A peaceful Sunday morning turned chaotic for Azizi as he was brought to the emergency room. He was in agony, bleeding, and had huge bite marks on him, mostly on his arms and legs. He claimed it was a Boerboel that attacked him, but the doctors doubted the validity of his story due to the size of the wounds.
Meanwhile, the police received an anonymous tip suggesting that a wild animal might be on the loose in the city after having bitten someone. The tipster provided the police with the address of an apartment in Langa, Cape Town. Upon arrival, the police heard a menacing growl coming from inside through the front door. Eager to investigate, they made their way to the apartment next door, grabbed a drill, and started making tiny holes in the wall to peek inside. To their shock, they were met with the unexpected sight of a 200-kilogram African lion lounging in the Langa apartment. The pressing question was: How on earth did the king of the jungle end up there?
Back to Azizi, a 31-year-old part-time driver for a ride-sharing company who had a strong love for animals. He went to the extent of illegally acquiring an infant Cape baboon and a lion cub from an exotic animal trainer in Cape Town and bringing them to live with him in his government-subsidised apartment in Langa. Azizi already had a ball python named Sly living with him in his apartment, and now he also has a Cape baboon and a lion. What could possibly go wrong?
When Azizi acquired the Cape baboon, it was unwell, leading to a short life span. Sadly, the baboon passed away shortly after, but the lion cub survived. Azizi named the cub Shiba and raised him in his apartment, providing him with his own room, a sandbox to play in, and transitioning him to solid food. Their bond grew strong, making them the best of friends.
After two and a half years had passed, Shiba had outgrown his cub days. He had transformed into a 200-kilograms king of the beasts, yet he still resided in that government-subsidised apartment with Azizi and Sly. Azizi supposedly fed him 8 to 10-kilograms of chicken daily, considering his massive size. Lions sure do have an appetite!
If you thought a man and a giant lion sharing an apartment was a recipe for disaster, you wouldn't be alone. However, against all odds, everything was actually going perfectly well.
It was a regular day until Azizi encountered a stray house cat lingering right outside his doorstep. Driven by his affection for animals, he welcomed the cat into his home, adopted him, and lovingly named him Shadow. To ensure Shadow's comfort, Azizi arranged a special room for him, away from Shiba.
After about three weeks, Azizi and Shiba were playfully wrestling, their usual way of playing together. Suddenly, Shadow emerged from his room, and Shiba, catching a glimpse of him, immediately switched into wild animal mode. He sprang into action, pursuing Shadow relentlessly around the place in an attempt to capture and eliminate him. Azizi quickly reacted by positioning himself between Shiba and Shadow, only to end up being tackled by Shiba. Azizi held onto him tightly to prevent him from going after Shadow, but that's when Shiba latched onto Azizi's neck, then his arm, and finally clamped down on his knee, refusing to release his grip.
Azizi found himself in a precarious situation when his knee ended up in the mouth of an African lion. The tense standoff lasted for two long minutes before Shiba decided to release him. Feeling remorseful, Shiba quickly sought refuge in the bathroom. In great pain, Azizi was forced to dial for paramedics, who quickly transported him to the hospital. It was then that he fabricated a story about a Boerboel attack, worried that they would uncover Shiba and take his lion away.
Back at the neighbour's place, the police officers gazed through the hole they had created in the wall and were startled to find a fully-grown lion lounging inside. "Yoh, yoh, yooh!" the officers exclaimed in disbelief. Now, they needed to brainstorm a strategy to safely remove this 200-kilograms beast without becoming its next meal.
A police officer rappelled down the building with a tranquillizer gun in hand. Upon reaching the apartment window, he glimpsed Shiba inside. Taking aim through the bars, he fired a dart, striking Shiba on the shoulder.
Shiba's reaction was clear: he was not happy with the situation, leading him to get angry and charge at the window, repeatedly slamming against it. Fortunately, Shiba eventually succumbed to the tranquillizer, and the police were able to safely remove both Shiba and Sly from Azizi's apartment before relocating them. As expected, Azizi was taken into custody.
Charged with reckless endangerment and keeping wild animals without the proper permit, he was convicted and handed a fifteen-month prison term after a court hearing.
Sly, the ball python, was rehoused in a snake sanctuary in Cape Town, and Shiba was moved to an animal sanctuary in Paarl, where he had the opportunity to run and play with other big cats, including lions.
Until the age of nineteen years and four months, Shiba lived in that location, a significant lifespan in lion years. Sadly, he eventually passed away from natural causes.
Shadow was never seen again.
"Now that I knew fear, I also knew it was not permanent. As powerful as it was, its grip on me would loosen. It would pass."
Africa, Our Africa
Africa of Green and Black, of colors in between
Africa of people, of love and light, from within
Africa of ethnics and languages, of long told history
Africa of cultures and traditions, a rich tapestry.
Africa of strife and victory through colonial time
Africa of struggle through imperial crime
Africa of war, both tribal and civil
Africa of peace, condemning evil
Africa of hope, freedom and liberation
Africa of growth, of change and innovation
Africa of then: men, women - slaves to capture
Africa of now: men, women - reclaiming our valor!
I Write What I Like features the writing of Steve Biko, a well-known activist and leader of the Black Consciousness movement. He played a crucial role in uniting black Africans in the struggle against the apartheid government in South Africa until his untimely death at age 30.
A deserving recipient of the 2016 Goodreads Choice Award. Discover Amanda Lovelace's captivating poetry collection, divided into four parts: The Princess, The Damsel, The Queen, and You. Unveil the author's journey through life in the first three sections, with the final part offering a heartfelt message to the reader. Dive into this poignant book, delving into themes of love, loss, grief, healing, empowerment, and inspiration.
Botho Pere must leave his wife Nthatisi and their two kids in Lesotho after landing a job as a miner in South Africa. Following nearly three years without hearing from Botho, the industrious Nthatisi is left to look after their family. Ultimately, though, the fragile thread that has been holding them together could come undone by their secrets. Some of Botho's troubles are of his own making, while others are rumored to be caused by witchcraft, especially with the mysterious Mokoto always lurking on the periphery. Then one day, Botho decides to take control of his own fate.
This compilation showcases 34 potent narratives crafted by the finest emerging and award-winning African writers, offering readers both enlightenment and enjoyment. Furthermore, the anthology includes nine new stories that delve into the enduring struggles stemming from colonialism's legacy, nations ravaged by civil war, and the escalating AIDS crisis.
With a focus on self-love, self-acceptance, growth, and healing, "Dear Self" is an effortlessly flowing compilation of kind reminders and affirmations. This collection takes you on an introspective and contemplative journey that leads you to discover all the layers of yourself that are just waiting to be loved.
"The pioneers in my family went to Rhodesia just before the Boer War in 1896, travelling on one of the first trains to Bulawayo. My father and uncle left home in 1928 going up to Northern Rhodesia to work on the copper mines. My grandfather opened up new gold mines in Penelonga and built the house at Manchester Gardens in the Eastern Highlands of Rhodesia. He ranched, mined, gambled and raised a family of five boys and a girl in an Africa that was very wild and primitive. My great grandfather was born in England, travelled in the Wild West of America before ending up in Cape Town where his daughter married my grandfather and travelled north. My mother arrived in Africa from England in 1936 under the auspices of the 1820 settlers club and travelled up to Northern Rhodesia where she met my father. My friends and I went to boarding school in Lusaka and many of us went on to achieve great things in life. The mining towns of the Copperbelt and the many old characters that lived in Rhodesia form a large part of the backdrop of my life. My wife, on an impulse, accepted a job with the copper mines in Zambia in 1968 as a young girl. She knew many of the characters in these stories and knows how likely the unlikely tales are. Out of all this comes a wealth of reality and myth that cannot possibly go untold."
The Story of an African Farm is an 1883 novel by a South African political activist and writer, Olive Schreiner. This novel, which explores feminism, atheism, and the impact of British imperialism on South African peoples, is acknowledged as a groundbreaking piece of philosophical fiction and Bildungsroman.
Al J. Venter has seen the worst crimes committed by humanity in the previous 55 years, from fleeing gunfire in war-torn nations to living in a little hamlet in Natal. Having covered more than 25 wars, he is the oldest active war correspondent. In his memoir, he skillfully narrates the tales of the battles he covered, the behind-the-scenes anecdotes, and the journey across Africa that altered his life.
Within a larger scope, the author explores South Africa's history starting from the mid-17th century, examining themes such as slavery, colonial rule, the mineral revolution, industrial capitalism, and apartheid.
These African fables are part of the traditional folklore of African peoples in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Botswana, and Gabon. African culture is enriched by such lessons that provide universal wisdom and instruction for all of us no matter what our culture or background. To improve the lesson, each story is accompanied by a cartoon and an African proverb or saying. Although these stories are meant for elementary school students, they can be used with children of all ages.
"If sharks were men," Mr. K. was asked by his landlady's little girl, "would they be nicer to the little fishes?"
"Certainly," he said. "If sharks were men, they would build enormous boxes in the ocean for the little fish, with all kinds of food inside, both vegetable and animal. They would take care that the boxes always had fresh water, and in general they would make all kinds of sanitary arrangements. If, for example, a little fish were to injure a fin, it would immediately be bandaged so that it would not die and be lost to the sharks before its time. So that the little fish would not become melancholy, there would be big water festivals from time to time because cheerful fish taste better than melancholy ones.
"There would, of course, also be schools in the big boxes. In these schools, the little fish would learn how to swim into the sharks' jaws. They would need to know geography, for example, so that they could find the big sharks, who lie idly around somewhere. The principal subject would, of course, be the moral education of the little fish. They would be taught that it would be the best and most beautiful thing in the world if a little fish sacrificed itself cheerfully and that they all had to believe the sharks, especially when the latter said they were providing for a beautiful future. The little fish would be taught that this future is assured only if they learnt obedience. The little fish had to beware of all base, materialist, egotistical, and Marxist inclinations, and if one of their number betrayed such inclinations, they had to report it to the sharks immediately.
"If sharks were men, they would, of course, also wage wars against one another in order to conquer other fish boxes and other little fish. The wars would be waged by their own little fish. They would teach their little fish that there was an enormous difference between themselves and the little fish belonging to the other sharks. Little fish, they would announce, are well known to be mute, but they are silent in quite different languages and hence find it impossible to understand one another. Each little fish that, in a war, killed a couple of other little fish, enemy ones, silent in their own language, would have a little order made of seaweed pinned to it and be awarded the title of hero.
"If sharks were men, there would, of course, also be art. There would be beautiful pictures in which the sharks' teeth would be portrayed in magnificent colours and their jaws as pure pleasure gardens, in which one could romp about splendidly. The theatres at the bottom of the sea would show heroic little fish swimming enthusiastically into the jaws of sharks, and the music would be so beautiful that to the accompaniment of its sounds, the orchestra leading the way, the little fish would stream dreamily into the sharks' jaws, lulled by the most agreeable thoughts.
"There would also be a religion if sharks were men. It would preach that little fish only really begin to live properly in the sharks' stomachs.
"Furthermore, if sharks were men, there would be an end to all little fish being equal, as is the case now. Some would be given important offices and be placed above the others. Those who were a little bigger would even be allowed to eat up the smaller ones. That would be altogether agreeable for the sharks, since they themselves would more often get bigger bites to eat. And the bigger little fish, occupying their posts, would ensure order among the little fish, become teachers, officers, engineers in box construction, etc.
"In short, if sharks were men, they would for the first time bring culture to the ocean."
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt
Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies,
Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt.
Corpses are scattered through a paradise.
Only the worm, colonel of carrion, cries:
'Waste no compassion on these separate dead!'
Statistics justify and scholars seize
The salients of colonial policy.
What is that to the white child hacked in bed?
To savages, expendable as Jews?
Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break
In a white dust of ibises whose cries
Have wheeled since civilizations dawn
From the parched river or beast-teeming plain.
The violence of beast on beast is read
As natural law, but upright man
Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain.
Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars
Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum,
While he calls courage still that native dread
Of the white peace contracted by the dead.
Again brutish necessity wipes its hands
Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again
A waste of our compassion, as with Spain,
The gorilla wrestles with the superman.
I who am poisoned with the blood of both,
Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
I who have cursed
The drunken officer of British rule, how choose
Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?
Betray them both, or give back what they give?
How can I face such slaughter and be cool?
How can I turn from Africa and live?
The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light,
The sciences were sucklings at thy breast;
When all the world was young in pregnant night
Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best.
Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize,
New peoples marvel at thy pyramids!
The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes
Watches the mad world with immobile lids.
The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh's name.
Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain!
Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
They went. The darkness swallowed thee again.
Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,
Of all the mighty nations of the sun.
Africa, Our Africa
Africa of Green and Black, of colors in between
Africa of people, of love and light, from within
Africa of ethnics and languages, of long told history
Africa of cultures and traditions, a rich tapestry.
Africa of strife and victory through colonial time
Africa of struggle through imperial crime
Africa of war, both tribal and civil
Africa of peace, condemning evil
Africa of hope, freedom and liberation
Africa of growth, of change and innovation
Africa of then: men, women - slaves to capture
Africa of now: men, women - reclaiming our valor!
Dance, dance!
With the muse of Africa;
Tap, tap!
With the rhythm of Africa;
Moving your body and,
Moving your steps;
To the sounds and cultures of the various tribes in Africa.
Dance, dance!
To the rhythm of Africa;
Tap, tap!
With the movements of the muse of Africa;
To a continent of nature's muse,
To a continent of multi-languages,
To a continent full of colours!
Fron North, South, East and West;
Come to Africa and see things for yourselves.
Rhythm of Africa,
Rhythm of various customs and cultures,
Rhythm of the various countries in Africa,
Rhythm of the animals,
With the beauty of nature as seen around.
Dance, dance!
Dance with the steps and shake your body;
To the rhythm of Africa touching your heart and soul.
Tap, tap!
With the movements of the muse of Africa;
Rhythm of Africa!
With the muse of various races in Africa;
Expressing their cultures and customs to the muse of the rhythm of Africa.
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?
So I lie, who all day long
Want no sound except the song
Sung by wild barbaric birds
Goading massive jungle herds,
Juggernauts of flesh that pass
Trampling tall defiant grass
Where young forest lovers lie,
Plighting troth beneath the sky.
So I lie, who always hear,
Though I cram against my ear
Both my thumbs, and keep them there,
Great drums throbbing through the air.
So I lie, whose fount of pride,
Dear distress, and joy allied,
Is my somber flesh and skin,
With the dark blood dammed within
Like great pulsing tides of wine
That, I fear, must burst the fine
Channels of the chafing net
Where they surge and foam and fret.
Africa?A book one thumbs
Listlessly, till slumber comes.
Unremembered are her bats
Circling through the night, her cats
Crouching in the river reeds,
Stalking gentle flesh that feeds
By the river brink; no more
Does the bugle-throated roar
Cry that monarch claws have leapt
From the scabbards where they slept.
Silver snakes that once a year
Doff the lovely coats you wear,
Seek no covert in your fear
Lest a mortal eye should see;
What's your nakedness to me?
Here no leprous flowers rear
Fierce corollas in the air;
Here no bodies sleek and wet,
Dripping mingled rain and sweat,
Tread the savage measures of
Jungle boys and girls in love.
What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set
Bough and blossom, flower, fruit,
Even what shy bird with mute
Wonder at her travail there,
Meekly labored in its hair.
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?
So I lie, who find no peace
Night or day, no slight release
From the unremittent beat
Made by cruel padded feet
Walking through my body's street.
Up and down they go, and back,
Treading out a jungle track.
So I lie, who never quite
Safely sleep from rain at night--
I can never rest at all
When the rain begins to fall;
Like a soul gone mad with pain
I must match its weird refrain;
Ever must I twist and squirm,
Writhing like a baited worm,
While its primal measures drip
Through my body, crying, "Strip!
Doff this new exuberance.
Come and dance the Lover's Dance!"
In an old remembered way
Rain works on me night and day.
Quaint, outlandish heathen gods
Black men fashion out of rods,
Clay, and brittle bits of stone,
In a likeness like their own,
My conversion came high-priced;
I belong to Jesus Christ,
Preacher of humility;
Heathen gods are naught to me.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
So I make an idle boast;
Jesus of the twice-turned cheek,
Lamb of God, although I speak
With my mouth thus, in my heart
Do I play a double part.
Ever at Thy glowing altar
Must my heart grow sick and falter,
Wishing He I served were black,
Thinking then it would not lack
Precedent of pain to guide it,
Let who would or might deride it;
Surely then this flesh would know
Yours had borne a kindred woe.
Lord, I fashion dark gods, too,
Daring even to give You
Dark despairing features where,
Crowned with dark rebellious hair,
Patience wavers just so much as
Mortal grief compels, while touches
Quick and hot, of anger, rise
To smitten cheek and weary eyes.
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.
All day long and all night through,
One thing only must I do:
Quench my pride and cool my blood,
Lest I perish in the flood.
Lest a hidden ember set
Timber that I thought was wet
Burning like the dryest flax,
Melting like the merest wax,
Lest the grave restore its dead.
Not yet has my heart or head
In the least way realized
They and I are civilized.
With promise of job,
he lured her into a cane field.
His gentleness a veil of sanity.
Lurking in his mind,
a perversion of sex instinct:
'Bind her! Torture her! Kill her! '
Deep within comfort zone
suddenly brandishing his bludgeon,
countenance wearing mercilessness -
sight of which imported terror into her spine.
Desperate plea for mercy fueling his excitement.
Menacingly, her clothes he demanded.
Hissing in agony like pine tree,
gnashing her teeth before the incubus, she stripped.
Her nudity assaulting his senses,
eyes flaming with lust,
he took stock of the bared flesh:
'Beautiful! Submissive! Horrified! '
Bound and gagged,
fantasy translating into reality,
all hell broke loose...
Urge gratified,
with her undergarment around her neck,
he sealed her fate.
Sixteenth victim of the unhinged mind:
Single mother of two horrendously maimed.
Not quite long,
no sooner had he got home
than long arm of the law tapped his shoulders:
DNA found on victims had matched his.
Karma forced to be lenient,
he lives albeit in confinement.
No Death Penalty In Mzansi.
Don't let your heart stay broken
Do not stay fixated on what could have been
Focus on all that was deep
Be thankful you smiled
Be thankful you cried
And be thankful you loved and were loved
Because no magician is strong enough to conjure the magic you've created
So don't let your heart stay broke
Don't focus on the darkness
Or things that did not last
Don't look back at your pas
When your future is that bright..
I am sorry
I am sorry that I am seen as inferior
I am sorry that I walk around real loud and oh so proud.
I am sorry that I stand out,
I stand out because I am different
Uxolo bhuti for being myself
For standing up for myself,
For fighting for my rights
Uxolo bhuti for wearing a dress
For wearing something that you might define as revealing
I, as intombi find this dress appealing
Ke maswabi that your imagination ran wild and left you aroused
Your thoughts, your actions
Are you proud
Are you proud that you left my dignity dead and my spirit without a chance to rise
Tshwarelo mama afrika
Your children have no love for each other
Your children are dancing with knives just for clout
Ringing their neighbours necks just for selling bread at half price
Some of your children are crying without a voice
Some of your children are left with scars that are not seen, without choice
Asseblief ma
Ek weet jy is kwaad
I know it hurts to see the gifts that you gave us flow like the fluent Tanganyika and into the rich man's mouth
I know it hurts to see the spirit of Ubuntu replaced by the spirit of Izita
Asseblief ma, retshwarele
I know it hurts that you're beginning to rifts apart like modern day families disconnecting
You're ripping apart from small Djibouti, down to vibrant Maputo
We all see that
We live in a patriarchal society where we find ourselves apologizing for being female,
And where smashing makes you alpha male
We all smell
The gunpowder over all the Chlorofluorocarbon emissions
We all smell the iron in the blood of the victims
Mothers and Fathers
Sisters and Brothers
We miss their presence as we see them disappear
We miss the safety of our hometowns
We need not a teaser nor a knife to feel safe
All we cry for is change
Nothing more
Nothing less
Just change
Don't cry for me Africa
Because I will never let you out of my mind
I hear your voices people of Africa
I hear your cries people of Africa
I see pain in your eyes people of Africa
It is hard to describe what you people of Africa are going through
Poverty strikes you all people of Africa
Don't cry for me Africa
Because I will keep you in my prayers people of Africa
Power to the people of Africa
People of Africa lift your spirit higher
Lord is the light and truth people of Africa
The Lord sends you a message from his heart to you people of Africa
He said because I love you
I will answer your prayers
I hear your prayers
Don't cry for me Africa
Because you have a friend that is the Lord
People of Africa continue doing the Lord's work
Make a wish people of Africa
The people of Africa are looking at the Lord face to face
Lord here is no paradise
We dream a little dream said the people of Africa to the Lord
The People of Africa Pray that the Lord will give each other strength every day
Don't cry for me Africa
Save the people of Africa
Strengthened the people of Africa each day
Because I'll be there in your dreams people of Africa
The people of Africa tells The Lord how much they love him
Don't cry for me Africa
Lord comes when you are ready people of Africa
Feelings you have for your Lord People of Africa
And I know you will never let it die
Nothing but flowers the people of Africa will plant in the sea shore for the Lord
Don't cry for me Africa
The people of Africa needs hope to heal there land
The Lord rose up on you people of Africa
Don't cry for me Africa
My heart will go on
Once I close this door of the ship I will sail across the Atlantic Sea
O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape!
O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare!
O ecstasy! To fill this alcove shape
With memories that in these tresses sleep,
I would shake them like penions in the air!
Languorous Asia, burning Africa,
And a far world, defunct almost, absent,
Within your aromatic forest stay!
As other souls on music drift away,
Mine, O my love! still floats upon your scent.
I shall go there where, full of sap, both tree
And man swoon in the heat of the southern climates;
Strong tresses be the swell that carries me!
I dream upon your sea of amber
Of dazzling sails, of oarsmen, masts, and flames:
A sun-drenched and reverberating port,
Where I imbibe colour and sound and scent;
Where vessels, gliding through the gold and moire,
Open their vast arms as they leave the shore
To clasp the pure and shimmering firmament.
I'll plunge my head, enamored of its pleasure,
In this black ocean where the other hides;
My subtle spirit then will know a measure
Of fertile idleness and fragrant leisure,
Lulled by the infinite rhythm of its tides!
Pavilion, of autumn-shadowed tresses spun,
You give me back the azure from afar;
And where the twisted locks are fringed with down
Lurk mingled odors I grow drunk upon
Of oil of coconut, of musk, and tar.
A long time! always! my hand in your hair
Will sow the stars of sapphire, pearl, ruby,
That you be never deaf to my desire,
My oasis and my gourd whence I aspire
To drink deep of the wine of memory.
How to Guide Your Team, Yourself, and Your Organization to Unprecedented Outcomes
Al Venter regards himself as an African - a 'white' African, but as much a part of the fascinating and often troubled continent on which he was born as his Zulu and Swahili speaking contemporaries. There is no country in Africa that he has not visited. During his half-century career as a foreign correspondent, working for media outlets on four continents, he has given his version of unfolding events from many of them, including Britain's Jane's Information Group, the Daily Express and Daily Mail of London, United Press International, Geneva's Interavia, the BBC, SABC, and NBC (radio), as well as scores of magazines. His love for Africa stems, in part, from his childhood. At the age of 14, while on vacation in what was then still Northern Rhodesia, he hitch-hiked back to boarding school in Johannesburg in a race with his schoolmates, who travelled by train. And he won. Seven years later, after completing three years in the navy, he explored East Africa, ended up in Mombasa, Kenya, and cadged a lift on a freighter to Canada. Then, after qualifying professionally in London, he travelled overland through West Africa all the way to London. Along the way, he met many notables, including Ghana's Kwame Nkrumah and the man who hosted Graham Greene at his derelict hotel in Liberia, then all but an American colony, where the 'greenback' was the official currency, as well as the great Dr. Albert Schweitzer. The author spent a week at his jungle clinic at Lambarane in Gabon. Venter includes many of these adventures in this new book. He also delves into some of his military adventures and has invited several of his old colleagues to add some of their thoughts to this bundle of travel, adventure, and excitement to create a remarkable insight into a continent that, though briefly 'tamed' by Europe, was never really subjugated. In that anomaly too, there lies much stirring yarn.
Ayobami Adebayo, the Women's Prize shortlisted author of Stay With Me, presents an astonishing tale of contemporary Nigeria and two families entangled in the currents of affluence, authority, amorous fixation, and political malfeasance.
Dive into this collection of poetry and prose inspired by modern dating and broken relationships, perfect for fans of Rupi Kaur and Orion Carloto.
"You'll Come Back to Yourself" examines issues of depression, infidelity, lost love, body image, and ultimately the ability of women to make their own decisions.
"There is an enemy. There is an intelligent, active, malign force working against us. Step one is to recognise this. This recognition alone is enormously powerful. It saved my life, and it will save yours." -- Steven Pressfield
Today's a great day to change a life. Starting with yours.
"One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity. We think of ourselves far too frequently as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity."
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Shiba was tamed until he was not. So Shadow varnished into thin air π€
I remember reading "The Republic" from this website but now I can't find it. π’π’
In Love is blind, Layla should have left Raymond immediately after the first incident. Or maybe Raymond used muthi π
Interesting reads. I enjoy the games as well
Cheating Koutney, she cheated to her demies. Lessons to be learned. If only she remained loyal to her husband.
Rayray is a savage.
I enjoyed Love In The Skies. ... I can relate :(
Mzizi wa Kenya