A polar night, the sub freezing temperature of -55°C in Bunjland. An island where +55°C is normal. Climate shifts in earth’s adapting.
Continue reading “Bait”
Zanso and Yafi were two friends from wayback when. Nursery is where it began. Mums, Qafi and Ofsi will drop them off during the school run. The gents 20 year friendship, matured like the morning birdsong.
After an Atlantic pole temperature shower, forgoing hypothermia. Cold therapy to awaken the dormant body organisms. Dem ones hinting on the lazy and procrastinating withdrawal symptoms.
This ain’t the time, tings fi do. He hit the town to meet the peopledem. Moments cherished by Manonim. The social network before the social network. The real before the virtual.
Manonim wore his black two-toned Kitenge loose tracksuit. A tear on the side. He had worn it for many sun’s, showing its age.
Continue reading “Kitenge – Two”
The Council aristocrat walked the streets. Listening to a podcast on the world’s ancients. An example was the Kuntumare from Kuntu. Twin geniuses of a scale unheard on this nether island. The superstition was, twins brought a shift in consciousness to the family and country.
The Council was an internationally known, locally accepted, holistic community movement. A veteran was named aristocrat, for their commitment, service and respect.
His mane was locked. A groomed forest beard. A beaming smile showing his chipped tooth. Tailored camouflage jacket made by grandpops. Nakata oozed dapper.
Continue reading “La Policía”
A balmy, whispering, breezy day in the Fisherman’s Quarter. A town, two miles from the Tankiya border.
Manonim trawled River Gasi, casting a loomed coarse net. Sieving the debris, gunk and plastics. These bits swam ripply like humpty dumpty. With assistance from a friend. An overseer of the river’s recycling plant.
Continue reading “Six foot five – One”
I dey Datus Co
Yellow shirt, embroidered crest on the left side of my top pocket
Knee long dark, blue shorts
Brown belt, matching synthe sandals
Short afro hair this time, lit. No more in my adulthood, its cool the hairs don’t like my shining scalp now
Lunch box in hand.
Continue reading “Bamboo cane”
Meet friends and to primary school we go, in Bubuashie