Pradeep, a police officer based in Benoni, South Africa, grew weary of his monotonous routine. In search of thrill, he devised a bold scheme to rob a bank.
He booked an early flight from Johannesburg to Durban, rented a car upon landing, and made his way to a nearby bank. Before leaving his vehicle, he put on a wig and a fake beard. Once inside the bank, he pointed his gun at the teller, insisting she fill his bag with cash. After successfully obtaining the money, he quickly left and caught the next flight back to Johannesburg.
The robbery went off seamlessly, leaving Pradeep buzzing with excitement. This thrill ignited a series of plans for more bank robberies, one after another, until he was frequently flying to Durban on his days off to execute yet another daring theft. He even started hitting up local banks in Johannesburg during his lunch breaks. With his ingenious disguises, he could pull off the crime and then seamlessly return to the area, leaving witnesses completely unaware that he was the very person they were describing.
Pradeep had honed his skills in bank robbery to perfection; he was intimately familiar with the intricacies of bank security systems, allowing him to dodge capture time after time. Over the course of four thrilling years, he successfully executed heists at around 30 different banks, with each adventure delivering an adrenaline-fuelled thrill.
One fateful evening, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. At a vibrant party, he indulged a bit too much in the drinks and struck up a conversation with his buddy Larry. Fuelled by a surge of confidence, he started bragging to Larry about his latest bank heists, insisting he was a master in the art of robbery.
Larry worked for SAMBO, a branch of the South African Police Service focused on combating organised crime, economic offences, and corruption. Bound by his oath and the responsibilities of his role, he realised he could not stay silent about the secret and chose to bring it to the attention of his superiors.
Upon Pradeep's return from Durban, having just pulled off another bank heist, the police were poised and ready at the baggage claim. He was taken into custody and sentenced to 18 years in prison. However, Pradeep wasn't about to give up; he began devising his escape plan even as the judge delivered his verdict.
While he was incarcerated, he crossed paths with a man named Mpande, and shortly thereafter, he met another fellow inmate named Fanie. Both were serving sentences for robbery, and before long, the trio developed a solid friendship that would see them through their time behind bars.
After nearly three years of incarceration, the trio concocted a bold escape strategy. They initiated their plan by having Pradeep and Mpande feign injuries, successfully persuading the prison guards to escort them to an external physiotherapist for care. Upon arrival, they seized the moment, overpowering the guards and taking their firearms. Armed with the guards' weapons, they commandeered the physiotherapist's vehicle and made a thrilling escape. Following their flight, they opted to lay low for some time.
Several months went by, and they launched a daring assault on the prison where Fanie was held captive, guns blazing, and managed to break him out. Now that the trio was back together and on the run, they had to find a place to lay low.
Pradeep was filled with restlessness, craving the thrill of robbing banks once more. He, along with his two accomplices, set off on a daring escapade, starting with one bank and swiftly moving to the next, then a third. Their spree continued as they hit bank after bank, all while sporting ridiculous disguises: giant sunglasses, bushy moustaches, and fake beards. They may have looked comical, but their synergy was impressive, allowing them to complete a heist in under five minutes. On some occasions, they even managed to rob several banks in a single day without being apprehended.
As their exploits gained notoriety, news of the bank robbers spread like wildfire through the community. Surprisingly, many locals began to rally behind them, captivated by how they outsmarted the police. Pradeep, Mpande, and Fanie found themselves in the spotlight as unlikely heroes, affectionately dubbed "The Invisibles" by their growing legion of fans. The frenzy surrounding them was palpable, and their faces were splashed across every news platform, igniting discussions far and wide. They untimately became South Africa's most wanted.
Over a span of several months, the crime spree showed no signs of slowing down. The gang found shelter in various safe houses, seized every chance to rob banks, amassed a significant amount of cash, and filled their leisure time with a parade of escorts.
Pradeep had a disturbing tendency to target unsuspecting young women, posing as a professional photographer. He lured them to his hotel room with the allure of a photoshoot, only to take advantage of them in a shocking way. One brave victim mustered the strength to report his heinous behaviour to the authorities.
With the threat of being captured hanging over them, the three quickly formulated an ingenious escape strategy to leave the country. They decided to obtain a yacht, aiming to make their getaway by sea. They believed this maritime route offered a greater sense of safety.
Using a fraudulent passport, Pradeep headed to Australia to finalise the discussions surrounding the yacht sale. Meanwhile, back in South Africa, law enforcement was closing in on one of the gang's secret locations. It appeared that some of the gang's escorts had tipped off the authorities. At approximately 4:00 am, the police surrounded the location, with Mpande being the sole occupant of the hideout. Police ordered the gang to come out with their hands raised. In a surreal moment, Mpande, still dripping from his shower and entirely naked, reached for his weapon and found himself in a frantic butt-naked shootout with law enforcement. The police burst into the house, and gunfire erupted around him as he dashed from one room to another, firing back at his pursuers. When they finally cornered him, he made a tragic choice, turning the gun on himself and ending it all.
In the meantime, Fanie received a tip-off that the police were closing in on them. He quickly made his escape, using a counterfeit passport to catch a flight to Greece. By the time the police conducted their raid on the gang's safe houses, he had already vanished. However, in one of those locations, they discovered photographs of a woman whom Pradeep had assaulted several months earlier. This evidence not only corroborated her account of being exploited by him but also linked the safe house directly to Pradeep.
The safe house provided crucial information that directed the police to the yacht they had purchased. From there, they traced a crew member hired to navigate it, who revealed that Pradeep was meant to transport the yacht to Australia. This development led law enforcement to conclude that Pradeep might be in Australia. Local newspapers caught wind of the story and began featuring Pradeep's photo, causing residents in Melbourne to be on the lookout for him.
One fateful morning, everything began to unravel for Pradeep. He was browsing a used car dealership, eager to find a new car, worried that his old one might give him away. The salesman, having seen Pradeep's face in the local newspaper, kept quiet at first but later decided to alert the authorities.
That night, the police made their way to Pradeep's apartment, forcefully entering the premises. But to their dismay, Pradeep was nowhere to be found. But just when it seemed like they were at a dead end, one of the officers spotted him whizzing by on a bicycle. There was no doubt about it; he recognised him instantly. The police officer dashed over to confront him. Realising what was happening, Pradeep jumped off his bike and made a run for it.
The police officer pursued him relentlessly until he finally caught up. Pradeep, who had been feigning surrender, suddenly lunged for the officer's shotgun. In a split second, the officer reacted by drawing his secondary weapon and fired four shots into Pradeep's chest, resulting in his immediate death.
Fanie, the sole remaining member of the trio, ended up in Brazil, where he tried to pull off another heist. Unfortunately, his plan failed spectacularly, resulting in his arrest and a life sentence without the possibility of parole.
"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."
No end of story has been told, several legends have been born; tiny runnels have wiped out into the Nile; massive water courses had gorged the Indian and the Atlantic.
Africa is the native land of all mankind species, our cherished fatherland is the continent of Africa; you are always welcome to Africa.
Jewels are found in the stain atop, pure beauty is found in our hearts; giving hope with full-blown vision.
For many people of the world, Africa is time and again seen through a spare monocle, purified curtain abodes of indigence, deprivation, illness, dearth, and blues.
Yes, we have our threat, it's true, but we are a people of physiques, resilience and faith; African elevation comes alive as a cloud nine.
Africa is a continent of countries, clans, of peoples; each with its olden days, its voice, its rainbows; its bounty of rituals, the diversity of its arts; and the charm of its civilization.
Africa is a nook of titanic conceivable of chow that is appetizing, fervent and sweet; Africa is not a spot of shadows, but a distance of light of a nightmare and opportunity; Africa is not a hole of pity, but a place of influence and self-respect.
We are the offshoot of a proud continent, Africa is where the sun steps up and bents with a scorching effulgence; making it a place where every day is a sunny season.
From the award-winning author of Kintu comes a stunning story of a feminist coming-of-age.
In the fight against neoliberalism, rural movements have gained prominence as crucial social forces. From Brazil and Mexico to Zimbabwe and the Philippines, these movements, with differing political ideologies but a shared foundation of dispossessed peasants and unemployed workers, have utilised tactics like land occupations to stand up against the neoliberal state.
Across three continents - Africa, Latin America, and Asia - this book compiles a set of original investigations on the latest rural social movements.
"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."
Experience a captivating narrative of love and jealousy in the enchanting coastal village of Hermanus, where the Whale Caller watches over the majestic creatures with reverence.
Virago presents an updated collection of Maya Angelou's works of poetry, collected together for the first time. From her reflections on African American life and hardship in Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie to her revolutionary celebrations of womanhood in Phenomenal Woman and Still I Rise, and her elegant tributes to dignitaries Bill Clinton and Nelson Mandela (On the Pulse of Morning and His Day Is Done, respectively), every inspiring word of Maya Angelou's poetry is included in the pages of this volume.
Immerse yourself in a unique anthology of fantasy and science fiction stories from Africa and the African Diaspora, handpicked by Sheree Renee Thomas, Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki, and Zelda Knight.
Since 2012, new land laws have been put in place in Kenya, but why is there still more land grabbing happening? Why haven't the laws been able to fix the unfair land distribution issues that have been around for a long time? This book says that fairness should be a big part of any talks about changing land ownership in Africa.
Changing the world starts with making your bed. This book is meant to motivate your children and grandchildren to be all that they can be. It's superb, astute, and succinct.
Doris Lessing, a 2007 Nobel Prize winner in Literature. This is her best collection of African Stories. It includes every story Doris Lessing has written about Africa - The Old Chief's Country; The four tales about Africa from Five; The African stories from The Habit of Loving and A Man and Two Women; and four stories featured only in this edition.
Kristin Uys, a strong-willed Roodepoort magistrate, lives alone with her cat and is determined to eliminate prostitution in the town for personal reasons. Despite her failure to convict the Visagie Brothers for running a brothel, she manages to charge Stevo with contempt of court and gives him a six-month sentence. Outraged, Stevo seeks revenge against Kristin with the help of his brother and Aunt Magda. Kristin receives threatening phone calls, her home is invaded, and even her cat is threatened. The chief magistrate assigns a bodyguard, Don Mateza, to protect her, much to her dismay. Don's girlfriend, Tumi, is not pleased with the new arrangement, and Don soon realises that his new assignment comes with unexpected complications.
"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."
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.
There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things
And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.
That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.
And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here
And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.
Down!
But I believe in the truth;
Faith and hope,
Born and raised in Africa.
Growing up in Ghana,
To face the world today with my works;
Along the line to meet your love!
Miles away from my home.
Teachings,
Growing up,
To fall and to rise up again!
To follow after the truth,
Keeping the laws,
Righteous Laws;
To choose those things which are right and,
To seek for peace.
Born in Africa,
Born and raised in Africa;
Kiss, hiss, miss!
Literature from Africa;
Warm and Friendly,
To do my best for others.
Due, dew!
With the clue;
To agree to the truth,
Free like a bee! !
Seen around a tree.
Muse of love and life,
Side by side;
To pay my dues to Mama Africa.
Growing up,
Life in the Ghetto;
Inside Africa!
Literature from Africa.
Through the narrow path,
Through Creativity,
Hustle and bustle,
Table, stable, cable, able!
Sometimes unstable;
Muse from Africa,
And to respect Mama Africa.
Cultures and Traditions,
Born and raised in Africa;
Growing up in Ghana,
With the Challenges and the Changes around.
Literature of Africa!
Rivers of Africa,
Mountains of Africa,
Animals of Africa,
North, South, East and West!
With the muse of Mama Africa.
Plants and rituals,
Stages and sages,
Pages of life!
With the muse of Africa.
Born and raised in Africa,
My mind!
My love,
My identity,
My muse;
Closely related to my tribe;
The vibe!
With my works to the world.
A new day,
Sunshine love!
A new day in Africa;
Echoes of a new day with the muse of my mind,
Born and raised in Africa.
Peace and joy to all mankind without racism!
Realism;
With the truth,
With Natural Laws,
With the romance of nature.
Issue,
Tissue,
Reign! !
Oh Life! Give me what i want;
Able to touch the hearts of the people with the truth,
With righteous morals.
Inspired by the truth,
Living and learning always;
Under the umbrella of righteous morals,
Gain, again!
With righteous laws.
Chain and pain along the line,
Growing up in Africa;
Pray, ray, pay!
To heal the world with the truth.
Africa Africa Africa!
Oh the once mighty and heroic Africa
Why has thou grown so cold?
Why has thou remained thus numb?
A fremd is here in thy enclave
Battling thy home without mercy
And battering thy all in thy all
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Thy peace is stolen
And fear injected in thy veins
With thy activities all at halt
All by same unwelcome visitor.
Thy hands are caged
And thy mouth silenced with mask
While thy children die in numbers
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Hunger is dire in the land
Yet thy children are home and docked
For the fear of the fremd
And thou dost nothing.
Thou keepest quite, oh Africa!
In the midst of all these
Waiting for the Whites to solve thy puzzle
And the world to come to your rescue.
When hast thou grown lazy, Africa?
Where are thy ecumenic powers?
Where are thy roots and thy foods?
What happened to thy herbs?
Why art thou dependent on the Whites?
Why hope on them for solution?
Why look akimbo, oh Africa?
Can't solution come from thee?
Are thy bushes there in vain?
Thy creatures and powers to create
Africa, recall thy deeeds in the past
And mights and beauty in the days of old.
Arise, oh Africa, to save the world
For a fremd has trapped the earth
And the key with the earth remains
Arise oh Africa, and find ye the key.
Arise, Africa, Arise
Leverage thy powers and flowers
The world is waiting for your
Arise, oh Africa, arise
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?
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.
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.
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.
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..
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.
Millions queued in lines before Arbiter Of Disputes.
Hopes were high,
Duty and resolve holding firm.
Hearts dance with spirit of Emancipation,
Each with ammo stronger than bullet,
Ready to dislodge a fiendish cabal out of Power.
All conscious of the long night of tribulation.
Singly, the weapons were discharged
Into The Receptacle Of Liberty;
Upon which they received baptisms of Freedom.
Inside the altar tugs of war ensued:
Invisible fibres bound and aligned aspirations.
Popular Will prevailed.
Bearing the scars of Apartheid,
Indigenous people celebrate the birth of Democracy.
Ballot Box had come at a great expense;
At all costs its sacredness shall be preserved.
Those were the surviving heroes and heroines of Mzansi.
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.
Amagama Enkululeko! Words for Freedom: Brings together short fiction, poetry, narrative journalism, and extracts from novels and memoirs to showcase local literature as a means to understand South Africa's history. Featuring a foreword by Zakes Mda and a mix of well-known and overlooked struggle writers, this anthology of poetry and prose provides a glimpse into how everyday life was influenced by historical circumstances.
A collection of twelve stories.
Private Experience: During a violent riot, a medical student finds shelter with a destitute Muslim woman, whose strong sense of dignity and faith compels her to confront the harsh realities and fears she has been avoiding.
The Thing Around Your Neck: We see a Nigerian girl experiencing intense loneliness after moving to America, a place that doesn't live up to her expectations. While love seems to offer some solace, a loss in her homeland forces her to reconsider her aspirations.
Tomorrow Is Too Far: A woman uncovers a tragic secret connected to her brother's death.
Imitation: A young mother is upset when she finds out her husband in Lagos has moved his girlfriend into their home, threatening her comfortable life.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's storytelling prowess shines through in this collection, which is both searing and profound, brimming with beauty, sorrow, and longing.
Immerse yourself in a unique anthology of fantasy and science fiction stories from Africa and the African Diaspora, handpicked by Sheree Renee Thomas, Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki, and Zelda Knight.
Vincent Chukwuemeka Ike, one of Nigeria's best writers, is concerned about the state of his country. In this book, he tells about the tragedy of the Biafran War. Fatima is escaping the hostile planes with her young child, and through her unfurling show, the peruser sees what the conflict was truly similar to through Biafran eyes.
Every day is a good day. There is something to learn, care and celebrate.
"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