since Dred Scott, 1857, by Warren Turner (US) Posted 2/4/10
Freedom isn’t free…nearly always, somebody has paid dearly for it: and many of our forefathers (and mothers) paid with their lives for the freedom we Americans now enjoy. And for those of us already free, continued freedom must be paid for daily by our ongoing vigilance and due diligence, and challenges to our freedoms must be swiftly and aggressively opposed. We must never take freedom for granted, and due diligence requires that we stay informed. In most instances, the usurpation of our freedoms comes from within; witness Hitler’s takeover of Germany.
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Latin America
Unsafe Abortion in Brazil, by Fernanda Pattaro Amaral (Brazil) Posted 12/20/09
This article exposes some points of reflexion about the right to abortion as part of a human’s rights question. Therefore, it is important a deep understanding about the ways that this question have been thought in Brazil, where there are restricted laws and a high maternal mortality rate decurrent of unsafe abortions. The discussion that is intended focuses on these consequences of unsafe abortion. Furthermore, is present in this discussion the idea of sanctification of women as mothers in Brazil, and how this social construction influences the debate about (un)safe abortion.
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Asia
The Politics of Managing the Boss (excerpt), by SM Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) Posted 1/21/10
Managing the Boss is like managing one’s wife: one must give more than what one wants to get, but ironically, the wife afterwards thinks she has gotten less than she gave. “Then why the hell do I ever need to manage him?” you might be asking the author. Well, it is because he wants to be managed.
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Middle East
Crossing the Horizon, by Khaled Alnobani Posted 7/11/09
She sat in front of her room. The roof was made of plates of metal. She was in the camp waiting for her boy – one of her pearls - to come and appear before her, coming from the school. Counting on her life not her death, her children always await her, expect her, long for her and that which she counts on. The view of life is different from other places; the camp is a terribly poor place, full of poverty. She does not expect much from the others but she does what she must do. There was a stream of dirty polluted water in front of her; the polluted water crossed the camp between its sides. That water came from what one can hardly describe as houses. Insects fill the place in summer and usually a hot summer comes in Jordan. There was a piece of every person in that stream. It was not covered.
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Encounter with the Logic of Unreason, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 8/19/10
“The problem is that everyone here is a commander,” Jacob Kariuki said, his brow wrinkled in deep thought. “Ergo, they can break rules, intimidate people into submission, do virtually anything that pleases their fancy, and get away with it.”
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Conversation Piece, by Ahmed Maiwada (Nigeria) Posted 8/19/10
The telephone rang. It was music – Boys II Men:…Still I can’t let you go/It’s so natural/You belong to me/I belong to you… He stood rooted on the wet, cream tile flooring, thinking nobody could call him at 9am on Sunday morning except his mother back in the village – some three hundred kilometres away. She called only when necessary. It was therefore, unnecessary for him to ignore the call.
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Rachel's Hero, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 8/19/10
That Monday was a historical day for Bright Omoregbe, the thirty-four year old History and Government teacher at Rachel’s Academy, one of the most exclusive private secondary schools in Festac, Lagos. It was a beautiful day: the air was refreshingly cool, the sky a deep azure. When the sun woke up it was enchantingly white. Its heat blended agreeably with the breeze. But the harmonious combination of the elements did nothing to get rid of the deep foreboding that the teacher had felt since he woke up.
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Agonies in Sunset (Extract) , by Chukwuemeka Emeka Anozie (Nigeria) Posted 5/28/10
This is an extract of my novel yet to be published- "Agonies in Sunset". A sympathetic story of the afflictions and persecution of one of the lost tribes of Israel settled in Nigeria- The Ibos.
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In the Shadow of Jebel Kujur, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 7/17/10
What I hated the most was the stench of human excrement. It was everywhere. The whole city reeked of it. After a while you could distinguish the difference between old, recent and the freshest remains of the ablutions of the residents. My colleague, Gabriel Muriithi, with whom we had driven all the way from Kenya, promptly threw up. Muriithi, a young, soft spoken Kenyan businessman afflicted with a phobia for the unhygienic, was suffering most from the malodorous air.
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Running Mate, byShadreck Chikoti (Malawi) Posted 10/3/2010
I decided to walk toward her gowelo at the end of the village. There must be something wrong with Tamara, I thought to myself. She had never been this late to any of our night meetings. As I walked, I could feel the grains of sand caress my feet and that is when I saw Tamara running towards me. And then, she went past me, towards the Kachere tree.
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The Scorpion that Refused to Sting, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 5/2/10
It was supposed to be a routine job but Daniyan Kalo had been uneasy from the moment he received the assignment. As the H-hour – the underworld name for the attack time - approached, his discomfort increased till his body was numb. He was not a stranger to assassinations. As one of the most senior agents in the Head of State's secret Scorpion Squad, many critics of the government had faced the lethal end of his gun. It mattered little that they flew upon the earth like birds, breathing God's fresh air or were cooped up behind an armada of security. Once Daniyan was summoned by the Scorpion Squad commander, it was only a matter of time before their bodies were under gravestones in different cemeteries. Daniyan was the professional of professionals.
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Club Angel, by David L. Lukudu (Uganda) Posted 4/18/10
‘Sss … sssssss … customer … taata, jangu …daddy, come!’ You hear a soft female voice in a dimly lit area next to one of the buildings to your left. The bearer of the appealing voice is sandwiched between two of several parked cars and is no doubt calling and beckoning to you, despite the words ‘customer’ and ‘daddy,’ as you and your friend move along the street. She is in a short dress with leopard design, which ends halfway on her thighs, and her shoulders are bare, and she appears to be in white underpants as she quickly raises a leg and lets go, while making kissing sounds, to stress her point.
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Father Ignasio, by Noel Misanjo (Malawi) Posted 4/11/10
The man rushed along the village lane that joined the main road to the parish. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow. His remorse-filled face was long, his ears were wide, his eyes protruding and red. And he had a broad chin with broad shoulders hefty arms and thick palms. His chest was hairy, legs long and plump.
With his right hand he wiped the sweat that still flowed down his brow. And then he raced on......
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Killjoys, by Isaac Attah Ogezi (Nigeria) Posted 3/27/10
Interlocked, their breaths came in gasps. The loudspeaker voice in the distance as if from another world, extorting loving one’s neighbours as oneself, the portrait of the Savour’s birth in the manger, The Last Supper and other religious paraphernalia in the room draped their act with sacredness, a spiritual rite of purification, a holy act. El Dorado can only be achieved in this perfect state of purity. Delirious moans rewarded their quest for a pure state of wholeness, the near worship state that man can only experience the divine.
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Time Between, by Chuks Oluigbo (Nigeria) Posted 5/15/10
She felt cold shivers run through her spine as his soft palm touched her face and neck. It felt good to be touched, and she secretly desired more, though she dared not say it. She dared not even show it. How could she openly show such emotions? How could she show that she enjoyed a man’s touch? It was so unwomanly, so unAfrican, and ungodly too.
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Friends from Kigale, by Lloyd Igane (Kenya) Posted 3/13/10
It all started with a yellow immigration card with print so small that anyone over forty required magnifying glasses to read it; more so if said over forty person had stayed awake all night alternating between a very dry martini and a soda, rather than go to bed only to wake up again to check in at 3 a.m. in the morning.
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Maria, by Austin Kaluba (Zambia) Posted 3/5/10
Maria was in a reflective mood as she cooked Sadza (stiff porridge) for her husband, as she thought about recording her memories. She had just read a story in The Guardian newspaper about ox-pulled ambulances in many parts of rural Zimbabwe. A pathetic picture in the story depicted one such an ambulance. Her heart goes out to her fellow country men and women who have to face grinding poverty on a daily basis. “Oho, what a pity”, Maria thought as she considers how lucky she was to have escaped poverty in her own country by coming to the United Kingdom (UK).
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The Journey to Freedom, by Mercy Adhiambo (Kenya) Posted 2/27/10
Akinyi rocked baby Otis gently on her laps, praying inwardly that he would fall asleep. Her patience was slowly running out and the sound of Baby Otis laughing playfully was beginning to irritate her. It was obvious that he was not going to sleep soon. She patted his back gently in rhythm to the lullaby that she was singing. It was a slow song and it sounded more like a dirge than a lullaby.
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The Witness, by Noel Misanjo (Malawi) Posted 2/27/10
You could feel the pressure, or at least, the short and stout man clad in a dark blue safari suit standing in the witness box, could feel the pressure in the packed court house. Although it was cold, no amount of mopping with his handkerchief could eliminate the beads of sweat that were breaking on his clean shaven face like dew. To him, the deadly silence in the court was like a lull before a devastating storm.
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The Implements of War, by M.W. Kimani (Kenya) Posted 2/21/10
The implements of war hung on two rusty nails – hammered, one next to another, onto the left side of a weathered and beaten cupboard, within an arm’s reach of father’s big chair. The brown leather belt was thick and heavy…but frayed from constant use. Next to it hang a long, sleek, rubber whip; black as night.
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Bus Passengers, by Ify Okoli (Nigeria) Posted 2/610
For many, it portends a premonition of doom especially if you had an incorrigible boss you had to hide from, a spouse whose trust you had betrayed or someone you could not stop lying to. After the excitement of the night before, the deep dreamless sleep, it was mortifying to wake up on a work day to the sound of rain drops hammering away on zinc roofs, the characteristic sound like the quick march of a hundred tin soldiers.
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The Visitor, by Titus Mutuma (Kenya) Posted 2/6/10
Immediately after my final year in campus, I made up my mind not to face the hard sun of shags. As I was earlier advised by the lots in the prime, seeking refuge at home especially in the upcountry was the most awful attempt a university graduate can commit. The ivory tower is a home of its own.... Comradeship is very much acclaimed internally and in the external bases of the campus. It is in their walk, talk, and also in the chew and the clad that acts as evidences. In addition, you will have to meet the extreme limits of researchers with all sorts of degrees and as usual, all are in grey hair or no hair on their head. It is a place that counts to have the ‘highest number of intellectuals per square meter’.
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Redemption from Darkness, Review by Adam W. Smith Revised 2/4/10
The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist, and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.
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Africa's Willed Recolonisation, by Akinyi Princess of K’Orinda-Yimbo (Germany) Posted 1/12510
In my book – Darkest Europe and Africa’s Nightmare: A Critical Observation of Neighbouring Continents, I mentioned, rather apocalyptically, that if we Africans don’t take care then the outside world will turn our continent into “a timber plantation.” This is now happening, but on a worst-case scenario. Africans are being colonised again and this time not with the power of weapons but through Africans themselves selling their continent willingly.
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Critical factors & Emergency of the 1994 Genocide in Rwanda, by Dr. Claude Shema Rutagengwa (Canada) Posted 1/17/10
The foremost of the factors that led to the genocide would be the imbalance in terms of power and lack of enough resources for the two major ethnic groups: Hutus vs. Tutsis. Regardless the origin and reasons of Hutu and Tutsi ethnic label, the fact that there was imbalance between Tutsi elites vs. Hutus before 1959, it was clear that without any change there was conflict and related violence escalation on the horizon in one way or another.
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Emogene's Story, by June Adkins (USA) Posted 1/17/10
The kids tumbled into the kitchen, demanding breakfast. I hushed them, fed them and readied them for school, remembering this time to tie up Lucille’s shoe with binding twine so the sole won’t flap around, and sent them out to wait for the buckboard to the one room school for grades up to eighth. We’re the last district to have a horse drawn wagon instead of one of those new school buses. Maybe next year, the school board said.
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Bring to an End the Cycle of Lack, by Titus Mutuma (Kenya) Posted 1/22/10
My story seeks to enclose my personal factual encounters in my life towards fulfilling the tenets of human beings integrated in our day to day activities.... Later, we can join hands together in trying to reduce some of the negative experience. There are elements that may make you have compassion, plea for unity and need for you to make an urgent abridgment or intervene as an institution or individual. ... “The cycle of lack” equally means the continuous scarcity level of almost all the basic needs hence promising no light at the end of the tunnel experienced from one generation to another. The cycle of lack can act as a source of pandemic strain. Isn’t the right time to end this extreme poverty? Africa is a beautiful and a well endowed continent and it is important to raise the downtrodden attitudes and morale of the generations towards enhancing independency.
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A Lady from the Sea, Chap. 1, by Olatunbosun Adetula (Nigeria) Posted 1/12210
John loved to spend his holiday with his uncle. Uncle George and his wife who teaches in Lekki high school. They had a daughter Josephine. John was especially fond of Josephine. Most of the time they would take Uncle George’s boat and sail along the beach in Lekki. Sometimes they went deeper into the sea and caught many fish.
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The Tragedy of Brain Drain, byAceme Nyika (Zimbabwe) Posted 1/21/10
Now I go back to our mother land, For my body and brains to be buried in a drain in our mother land,
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The Sacrifice, by Edward Eremugo Luka (Sudan) Posted 1/15/10
When he got there, the place was crowded with people. A small crowd gathered in one corner of the junction looking at someone seated on the ground. From the look of it, the police had not arrived yet. It was curious onlookers who were crowding around. Lodule hurried on to see. Wani sat on the kerb, his head buried in his hands. Lodule moved the people aside and sat next to him. He put his arms around him. When Wani raised his eyes, they were swollen, reddish. He had been crying. “They took her to the Khartoum Hospital,” he said, between sobs. “I don’t have a driving license. What will I do? What will happen to me?”
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The Day She Came, Chapter 1 - Parallel Lives, by Jonathon Bellall (UK) Posted 1/15/10
Well at least it is Friday. Four hours at work, a nice long lunch with Carina, and then another fours hours work in the afternoon, before slinking off back home. I still had no solid plans for Friday night. Too much depended on other people, particularly Amaya. She had left Singapore some 10 days earlier in order to attend a conference in Buenos Aires. At the close of the conference she had gone on a five day excursion to Iguassu Falls, before flying up to Carthage, Columbia on Monday, where a second conference was to be held a week or so later. She had been trying to convince me to meet her in Iguassu Falls or Carthage and I had been trying to convince her to come and stay with me in Rio, rather that take the excursions.
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The Adventures of George (excerpts), by Blair Gowrie (Thailand) Posted 1/1/10
The meeting was arranged and Karim was paid, And after toasting their success went on his way. Having carefully secreted the cheque in his pocket, Leaving Kennedy alone to relax for a minute, Enjoying once more the smooth taste of the stout, And idly glancing at the pedestrians without.
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The Bomb Ticks away for Nigeria, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 1/5/10
In the post 9/11 world USA and the rest of the Western hemisphere are at war with terrorism and terrorists. No terrorist threat, real or imagined, is taken lightly. Right now, Barack Obama is up to his ears with increasing American concerns about his ability to secure the U.S., and by extension, the rest of the West. What if Abdulmutallab's bomb had gone off? What was done about the father's alarms about his son? Airport loopholes? The Western security agencies will have their hands full for sometime to come. But my concern is the home front. It is no longer news that USA has included Nigeria in her terrorist watch list, in effect blacklisting her. And our government is busy protesting the inclusion to the high heavens. But I think the Nigerian authorities are missing the whole point. In fact they do not seem to understand what is at stake.
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The Internet Union, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 1/8/10
Onyeka knew what she was going to do. Her resolve was as constant as the northern star. Reason was prostrate on the floor of her love - steeled soul. But in the period called night - morning she cried silently. She quietly moved out of the arms of the snoring silhouette beside her on the bed, wondering if it was possible to have a head swimming simultaneously in both love and hate. Something extraordinary stopped her from puking on the chocolate - complexioned face that beamed with love and satiation even in repose. How she had allowed him into her a few hours ago was, to her, the eighth wonder of the world. There had been no way of fending him off: the igba nkwu had taken place; he fulfilled tradition’s requirements and thus was entitled to the fruits of his labour.
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Bridging Gaps Between Humanity, by Akinyi Princess of K'Orinda-Yimbo (Germany) Posted 12/21/09
Chancellor Merkel made history on 11th November as the first German leader to accept the invitation of the French for their national celebration in Paris. In her speech she talked about bridging gaps between the Franco-German friendship and keeping Europe out of warring again. On the same date since WW1, Great Britain also assembles at the Cenotaph in London to remember their “glorious dead” in impressive parades. African Commonwealth ambassadors join this celebration. But these same Africans honouring Britain’s “glorious dead” have never ever thought of honouring the African soldiers and askaris who fought in this same war for Europe.
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The New Wig, by Isaac Attah Ogezi (Nigeria) Posted 12/29/09
Nothing gets my goat as a lawyer when I see a learned colleague at the Bar raising unnecessary objections when all he could do was to concede honourably. Must a lawyer always talk for the sake of talking by playing to the gallery? What is so special about the sound of his voice that he must always talk?
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Changing Climate, by Steve Ogah (Nigeria) Posted 12/6/09
“Yeh!” Ubalu shouted in local dialect. Hurriedly, he let his dusty brown hoe drop from his weary shoulder. He unsheathed his cutlass. The evening sun streaked its blade. The weapon was hungry for good action. And action it would have!
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'Osama Bin Laden. How did he actually escape?' Harry's question was not so much a question as an announcement of looming enlightenment. 'Not by chopper that's for sure, though he and his pals would like all those who want him dead to think so. That way, if those helicopters had been shot down it could have been assumed that he was dead or at least would have bought time to find out that he wasn't. But no.
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Swimming in Greenbacks, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 11/25/09
They say that the crisis affected all corners of the globe, and I believed it since it particularly affected my already malnourished wallet. Until I visited Eastleigh, the first truly 24 hour suburb of Nairobi, the other day in search of the best rates to change a few dollars into Kenya Shillings (my very own version of a stimulus package) and it dawned on me that all the seriously educated analysts I have seen on television are wrong. The global financial crisis was not quite global. It missed Eastleigh by a wide mark.
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Albert Einstein on Relativity - at a Party, by Claude Shema-Rutagengwa (Norway) Posted 11/25/09
Someone asked Albert Einstein at a party: "Oh, you are Albert Einstein, could you please explain me your relativity theory in three or four sentences?"
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Escape, by Edward Eremugo Luka (Sudan) Posted 11/7/09
I stood at the door to my hut. The night was still early, but the town had already gone to sleep. There was no public electricity and the few privately owned diesel generators in the neighbourhood had gone silent. It was very quiet. The children who had been singing in the compound next door had retreated to their homes. The night had come. I knew they would come for me one day. And when they do that night, I would be ready for them. “They” and “them” have no faces, but I had a fair idea who they were.
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Meeting Mama, by Edward Eremugo Luka (Sudan) Posted 12/6/09
The climb up the hill is very exhausting. My breathing increases and my heart beats faster and faster. I sit on the small, black, smooth-topped rock on the hill. I take gulps of air to soothe myself. The weather is fine and clear this morning as the sun rises from behind the far mountains. They are called the Lokikili Mountains, after the tribe living there. Mama told me stories about them once. Mama told me many stories about the Lokikili people. They are warriors, she said, just like our neighbouring tribe which also lives in the mountains close to us. When there is fighting, they are said to be fierce and agile on their feet. Now things have changed. No more spears and arrows, only guns.
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In Memoriam, by Adrian Nwaiwu (Nigeria) Posted 12/6/09
Each time our souls awakened with the dawn of the day, they chorused the same sorrowful melody from the night’s sleep. When we heard the bell’s tolling, we made for the traditional churchyard where we humbly notified our creator of our burdens in constant genuflection. And what did we plead? Freedom! Its availability was determined by Chukwu’s (God’s) grace, which we incessantly called upon. The ground we now trod was called Alaosu, although theories of aboriginality had designated every one of our daughters and sons as Alaoman. Yes, we hail from that village of Alaoma, where cultures are born and nurtured to become solely African. Yet its current inhabitants have dissociated themselves from us.
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A Tough Turf, by Olusola Akinwale (Nigeria) Posted 12/6/09
Every morning I wake up the same way. The voice blaring from the speakers of the mosque three buildings away from ours calls adherents to Subh, the 5:30 a.m. prayer, and wakes me up from my sleep and dream too. The dream could be sweet and it could be terrible. There were mornings I was upset, wishing the mosque’s Tannoy developed an electrical fault. These were mornings the booming voice abruptly cut my sweet dream, like the morning I dreamt I was appointed the Managing Director of a conglomerate. There were mornings I also had reasons to thank the same voice for cutting me off from a terrible dream, like the morning I dreamt a half-human, half-goat creature was pursuing me in broad daylight, with no one to rescue me.
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A Bleak of Taste, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 11/28/09
As I sat in our school with the ending of the poem gone from my mind, I saw Mum coming to take me home. She had a basket in her hand, her beautiful face lighted with a smile as she approached me. All I could do at this time was to fumble into tears. Then my mother would drop her basket and run to me; she held me tight and asked me the reason of my tears. I would soberly say, "I forgot the ending of the poem our teacher taught us . . . she will flog me if I don’t recite it tomorrow."
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Delusion, by Ifesinachi Okoli (Nigeria) Posted 11/28/09
They came again; the three of them. Nneka opened her eyes abruptly the minute she sensed that they were in the room. Her senses had been attuned to their presence since they started visiting three weeks ago. Nothing helped. Not the drugs Doctor Folusho had prescribed or the daily injections she abhorred or the Bible she tucked safely underneath her pillow. Nothing.
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The Doomsday Cult, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 11/28/09
Twenty five years I have lived here. That is a quarter century, by the abacus. I know nothing about those electronic calculators the new comers talk about. Sure I have seen them used in offices in our institution. But in my time outside they did not exist. They are detestable. Abaci are much more real. The calculators perform cyber math and virtual calculations.
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Poets at War, by Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo (Nigeria) Posted 11/28/09
The first time Obidike came to Tijani Wali’s house was to quell Tijani’s anger. As an adviser to the students’ literary society, Obidike had organized a well-received showing of an Indian film, Mother India, at their Government Girls’ School, Kano. The film offended Tijani. “Our girls should not be exposed to filth like that,” Tijani protested after the show. “Their young minds should be groomed with elements of our cultural heritage and not struck open to foreign cultural imperialism.”
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Kenya Dear, by Maurine Otor Kenya) Posted 10/09
The soil is sticky red from innocent blood. Black tanned corpses are sweltering and puffed-up like balloons. I am scared, oh no! We are scared. All of us in this room, taking turns to peep through the window, see for ourselves. Some are too shaken to dare look out. The stench of rotten bodies, roast flesh and spilt drying blood is enough to jolt them from the sight. ”Nyamchom” has never been this plenty but now I swear I’d rather be a vegetarian. We are all in a state of vacillation between survival and fate. We saw it in movies and heard of it in stories. But now we live it.
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Potato Thief, by John Oryem Ernest Loguca (Sudan) Posted 9/27/09
Dad descended on me with a heavy whip. I cried, hoping for help from Mama. She had intervened at times in the past. My voice penetrated the evening skies. Nyekese my dog barked as I wailed. Unable to save me, it fled outside our home, badly confused. (See John's recent release!)
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Imogene's Story, by June Adkins (USA) Posted 10/10/09
He chuckled and gunned the engine. We swerved around the corner onto McElmo Road. The kids huddled in the back, slammed against the side of the pickup bed. “Why do you do stuff like that?”
“Aw, Emmy, don’t get your bowels in an uproar. I know what I’m doing.”
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Ethno-political conflict in the ex-Belgian Colony, by Claude Shema-Rutagengwa (Norway) Posted 9/5/09
The outsiders should play a positive role in region, not fueling the conflict. The presence and emergence of China in the region should bring more positive change as an economic partner, and the West should not see China as a challenge in any way. Further, the competition between China and the West should not victimize local people as well.
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Anna's Song, by Austin Kaluba (Zambia) Posted 10/10/09
Jane, I know you are bitter for being deported but I feel it is the Lord ( I am a believer by the way ) who saved you from this life of shame. The business is now hard for us old women. As you know this malaya business is only good for young women.
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The Story of Magadi, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) Posted 9/13/09
And so it came to be that on 10th August 1904, Sir Donald William Stewart, the British Commissioner for Kenya Protectorate (yes, someone did require protection, they felt) assembled a number of Maasai chiefs in Naivasha, about 100 kilometers west of Nairobi .His intention was to acquire part of their land for colonial development. In that agreement, the Maasai were requested to cede all the 86,000 square kilometers of the lake, and some 227,000 square kilometers of acreage of the catchments around it – for a total of 999 years! In consideration, the Maasai would get paid in a currency called pittance.
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Street People, by Edward Eremugo Luka (Sudan) Posted 9/5/09
He had seen all kinds of patients in his 5 years of practice. There were the inquisitive and the psychotic; the silent and the talkative; the sick and those just malingering. It was always a task to differentiate one from the other. The fear had always been to make the wrong choices and he had his portion too. And today wasn’t an exception either. He was still bothered by the last patient he saw, an elderly woman who had a rather vague complaint. He couldn’t make head or tail out of it. When all investigations are normal, convincing patients, that there is nothing wrong with them is always the hardest part. How could he tell an elderly woman that medicine had not yet found correct tools for diagnosis for all the ailments in the world?
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Repentance, by John Oryem Ernest Loguca (Sudan) Posted 8/16/09
She slipped into my house again that night, popping sweet gum as if she was chewing an old buffalo's meat. Alice would gather the exhausted elastic gum from her decaying jaw, throwing the over-chewed stuff with the might of her head's muscles at the surface of her tongue; to hang loosely on her front teeth that covered and whitened her mouth. Alice was already violently knocking at the frame of my window when I opened it. Looking at her face, faded out by 'Fair & lovely' cream, I whispered to my troubled soul, "sweet-gum producers will never, ever, produce it again if it is being abused this way!"
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A Family Legacy, by M.W. Kimani (Kenya) Posted 8/8/09
He had been missing for four days. In that time we had gone to the police station and checked to see if they were holding him, then we’d been to the hospital to check if any unidentified accident victim had been brought in, and finally to the morgue where we’d pored through the unidentified bodies. We’d come up empty. Finally, on the fifth day, the police had fished him out of a ditch running through a seedy section of Kariokor. The area generally stank due to poor sewage drainage, so it had taken some time for the residents to notice the additional foul odor. They had found him, face down, in the filthy and slow moving water, and called the police.
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Shoulder High, by Ify Okoli ( Nigeria) Posted 8/8/09
Her earliest memories were of the times spent riding high on her father’s shoulders. It was from up there that she learnt that if she stretched out her hand far enough, she could almost touch the dark blue sky littered with the brilliant winking stars. It was from up there that she learnt that the igbo name for the moon was onwa, the sun was anwu. It was from up there she watched squirrels chase each other up the giant mango trees, their bushy tails swinging daintily from left to right. It was from up there she watched Dede climb up the steep graceful body of the palm tree with the rope tied securely around his back and it was from up there that she nibbled on pieces of smoked fish her mother had tied up in a cocoyam leaf while she chatted incessantly with her father.
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Nigeria's Ticking Bomb, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema Nigeria) Posted 8/5/09
Let us face some harsh realities.Today,Nigeria's biggest threat is religion. An overwhelming number of Nigerians have imbibed brands of Islam and Christianity characterised by fanaticism, sheer mindlessness and aberrant thoughtlessness. In an interview, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie described the religious fundamentalism in Nigeria as 'troublingly overt' and highlighted some of the features of our practice of religion: 'insular, self-indulgent, self absorbed and self-congratulatory.' True, extremist Islam and fundamentalist Christianity are not unique to Nigeria. (Responses welcome!)
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The Murderer, by M.W. Kimani (Kenya) Posted 7/31/09
As usual, the children fled the school as quickly as their bare feet could take them. The teachers preferred a more dignified, but brisk pace, which allowed for the polite exchange of niceties and bits of gossip as we made towards the village centre, and beyond that, our respective abodes. It was just after we crossed the river and turned the corner; from whence one could see right up the hill, beyond which stood the chief’s camp, and further on, the village centre, that we saw the crowd. The villagers were there in the hundreds; they had congregated at the top of the hill, and barricaded the road with branches, stones and tires.
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Notes on the Latest Strain of Influenza -A Virus, H1 N1, by David Lomuyu (Sudan) Posted 7/6/09
The swine influenza or swine flu, also known as H1 N1, is a new strain of influenza A virus, of the subtype H1 N1, which has never before circulated among humans. Note that the pandemic of 1918 that killed more than 20 million people worldwide was caused by Influenza A virus, subtype H1 N1, but a different and an unusually virulent and deadly strain.
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Tales from the “EO” Files, by SFC (Ret) Cora Ann Metz (USA) Posted 7/4/09
Knock, Knock, Knock . . . “Come in!” roared the thunderous voice. Cautiously and slowly opening the door, I stepped into this enormous office. Rising from the center of the plush carpet was a huge, highly polished desk the size of an old Army jeep. Behind that desk loomed my nemesis, The Entity, beaming with military confidence in its high-back, leather swivel chair. With muscular arms the size of tree trunks folded across its massive chest, The Entity stared at me through those charming, thick, black-rimmed Army-issued glasses.
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AKWABA – The African Week in Nuremberg - Sunday 14th to Saturday 20th June 2009, by Akinyi Princess of K'Orinda-Yimbo (Germany) posted 6/27/09
From Sunday 14th to Saturday 20th June 2009, Nuremberg, the city of Human Rights, staged an impressive African Week. The opening events were splashed at the Erfahrungsfeld zur Entfaltung der Sinne, set in the sprawling meadows of the Wöhrder Wiese, amid sculptures and playgrounds for children, with the River Pegnitz snaking lazily across.
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My Hangover, by Cora Ann Metz (USA) Posted 6/27/09
“HOOOOONNNNKKK!” blared the horn of the gigantic ship bearing down on me. Terrified in my fragile, rubber raft, I began to row like hell to get out of the way. Sweating in spite of the frigid temperatures, I squeezed my eyes tighter and braced my ears for another irritating blast that would further tick me off. Cautiously, I eased one eyelid open to assess this horrific situation.
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Chapter 17 - A Good Slapping- by Ken Mulholland (Australia) Just Released - Vol. 4 in Ken's Black Eagle Girls seriesVol.1 Vol. 2 Vol. 3 Posted 6/21/09
'If the way in above has been blocked, how could that have been done without us bumping into the blockers?' wondered Monique as the four girls hurried along as best they could upon entering the narrow, twisting tunnel down which Surban had vanished.
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Does the Qur‘an Support the Concept of Evolution?, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 6/6/09
Even though controversies exist among believing scholars, the following observations, though presented in brief, seem to lead us to the conclusion that the Qur’an supports the basic views held by modern science about biological evolution. Let us approach the topic directly and as concisely as possible.
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The Sensible Method of Transitioning from Fossil Fuels to Renewable Fuels , by Warren Turner, Farmers Growing Fuel (USA) posted 6/6/09
It is no secret to any informed person that the United States and the rest of the world must stop burning fossil fuels if we are to survive as a people and a planet. All intelligent scientific information points out that CO2 emissions into the atmosphere from the burning of fossil fuels are responsible for climate change that will eventually cause the demise of planet Earth and its inhabitants.
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The Day of the Rat, by Cindy Hailey (US) posted 5/30/09
“Mom, there's a rat.” Mick's voice was slightly hushed, deliberately calm.
Washing the last dish, I sighed slightly and ignored his comment.
“Mom, come here...it's a rat.”...A different voice from a different child, a bit more urgent.
“No, Jenny, we have no rats.”
“Mom, come here!” Julia, our third and eldest offered her whispered support and I heard chairs moving.
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Tea Candles Can't be Trusted, by Cora Ann Metz (USA) Posted 5/31/09
I placed my tray on a table and returned to the counter to get some napkins and utensils. As I headed back to my table, I got the shock of my life and stood frozen in place: my tray was on fire! I ran over to see what was burning. A fire was consuming my bag of sweets. In a panic, I sprang into action and tried to blow the flames out; but my feeble puffs were as effective as telling a cat to sit. A slew of “colorful words” came to mind, but cussing would add nothing to this drama. I looked around for a fire extinguisher but found none. Carefully, I snatched the bag off my tray, flung it to the floor and frantically performed the clumsiest Mexican hat dance this side of Texas to put out the rest of the flames.
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At the Core of Africa's Problems, by Akinyi Princess of K'Orinda-Yimbo (Germany) posted 5/9/09
At the core of Africa’s problems are the Africans themselves. No other group has been as physically and psychologically brutalized by strangers for all of 500 years. The end is nowhere in sight. Slavery has been practiced throughout human history, also between homogeneous groups. But for Africans, after slavery came colonization. This experience was more traumatizing than slavery. Strange people appeared out of nowhere to take the land – the people’s highest religious symbol. There was no stopping them; a handful could kill 10,000 warriors in a matter of hours.
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The Man Died, by Yomi Habib - (Nigeria) posted 5/10/09
It was a morning of hell; a glowing darkness had invaded the land. The elephant had departed and the land was left in a world of strangers that had come to make them look like slaves. Okonkwo, a man of the people had left them to the great beyond. In the process he left the land to the white men.
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A Good Writer Has Five Eyes!, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 5/23/09
Do you know that you can learn to write very well without even learning to think in the so-called ‘efficient’ way? In other words, do you know that you can think deeply without thinking at all, and just by using your five eyes instead? If you don’t, you’ll have a lot of pleasure now.
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The Doomsday Cult, by Evans Kinyua - (Kenya) posted 5/2/09
They have condemned us as mad. But I know better. It is just another play in a plot within a plot. The mad ones are out there. Only not just mad. Demented. Twisted. They preen and wear suits, granted, but their minds are infected, roiling with a million wriggling worms. I know who’s mad, alright.
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Pink Declines Whiteness, by Akinyi Princess of K'Orinda-Yimbo (Germany) posted 5/2/09
From the beginning of the 13th century a certain Wolfram von Eschenback of Germany created the image of the so-called noble Moor as a knight full of virtues, courage and a ripe fruit of faithfulness. The Moor’s education was touted to be beyond any other, pure and brave in battle he was too. No other knight before him was so gentle for he knew no injustice, according to von Eschenback.
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The Unhappy Hand of Caluda, by Dr. Claude Shema Rutagengwa (Norway) posted 4/25/08
“My friend, I left my home country and my little boy Veloda with his father in my country, Easternland, dreaming that I could get a better job leading to a better life in Kristiania. I left everything including relatives, promising them that when I would come back to Easternland, they will enjoy my wealth forever. But my dreams seem to be embryonic, for no fruit has appeared in my dream…”
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Interview with Lee Habeeb, by Marsha Friedman (EMSI, USA) Part 1 Part 2 posted 4/15/09
Lee currently coaches 7 of the top 10 talk show hosts in America; people like, Michael Medved, Mike Gallagher, Dennis Prager, Hugh Hewitt and Bill Bennett. He also developed “The Laura Ingraham Show” and was Laura’s Executive Producer for many years.
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Human Personality, by Evans Kinyua (Kenya) posted 4/11/09
This manuscript proposes that human personality can be generally classified by shapes, such as squares, circles and triangles. Squares symbolize those who adhere to facts and beliefs. Circles represent those who are outgoing and flexible, and triangles stand for those who are indecisive and fluctuate between square and circle. The author raises examples for each shape and systemically analyzes the potential outcomes that result from the interaction between personality shapes in a marriage or in the workplace.
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Concepts of Generic Business Strategies in the Qur‘an, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 4/25/09
There are several descriptions of and commandments for strategic conducts in the Qur‘an that can be juxtaposed with the generic concepts of business strategies to find illuminating parallels between managerial experiences and the divine codes of conduct. Such juxtaposition, over and above serving the purposes of academic interests and quenching intellectual thirst, can also redirect our freedom of choice in our management practices in order to help reconsider the limits of our freedom of choice in our vigorously competitive activities. Moreover, such a descriptive-analytical study will encourage us to reconsider the empirical implications of the related assertions of the Qur'an vis-à-vis the real situations of planned activities by the modern calculative man.
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Valley of the Shadow of Death, by Evans Kinyua - (Kenya) posted 4/4/09
I stared gloomily across the ridge, my eyes open but unseeing, awake but oblivious of the undulating valleys of my beloved land. Numerous species of birds chirped and cawed, nonchalant and happy in their carefree existence.
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The Reunion, by Franklin Uchenna (Nigeria) posted 3/27/09
The Railway Station was number three in the list of places to visit during my short stay in town. I came in on official duty to cover the centenary celebration for LIFELINE MAGAZINE. I handled its Social Events page.
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A Son's Love, by Evans Kinyua - Revised (Kenya) posted 3/28/09
At forty-eight James Wanjiru was blessed with a physique that many envied. Time was kind to him and he retained a fitness that few twenty year olds could match. He was tall, robust and carried himself with a confident gait. Perhaps the only blemish on his otherwise perfect mien was the small balding patch on the top of his head.
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Chapter 16 - Bin Laden ha!- by Ken Mulholland (Australia) Just Released - Vol. 4 in Ken's Black Eagle Girls serieVol.1 Vol. 2 Vol. 3 Posted 3/14/09
Ahead the way narrowed into a tunnel and the boxes and crates were left behind as the big woman probed forward drawing Surban and her stumbling mother along with her. 'There will be guards soon. We live or die on your behaviour. Keep silent and stay still when I tell you. Girl! Do you understand? Put your hand over your mother's mouth to stop her from making any sound. Tell me you will obey!'
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An Open Letter To President Barack Obama Regarding Renewable Fuels , by Warren Turner, Farmers Growing Fuel (USA) posted 2/28/09
Both farmers, and Farmers Growing Fuel, applaud you as the first serious proponent of renewable energy, and specifically, renewable fuels, who has ever campaigned for and achieved the Presidency of the United States. We will do everything in our power to facilitate your renewable fuels goals, if you will proceed in a manner that offers each and every farmer involved in the renewable fuels chain, the same advantages and rewards that are offered every other participant.
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The Tishbite: The Untold Story of Elijah - Chapter 30, by Kurt W. Schuller (USA) Posted 3/14/09
Obadiah waited until Benjamin was long asleep before making his way to the hidden cave. He had told him nothing of the priests or his secret shelter because he knew that, if it came down to saving his life, Benjamin would give them all up in a heartbeat. Benjamin was seemingly convinced that Obadiah was somehow stealing from the royal treasury, and Obadiah said nothing to steer him away from that theory. Every time the subject came up Obadiah would just smile knowingly and shake his head.
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Screenplay - Enemy Within, Mac-Edwin Obi (Nigeria) posted 2/22/09
It has been 28 years since AIDS was discovered, yet even well-educated people in Africa don’t believe it exists and use all manner of notions to dismiss it. Even if the world were to pump in all of the US government’s annual over US$2 trillion budget into combating AIDS, there would be no corresponding character reorientation towards sex and use of piercing instruments. We will go nowhere! This is the message of `Enemy Within`.
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The Teacher as a Leader, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 2/14/09
Are you a teacher? Then you are a leader. Well, who are your followers? This question is not important because it has a clear answer. So let’s ask the right question. How will you lead?
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On the Threshold of a Dream - Renewable Fuels in America , by Warren Turner, Farmers Growing Fuel (USA) posted 2/7/09
In 1908—exactly 100 years ago—the visionary Henry Ford created the Model “T” Ford. Its engine was fueled by Ethanol: the “perfect fuel”, as Henry called it; clean-burning, efficient, inexpensive, and produced from crops grown by American farmers, so that farms and rural communities throughout the nation could forever be self-sustaining and viable. Now, not only would farmers produce food for people and feed for livestock; they would also produce inexpensive transportation fuel, to fuel the great number of automobiles that Ford assembly lines were poised to produce.
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Pan-Africanism through Peace, Non-violence and a Non-discriminative Lens , by Dr. Claude Shema Rutagengwa (Norway) posted 1/31/09
Nowadays, Pan-Africanism represents the aggregation of historical, cultural, spiritual, artistic, scientific and philosophical legacies of Africans from past times to the present. Pan Africanism as an ethical system traces its origins from ancient times, and promotes values that are the product of the African civilization and struggles against slavery, racism, colonialism, and neo-colonialism.
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The Moneymaker, by Catherine Wanjiku.N (Kenya) Posted 1/31/2009
“Poverty has beautified itself like three gem stones, the glitter lies below the skin. Poverty is good. I know your heart pace has increased. By the time I finish narrating this, you will have known why. It will take cultural, financial, political and religious teaching to alleviate poverty from the minds of people. My dear son, it is the most difficult lesson to teach. The poor resist riches. They want to create attention. This is why when other countries look at us they adore our riches, but when we look at ourselves we want to commit suicide due to lack of money. But isn’t committing suicide a sign of bowing to defeat and failure?”
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Belo So M, by Wingate Onyedi (Nigeria) Posted 1/31/2009
Samantha was lying face down in my bedroom. She was sniffing and whimpering. She was crying. Her long and full auburn hair was tossed all over the pillow. “Gawd! Oh Gawd!” she vituperated, hitting her fists on the pillow which unsuccessfully smothered her wailings. “Samantha dear, what is it?” I asked, hurrying over to her side, taking her in my arms and stroking her luxuriant hair. “It is Bob,” she said, heaving in tortuous agony.
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The Decision, by Henry Onyeama (Nigeria) Posted 1/17/2009
There are decisions and there are decisions. But this was the mother of decisions. I had decided the road to take before I boarded the plane at Heathrow; before the London School of Economics released the result that proclaimed me the best graduating student in the institution’s MBA programme; even before the telephone call from my father. But knowing is a planet away from doing.
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Honor and Shame, by Mazi Guinness (Nigeria) Posted 1/10/2009
At fifteen Bianca Biranee has blossomed into a willowy beauty, a nubile teenager who can do more than keep a man’s bed warm at night. Her little full mouth and pouting lips look as though created with a careful brilliant smear of lipstick already on them; and her nose, almost aquiline, sits gracefully between two sparkling eyes, on a towering five feet eight inches height. At fifteen she has come under the roving radar of randy men but age did not bring with it any clues to discern the fine line between lust and love.
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Windows and Reflections, by Ife Okoli (Nigeria) Posted 1/10/2009
"Sir? Did you hear me, Sir?" The secretary with her fingers poised over the notepad in her hand paused, worried. Without thinking she shifted in her chair and the mini skirt she had on rode higher exposing smooth brown thighs. Not that he would notice, any way, she thought bitterly.
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The Belt, by Maria Storfjord (Norway) Posted 1/10/2009
She was sitting in her room, a little girl of 5 years old. "I'm all alone in the whole world." She thought. Her daddy had just moved out, and she felt all alone. Even though her daddy wasn't and ain't nice, she still loves him. She's crying like a baby, but nobody hears her. She's thinking: Should I?, or shouldn’t I? She decides to do it.She grabs the belt, she put out.
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An Afternoon Stroll, by Andrew Tan (USA) Posted 1/10/2009
Fresh air filled the autumn day, cool and crisp, as he walked along a wide asphalt path. Orange and yellow colored the world. A whispering breeze whistled through maple leaves while oak trees stood guard; pillars leading to an ancient Greek temple.
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How to Win your Wife’s Heart, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 1/10/09
If your wife is still asleep when you have woken up, give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. Whenever you have the opportunity, offer her a flower or a bouquet of flowers with a smile.
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‘Let us Avoid Escalating Violence’ - Uganda’s peace advocate speaks - Interview with Archbishop John Baptist Odama, Uganda’s peace advocate, by John Oryem (Sudan) Posted 1/5/2009
 ... it is disheartening; it is very painful to see people for 22 years in a situation of consistent violence and the effect of this war with over 1 million IDPs,taking my area of Acholi alone. If we take the areas of Lango, Teso and Madi we have a population of more than 2 million people who have been living in state of displacement all these years. They are reduced to dependency, living on handouts either by the WFP or by other organizations that give humanitarian aid. More so, they are in a situation where they cannot move out of the area freely at any time they wish to do so. We have problem of education, health and malnourishment. There is dire poverty in the area.
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Carpe Diem - Seize the Dayby Michael Levy, Professional Optimist (USA)Posted 1/1/2009
Children do not think about time in the same way as older folks. They are too busy playing games and chatting with their friends. They grow into adults who gain responsibilities and commitments
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Writing a Book Blurbby Bruce L. Cook (USA)Posted 1/1/2009
When writing a book it’s difficult to stand back and see it from outside. For the writer, the work becomes an organic whole, almost a slice of life, and objectivity is tossed to the winds. However, with the advent of Print on Demand Publishing, it often becomes the author’s task to sell the book, and that’s where it becomes necessary to see the book as a product.
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Submitted for Caine Prize consideration
Hoodlums, by Sumaila Isah Umaisha (Nigeria) Posted 12/30/2008
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police boots.
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Submitted for Caine Prize consideration
You, A Blind Beggar, and Something to Drink, by David L. Lukudu (Sudan) Posted 12/30/08
The heat in Khartoum is unbearable to your skin, having come recently from the relatively cooler South. You stand, briefly wiping sweat from your forehead with a handkerchief, and wondering where you can get a soft drink or water, where there may be a food store or restaurant that by any chance could be open. You cannot imagine why they are that sick in their heads as to cut off the water supply. Why do they force everyone to fast, even if they are not believers of that faith? Why force everything on a common man?
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Submitted for Caine Prize consideration
Whiteman's Blood, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria), Posted 12/30/08
We called it Porto Kiri; they called it Fernando Po. That’s where I set out early to prove a point in my life, maybe to prove a point to my loved-one, Adaure. She was the loveliest of all fruits in the largest of all trees; succulent and stunning in appearance.
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Submitted for Caine Prize consideration
Silent Night, Bloody Night, by Ayodele Morocco-Clarke (Nigeria), Posted 12/30/08
The local folk tell tales about there being a mami-water or mermaid who lived in the sea and who had lost her only daughter. It is said that when the sea was rough, it is because she was angry about not finding her daughter and determined to exert revenge for the loss of her precious child. She would drag unfortunate swimmers into a vortex she had created, leading them to their watery graves. On really bad days, the sea at the Bar Beach would overflow its banks and flood the roads which usually lay a good eight hundred metres from the edge of the sea.
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Smokes in my Eyesby Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria)Posted 12/27/08
It wasn’t the first time for smoke to enter my eyes; neither will it be the last. The first was when I was little, then residing at Enugu, precisely at Uwani, before the civil war. We used to walk past the coal mine on our way to school, and back from school. Then the black smoke would fill the atmosphere, and it peppered us in our eyes. That was my first experience of smoke in my eyes.
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Sexual violence against Tutsi women in Rwanda in 1994 , by Llezlie L. Green (ed. Dr. Claude Shema Rutagengwa) (Norway) posted 12/20/08
Sexual violence had harsh and lasting consequences for Tutsi women. The harm experienced by Tutsi women has been particularly severe in light of the physical, psychological, and social impact that it continues to have on their daily lives. With a population that is estimated to be seventy percent female, the magnitude of the detrimental effects on Rwandan society as a whole cannot be underestimated. Tutsi women were violated on multiple levels: as Tutsis, as women, and as Tutsi women. An analysis of their experiences and the attendant legal implications requires an understanding of the ways in which their multiple identities situated them within the conflict.
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Beyond Sightby Ify Okoliu (Nigeria)Posted 12/20/08
The man stared, looked away and stared again. His eyes widened. His face scrunched as if he smelt something foul. Then he looked away and did a quick sign of the cross. She noticed the rosary that dangled from his bony wrist. He got up and quickly scrambled away. She was left alone on the seat of the bus that would normally occupy four. She turned away and faced the window. She didn't look back as others entered and as the bus drove off, not until her bus stop. This time, she remembered. She raised her shawl over her head, covering part of her face.
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Straightening Nailsby Kenheth Mulholland (Australia)Posted 12/13/08
... this crude wooden box was the last thing my father ever made. It and the belt I often wear are almost all that remain of the man who was my dad. Yes, there are still photos, but now after more than a quarter of a century since his death, there is little else. Nothing written. Nothing personal, with the exception of his silver and gold wrist watches which I still wear on special occasions, and yet the wooden box has much more significance.
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Screenplay: Priest, Final Chapter (Twenty-Nine), by Phillip Ghee (USA) Posted 12/13/08
NEXT SCENE: bright sunny California day. The words "A few years later" appear. A convertible speeds down scenic Pacific Coast Highway. We see from the rear the driver’s short cropped blond hair being blown black by the wind. A siren blast spoils the tranquility of the day. A motorcycle officer pulls the vehicle over. As the cop approaches the vehicle we see the driver is wearing a priest collar as he goes for identification. “where’s the funeral Father, the cop intones and proceeds to write the driver a ticket.
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A Bleak of Taste, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 11/30/08
It was all I had left for my children; the story of how we made it through every hardship; indeed it was a bleak time I do wish anyone to taste. It’s a testament of suffering.
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The Moon Has Disappeared from the Sky: A Tribute to 'Mama Afrika', Miriam Makeba, by Henry Chukwuemeka Onyema (Nigeria) Posted 11/11/08
Miriam Makeba.Makeba' s death left me short of words. As I went home from work on November 11 after reading about her death at a newspaper stand two of her chart-bursters kept on reverberating in my head: 'Patapata' and 'Malaika'. The hauntingly deep voice, resonating with the beautiful energy of Africa; the statesque raunchy figure that filled the stage even in old age; the bold eyes that invited lovers of music to have fun even as it defied all lovers of man' s inhumanity to man and damned all haters of the black race; all these and much more are no more.
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4 November 2008: (Obama) A New Beginning?, by Pr. Johan Galtung (Norway) Posted 11/8/08
4 NOVEMBER 2008: (Obama) A NEW BEGINNING? Yes, it is. The race barrier broken, the referendum on the 43d US president, George W. Bush won overwhelmingly, there will be a basic change in the image of the United States of America all over the world. People around the world love to love USA, warts and all. Bush made it impossible for most, Obama makes it easy, natural. The biggest win for a Democratic candidate in popular votes since 1964, a landslide in electoral votes, a one party country, President-Senate-House united. The road is open.
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Poets at War, by Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo (Nigeria) Posted 11/8/08
The first time Obidike came to Tijani Wali’s house was to quell Tijani’s anger. As an adviser to the students’ literary society, Obidike had organized a well-received showing of an Indian film, Mother India, at their Government Girls’ School, Kano. The film offended Tijani. “Our girls should not be exposed to filth like that,” Tijani protested after the show. “Their young minds should be groomed with elements of our cultural heritage and not struck open to foreign cultural imperialism.”
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Voice from Limbo, Anonymous Posted 11/1/08
You may be wondering now who I am or what my name is. But I don’t think it matters. What matters is that tears course down my eyes each day, as agony that has taken my fellow citizens prisoner today, get to my hearing from the very lengthy distance that separates us. Very stubborn force of evil that became a black man, long captured my fatherland and has vowed to remain our Lord, filling my people’s mouth with sand in shameless impunity. There he parades his ignorance, distributing penury and playing God, while presiding over our nation’s economic demise.
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Tears of Immense Longing, by Kenechukwu Obi (Nigeria) Posted 11/1/08
Andrew, the Zimbabwean writer, stood at the balcony of his house, and threw glances, which fell on four children playing outside. They were children of his fellow Zimbabwean writer, who lived next door. Joy came to him as he watched the children run about, toddle, scream and call on their Daddy and Mummy. This made Andrew wish he could hasten the duration of his wife’s first pregnancy to have a child he would call his own. Rose, Andrew’s wife, soon joined him at the balcony. And Andrew placed his hands on her tummy and began to feel it, as his face broke into smiles.
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Community Development Volunteers for Technical Assistance, by Ndim Bernard Ngouche (Cameroon) Posted 11/1/08
This organisation was happily and devotedly founded by Mr.Njuakom Francis Njii, who has a vision aimed at curbing poverty and ending misery. Today those values cherished and loved by Africans have ceased being practised because money has become so scarce and in between these days. Relatives have taken the path of apathy than sympathy as was the case before the economic crunch that has dealt such a blow on most of the Continents' economies. Most families today can barely feed themselves not to talk of giving assistance to other family members like the most vulnerable of the society; the old and elderly.
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Part ii - Does Africa Really Need Financial AID from the International Financial Servicing Houses?, by Ndim Bernard Ngouche (Cameroon) Posted 11/1/08
When shall African Communities fully become independent so as to design their own economic policies and implement decisions that can usher in changes in the lives of a peaceful people reduced to look like paupers in the face of helplessness and despair?
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Chant of the Orient Fall, by Dan Akinlolu (S. Africa) Posted 10/18/07
Matondo received the hard, deadly punch right on his face which threw his head back in a quick motion as he lost his balance and nearly fell to the ground. It was like a light wrapped in devastating blows. The crowd hailed in a thunderous uproar like the ancient Romans watching the condemned gladiators in a blood sport, the roar was heavy and it shook the arena to life. Thick blood of these valiant boxers spattered across the space and smeared the faces of the gyrating spectators. The village aristocrats were seated under a makeshift tent of plastic sheets and figs. They cheered louder and with great excitement at the astonishing impact of such blow while sipping the local brew in a white-wash calabash.
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Ravens and Knowledge, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 10/18/08
I saw them; I was there but from afar, I could see them gathering in towards a big mango tree one by one while some were in pairs, these ravens. It's a species of bird that nests near the human habitat. One thing I did notice was their curiosity. I saw them gather and sort of in their own language, appeared to be as if they were exchanging pleasantries.
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Video Clip: Peace is the Best, by Rudy Jacket (Portugal) Posted 10/11/08
Enjoy this video clip from Lisbon.
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The Paradox of Life, by Ndim Bernard Ngouche (Cameroon) Posted 10/11/08
Someone once told me wherever there is good, evil is never far behind and vice versa. I must admit I did not pay too much attention to that statement and drifted off into my daily routines. It was not until some months later that the truth in that statement hit me like some inspiration from above. The more I thought about the statement the more profoundly its verity stood out. If you take a look at life in general, you’ll notice that every activity, event or phenomenon harbours within itself the seed of its very own opposite – the two always go hand-in-hand. Do something, and you instantly create the potential for its exact opposite. The two opposites are part of one and the same reality and one cannot exist without the other. This phenomenon is clearly stated in the following quotations:
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Voice of Gun, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 10/11/08
The Biafran war had ended; the voice of gun had died. Nwagugu loaded the last two bullets he had with him into his Mark-4 rifle. He released the bullets into the air. The sky tasted the bullets. Many died in the battlefield. Nduka, his closest friend was shot three times at the heart. Nwagugu had to dodge flying bullets, dispersed into the air and rocketing missiles exploding indiscriminately at all sides of the hill with Nduka on his back, til he got safely to the base. For the love of his friend, he risked his own life in the battlefield.
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The Catechist of St. Anthony Parish, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 10/11/08
It was on a Good Friday with a scorching sun shining on St Anthony parish. The day was characterized by various activities to usher Christ from his grave to heaven. Among these activities was a prolonged stations of the cross that started at three o’clock in the afternoon. The Catechist of St. Anthony stood beside the parish priest with a black coat in the hot blazing afternoon waiting to start the dogma of believers. He didn’t lose sight of his pretty daughter Mary and his beautiful wife Ugonma – who many men would like to have as a wife at her age of 47. She still looked young and pretty.
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Heaven's Gate, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 10/4/08
It was a dying year of loss and gain, a counting of grains and sands of time. The earth stubbed out its ash on a dirty tray. The sea sang of pestilence. The air weaved like a cocoon. Who knew about death and his yellow coat? Who knew of his gentle smile and greasy grey mustache? He has stayed with us for several seasons; harvesting our pluming corn, morning roses, old cocoa and old seeds – leaving behind our chisels, guns, and mortar, and our tailoring materials for measuring our own coffin. He taught us to spend time dressing our coffin before we are laid into it.
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The Last Agent Provocateur, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 10/4/08
The sun was falling behind the horizon. The vultures kept flying over the huge dirt that littered Douglas Road in Owerri. The putrid smell hung on the air like hydrogen bonded with oxygen in water. The flashy Mercedes wheeled towards Rotobi Street. Prince couldn’t bear the smell of the dirt; he wound down the glass of his car and spat through the window. The commercial motorcycle man riding beside his car cursed him for doing that and even banged his fist on the bonnet of the car. Prince didn’t utter a word to him, which was unlike him; maybe he had learnt to control his anger. Or maybe he had lost his magic wands, those magic wands that helped him trample on any law and got away with it, those magic wands that controlled the police.
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The Mystery of Creation, Destruction, and Natural Calamities: an exposition in light of science and the Qur’an , Part 3, by S.M. Zakir Hussain (Bangladesh) posted 10/4/08
The similitude of the life of the world is only as water which We send down from the sky, then the earth's growth of that which men and cattle eat mingles with it till, when the earth has taken on her ornaments and is embellished, and her people deem that they are masters of her, Our commandment comes by night or by day and We make it as reaped corn as if it had not flourished yesterday. Thus do we expound the revelations for people who reflect.
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Appearance by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Revised 9/30/08
He walked deep into the forest. He could feel the season; truly yuletide is on the way. The dull sun that never goes down, the strong wind that never stops turning dust, the gray grasses, the trees that are beginning to shed their leaves. He went straight to his usual resting place in the forest, made a seat with dry grass under the mango tree, and sat on it. Leaning on the tree, he brought out his flute carved out of a bamboo tree, placed it on his lips stuck his two hands expertly on the hole. He blew his song of sorrow into the forest heart. A group of birds joined in the song of sorrow, donating their voice.
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Tolani, by Rahman Oladigbolu (USA) Posted 9/28/08
Gently, the breeze blew at the branches and combed its way through the pine trees a few yards from my window. It made a hissing sound, one common during the cold, dry season of the year, adding a soundtrack to the festivity of the time. But the rain had just come back, with all the leaves green and luscious. This was the time vegetable farmers of the tropics had less time to sleep, sowing and reaping their crop while other people stayed dry at home and planting the seeds of the annual baby boom.
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Cycle, by Isaac Attah Ogezi (Nigeria) Posted 9/21/08
...he gingerly climbed down from the bed with a little patter of his cherubic feet on the floor. Instinctively, I stretched my hand to touch my wife but met hers mid-way as if in telepathy, clasped together in a perfect understanding. So all along our child had been deceiving us that he couldn’t walk!
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Gone with the Night, by Isaac Attah Ogezi (Nigeria) Posted 9/13/08
Dearest Chinyere - You must forgive my belated reply to your last email. I believe you know how things work in our beloved country, don’t you? Please don’t tell me that your four-year sojourn in the US has made you forget the quagmire with which our fatherland wallows in. It’s always a tug of war to reply your mails online, what with the endless queue at the cyber café! This is not to mention the two taxi drops I have to take to get to the place. I understand that in the US over there, almost every house is linked to the Internet and one doesn’t have to go to any cyber café to check or send mails. How I envy you! Only God will help our country. Anyway, I trust you’ve forgiven me.
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Diary of an African Child, by Chika Onyenezi (Nigeria) Posted 9/21/08
Africa reigns forever; children shall still form our future. Our tales shall live in all odd times. It shall live from generation to generation; in the moonlight, beside the fire, on top of our bed, in the media, amidst whispers, with scoundrels, with moralists, and with all.
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A Love Story, by Gene Maze (USA) Revised 9/14/08
Like anyone faced with tragedy or some other form of emotional shakeup, I too felt confused and somewhat lost among the complexities of my life. The specifics didn’t matter, they never do, nor the names and places of the people involved, all that need concern me now was my ability to recover and move on. Even as I thought this, I knew I remained a man very much out of focus, adrift, with no clear destination in sight.
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Full Moon, by Ify Okoli (Nigeria) Revised 9/13/08
The leaves on the trees rustled as I walked past them. It was too dark to see what made them move, but I felt the cool night breeze wrap itself around me then float ahead. The lamp I held in front of me created an eerie yellowish halo that hovered around the narrow bush path which wound its way, twisting like a long headless snake through the forest. For a moment, I thought I heard footsteps coming behind me. I stopped and turned. I saw no one. Fear settled like a heavy cargo in the pit of my stomach and caused my heart to beat erratically – the sounds like the feverish climax of an atilogu dance. Yet I pressed on. There was no turning back now.
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Nonviolent Communication, by Dr. Rutagengwa Claude Shema (Norway) Posted 9/6/08
Psychologist Marshall Rosenberg (born 1934) was invited to speak at a meeting of a group of young Palestinians in a refugee camp on the West Bank. The Israeli police had recently entered the camp to quell protests. The ground was strewn with tear gas shells labeled "Made in USA". When the organizer introduced him as an American citizen, one of the young men shouted, "Murderer!"
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Stephen Agboratang Makes his Dream, Final Chapter, by Ndim Bernard Ngouche (Cameroon) Posted 9/6/08
In the University, where Stephen read medicine, his best friend and brother, John Peters read Engineering Sciences, hoping to graduate as a Plant Engineer. These two guys have walked all along and understood each other like the teeth understand the tongue. Life in the University is sweet and much fun and not as charged as in the Secondary school or high school. It is so warm and exiting for each month’s expenses are born by the State coffer and the students only owe hard work and discipline.
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