I want to cut right through to the word house. It is opaque. It ends at the Indo-European root kus, which is of uncertain meaning but is related to ku and sku, which both mean to cover, to conceal, from which we have skin and hide. I am reminded of the color of my skin, its opacity, and my mind wanders.
It was in the town of Zomba, where the mist rolled down from the mountain like a tired ghost seeking to rest, that stories again began circulating about Bwalijo. Everybody knew him, although nobody truly […]
Atlanta is a summer city. Most people usually go elsewhere to experience the fall colors and pumpkin spice lattes, and cold frigid winters while decked in gear. Sometimes it’s a spring city, things come alive […]
Blood spurted from his nostrils in twin rivulets, coursing down his cheeks. It cascaded over his lips, gathering in his mouth before overflowing into viscous streaks down his chin. A crimson torrent shot from the […]
I don’t remember the exact day I realized I did not belong in my own life. Maybe it was the morning the adhan drifted over Karaye like a weary breath, calling the world awake while […]
The rats in Rahman’s ceiling have a certain music to them—a haunting melody that can’t be mistaken. In the morning, it’s a lilting la-dee-da; by night, a muffled dee-dum, dee-dum. Their shrieks swell and sink […]
When they got to a well-lit road, they hopped from one streetlight to the next, double-checking their bags’ contents, marvelling at the yield, budgeting on-the-go, their teeth a golden yellow in the shimmering light.