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home tssf journal email protected home fiction nonfiction poetry issues current issue issues submission about contact home featured the things that survive death by sané dube 5 featured glitches by gothataone moeng 1 featured every day is for the thief on meeting teju cole by tolu daniel 0 featured scribbling by margaret odari 0 fiction by gothataone moeng 1 glitches mpho watched me through the windows of the sky blue phone booth outside our school gate she twirled the handle of an open bright red umbrella to the left to the right to the left again and leaned in remember what i said she told me in a low slow voice as if to a child until i come home i was born cudjoe but my father called me champion he was away at sea on the monday i was born four weeks later when he held me for the first time during my akan naming rites i did not cry when our elder put his index finger into my mouth and poured cold water by sophia egbelo beneath this skin dad said the best way to know what a person is truly made of is to cut them open despite being the disciplinarian in our home he was fair and kind hearted unlike some of the aloof men my cousins called father i used to think my dad was made of starch because his frame reminded by assumpta vitcu conflict a battered life mawu run run fast mawu faster ladan mawu s best friend shouted impatiently while holding out his hand to pull mawu onto the rickety old truck meant for transporting animals this was their only chance to escape and leave this godforsaken place the scorching savannah sun blurred mawu s vision as he ran the land was as by fatima aliko mohammed aunty joyce pack and go pack and go the man in the house next door was shouting at his wife the third time this week and she rattled back profanities in high pitched bemba the first time we heard it i was with my sister nomsa and we d giggled nonstop dad after hearing what had by lydia chiseche ngoma nonfiction by sindi leigh mcbride 0 hot girls in cape town december in cape town rubs me up the wrong way the tourists the traffic the tourists in traffic i hate everyone and everything but it s the heat that really rattles my nerves while my sweaty thighs chafe high fiving each other to make me look like i peed myself my brain can t seem to get enough by sané dube 5 the things that survive death i looked into the mirror and saw my twin sister s ghost dancing on my face four months after she died we didn t share a face but i could see her in mine she could see me in hers i d taught my eyes to focus on anything but the reflection staring back in mirrors that day i was careless this is how we grieve 1 homecoming on the day i arrived home from the hospital with my daughter i went straight to my grandfather s bedroom i waddled through the door supporting myself with its wooden frames towards the nearest chair in the room my body still reeled with pain from the episiotomy he was sleeping but he stirred when i by kearoma mosata every day is for the thief on meeting teju cole i met him in 2013 with many admirers new and old riding on the fame of open city teju cole speaks to convince his speech filled with pauses and precise anecdotes he knows his way around words and understands how to convince and also ease you into his pov his eloquence and carriage became by tolu daniel scribbling i remember when malova ran away from home it was the only time i ever saw my father cry he was filling up the bathtub with water for me i would have a bath early in the evening after which it was eric s turn my father broke into sobs as the warm steam filled the by margaret odari looking for uncle daniel uncle daniel never came to my mother s funeral she died in 1994 long before the mobile phone made its appearance in nigeria so word took longer to travel we had to wait ten days to bury her as i had to make my way down from jos where i was in boarding school you would by hannah onoguwe poetry his wounds 0 they still smell fresh after all these centuries the odour was still haunting like a dream it was hatched underneath his understanding differed worms penetrating through the idea ceasing the content of home pages chapters windows they unlock the spectacle within the frames prose of its nature haemophilia skin and flesh by thulani rawula wonderlands 0 i was born in a place for old men for boys feasting their way backwards into time the priest swiftly makes an incisionfrom where he stoops to weave a certain birthmark in secular seaculorum i know boys trapped to birthmarks like seagulls to brown wateri know boys turned silenced men still sutured to the mark of the beasti know by chisom okafor let me remove the log in your eye poem 0 you live a life of grandeur and enjoy flaunting your sleek coupé but you forgot the precarious latrine waiting to be swallowed by a sinkhole at your mother s your mother s shanty doesn t smell of roses but a squalid odour which now perturbs the breath under your nose you say my sisters are dirty and loose by abram mahlaba origin myths 2 i should have guessed i would always take to mourning like religion i swallowed the loss of my mother s father inside her womb death sampling my blood lumped with absence my futures bloomed in some prior ticking heart i forget this when it s my turn to swallow the world i think it should show by megan ross subscribe to our newsletter subscribe to our mailing list the single story foundation tssf is a 501 c 3 nonprofit organization that provides storytelling opportunities for africans at home and in diaspora if you re interested in donating to us please contact us your donations are tax deductible copyright held either by the single story foundation or by the individual authors the material on this site may not be reproduced distributed transmitted cached or otherwise used except with prior written permission for reprint inquiries contact us use of this site constitutes acceptance of our user agreement and privacy policy copyright 2026 the single story foundation all rights reserved user agreement effective 9 29 2017 privacy policy effective 9 29 2017