The Writings of Norah

At the edge of the Kalahari Desert On the arid African soil, stands A small distant village setup From its bellies belching out   Women of all ages, bodies of all sizes In search of life’s sustenance Clustered, flocking towards the stream Saddled with calabashes, covered with wraps Onward they go, the water they search With songs of old, singing they stride As happy as can be, being with sisters Thump, thump they walk, la la they sing Blissful as can be, joined in union. An excuse, a reason to be ties- free   Water they search, marching they go As free as can be, as lovely as you see Chap, chap they march, Ha!ha!ha! they laugh For things that can and those that will be An opportunity, a need to belong A flee from duty, an escape from reality An absence from pressure, A relief from culture Swish, swish they swim, Knowing all the while The very short time they have A flight from traditional husbands A rest from unending cho

Africa in some cases seems to have dodged the worst of the global warming. Cameroon in particular is thankful to have escaped forest fires and erratic climate changes. Seemingly free from the hazards, the issue of water locked areas in most areas of Douala, the economic capital of Cameroon is being regarded with an air of mystic. Strange and peculiar things happening, reclaimed areas suddenly feeling up with water only at night, still dark waters swallowing up unsuspecting children never to be seen again. To crown all these bizarre incidents, the water flows forth with the colours of hell, dark, sinister and bottomless. The suspicious minds of the Sawa pe ople have come with conspiracy theories about the affair. Some say that it’s a curse from the gods for the crimes of modernity; others allude to it being sent mystically by the terrorist group, Boko Haram. Is this “le marais” as is locally called a curse or a natural occurrence? Is it a biological weapon from Boko Haram or a me

The best times in my childhood were the seasons when my parents took us visiting to my grandmother (Biggy) in the village. She will occupy our evenings by the camp fire with the most amazing tribal stories ever. As I grew bigger and became interest in story telling through creative writing, I always wanted to do it just the way my Biggy did. Believe me that is easier said than done, a lot of the time, the beauty of the tale gets lost in translation. I kept practicing over time and I think I have caught a little of the secret to translate a folktale into an epic write up. Here are 6 principal guidelines that I chant like a mantra in my head when I engage in writing folktales: · It must be based from an actual existing tale: This might seem obvious but a lot of people miss the point. Get a story that has been pass down from generations. It might be myth or real but others should have heard about it or can make connections to it. · Study other documented versions of the story

I think the phrase “if you want to be happy, always be yourself” is so highly overrated. As far back as Eve in her first sin of deceit to Adam, or Delilah with her seduction game to Samson, or the more notorious historical figure of Elizabeth Bathory “the blood countess”. She who claimed to need the blood of innocent girls to stay young, or we can speak on the more modern day Victoria Beckham who kept insisting she has natural boobs to her fans for so long. Let us come home to Africa and put into limelight all those young women who have made the decision to glean happiness from their dreary day to day lives.  Well the above examples could be better considering how most of them met their end, but in their favor they were absolutely certain of the gain at the moments of those monstrous deceits and were happy in the decisions. Women are the kings of charade. Over the centuries, they have mastered the fine art of masquerade to perfection. This could be seen with African mothers teach

Power in possession is like a house pig at a dump No matter how trained, how clean, dirt is always ideal Power suits, ties, and corporate briefcases, eager for a rump Courting, mating, procreating all without an appeal Hopefuls all eager to suit up in the gooey gruesome grub Pledges, speeches, oaths, all made before the communion The cup awaits, frantic, all battling for the broth Drinking, eating while covering treason in layers of onion For the pain to unravel, the pig will surely concede Deep, ducking into the murky pond of the spoils For more were before and much more to proceed We met it like that! The dunk an inherent choice It is clear, put in a sty one will get dirty And out of it, the pig will produce dirt And to dunk in ones dunk, its respect shown at thirty And besides they met it like that, this path of dirt

Years of piled up pain, decades of covert hatred Pages after pages of documented hostile peace treaties Passed on from leaders to lesser, hearts to history books From father to child, the flame of unrest burning Burning up the last vestiges of calm, growing Growing far bigger than the dreams of grandeur of A young, adolescent girl. The melodies of armistice Turning into cacophonies of hate, and hate, Hate is just like a chainsaw awaiting its handler To wield its ferocity through vast forest of humanity Obliterating even the unsuspecting The Blames, the Blight, the Strife, the Strikes Soaking up the hearts, diluting the soul into 'Nanonites of insubstantiality'. The body turn apart Dragged down into turbulent murderous tsunami of treachery Unwilling to change, unprepared to forgive Resting their tush on all the wrongs of yesterday Failing to grow, failing to develop, failing to provide A basic atmosphere of serenity for which the Children of earth could

I used an hour to write this for my first ever online competition, lots of mistakes and also missing a chunk of material due to poor editing. But im so glad i did this. WATCH OUT FOR THE FULL DEVELOPMENT ON THIS STORY. check this website for the short story.... http://corruptionwatchconnected.org/show/my-corruption-free-africa/post/123/needle-guilt--by-ndenge-norah