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\'The Moment Before the Gun Went Off\' by Nadine Gordimer (South African Literature) ==================================================================================== Nadine Gordimer was a South African writer and political activist, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1991. The story revol...

\'The Moment Before the Gun Went Off\' by Nadine Gordimer (South African Literature) ==================================================================================== Nadine Gordimer was a South African writer and political activist, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1991. The story revolves around the accidental killing of a Black farm worker by a White farmer, illustrating the complexities of apartheid and hidden truths about personal relationships. Characters include Marais Van der Vyver and Lucas, with a tone that is tragic and contemplative. The story offers rich imagery of the South African landscape and the farming lifestyle, emphasizing how apartheid distorts human relationships. - - - - - - \'In Another World\' by Rasaq Malik (Nigerian Literature) ========================================================= Rasaq Malik is a Nigerian poet who explores themes of war and violence. The poem reflects on loss, war, and trauma, where the speaker mourns a world devastated by conflict. The tone is mournful and reflective, using vivid imagery of war-torn landscapes and destroyed homes to convey the tragedy of violence and displacement. - - - - - - - \'Telephone Conversations\' by Wole Soyinka (Nigerian Literature) ================================================================= Wole Soyinka is a Nigerian playwright and the first African to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. The poem humorously critiques racial prejudice through a conversation between a Black man and a landlady. The tone is satirical, and the poem uses imagery of skin color and a telephone conversation to reveal subtle racism in everyday interactions. - - - - - - - \'We Should All Be Feminists\' by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Nigerian Literature) ================================================================================ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is a Nigerian writer and feminist advocate. This essay argues for gender equality, using personal anecdotes to challenge societal expectations. The tone is empowering and direct, emphasizing that feminism is about seeing and treating women as equals. - - - - - - \'It's A Night Job\' by Joanita Male (Ugandan Literature) ========================================================= Joanita Male is a Ugandan writer. The poem gives voice to a sex worker, confronting the harsh realities and societal judgment surrounding her profession. The tone is reflective and confrontational, using nighttime imagery to highlight the monotony and judgment faced by the speaker. - - - - - - - \'A Mother in a Refugee Camp\' by Chinua Achebe (Nigerian Literature) ===================================================================== Chinua Achebe was a Nigerian novelist and critic. This poem captures the devastating impact of war and displacement, focusing on a mother and her child in a refugee camp. The tone is sorrowful and haunting, with imagery of suffering and hopelessness. - - - - - - - \'Conversations About Home (At the Deportation Centre)\' by Warsan Shire (Somali Diaspora/UK) ============================================================================================= Warsan Shire is a Somali-British poet. The poem reflects on the trauma of migration and displacement, as the speaker recounts their struggles in a foreign land. The tone is melancholic and reflective, using imagery of homes left behind and the barriers between the past and present. - - - - - - - \'To Make Use of Water\' by Safia Elhillo (Sudanese Diaspora/USA) ================================================================= Safia Elhillo is a Sudanese-American poet. This poem explores themes of migration, memory, and identity, with the speaker reflecting on their displacement. The tone is nostalgic, and water serves as a symbol of distance and memory. - - - - - - - \'At 84\' by Sophie Bamwoyeraki (Ugandan Literature) ==================================================== Sophie Bamwoyeraki is a Ugandan poet. This poem contemplates aging and the acceptance of death, as the speaker reflects on their life at 84. The tone is peaceful and accepting, using imagery of memories and the passage of time. - - - - - - - \'The Uses of English\' by Akinwumi Isola (Nigerian Literature) =============================================================== Akinwumi Isola was a Nigerian writer and scholar, advocating for the use of African languages in education. The story critiques the dominance of English in Nigeria\'s educational system and the impact of colonialism. The tone is critical and reflective, with imagery of classrooms and linguistic struggle, calling for the preservation of indigenous languages. - - - - - - - Wole Soyinka (b.1934) **\"Telephone Conversation\"** The price seemed reasonable, location Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived Off premises. Nothing remained But self-confession. \"Madam,\" I warned, \"I hate a wasted journey\--I am African.\" Silence. Silenced transmission of Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came, Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully. \"HOW DARK?\"... I had not misheard... \"ARE YOU LIGHT OR VERY DARK?\" Button B, Button A.[[\*]](https://www.k-state.edu/english/westmank/spring_00/SOYINKA.html#anchor12898) Stench Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak. Red booth. Red pillar box. Red double-tiered Omnibus squelching tar. It *was* real! Shamed By ill-mannered silence, surrender Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification. Considerate she was, varying the emphasis\-- \"ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?\" Revelation came. \"You mean\--like plain or milk chocolate?\" Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted, I chose. \"West African sepia\"\--and as afterthought, \"Down in my passport.\" Silence for spectroscopic Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent Hard on the mouthpiece. \"WHAT\'S THAT?\" conceding \"DON\'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.\" \"Like brunette.\" \"THAT\'S DARK, ISN\'T IT?\" \"Not altogether. Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused\-- Foolishly, madam\--by sitting down, has turned My bottom raven black\--One moment, madam!\"\--sensing Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap About my ears\--\"Madam,\" I pleaded, \"wouldn\'t you rather See for yourself?\" **A Mother In A Refugee Camp (Chinua Achebe)** No Madonna and Child could touch Her tenderness for a son She soon would have to forget.... The air was heavy with odors of diarrhea, Of unwashed children with washed-out ribs And dried-up bottoms waddling in labored steps Behind blown-empty bellies. Other mothers there Had long ceased to care, but not this one: She held a ghost-smile between her teeth, And in her eyes the memory Of a mother's pride.... She had bathed him And rubbed him down with bare palms. She took from their bundle of possessions A broken comb and combed The rust-colored hair left on his skull And then---humming in her eyes---began carefully to part it. In their former life this was perhaps A little daily act of no consequence Before his breakfast and school; now she did it Like putting flowers on a tiny grave. **CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HOME (AT THE DEPORTATION CENTRE)** **Warsan Shire** Well, I think home spat me out, the blackouts and curfews like tongue against loose tooth. God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school gates, past the burning torsos erected on poles like flags? When I meet others like me I recognise the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark. I've been carrying the old anthem in my mouth for so long that there's no space for another song, another tongue or another language. I know a shame that shrouds, totally engulfs. I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel. I'm bloated with language I can't afford to forget.\  \ \*\  \  \ They ask me *how did you get here?* Can't you see it on my body? The Libyan desert red with immigrant bodies, the Gulf of Aden bloated, the city of Rome with no jacket. I hope the journey meant more than miles because all of my children are in the water. I thought the sea was safer than the land. I want to make love but my hair smells of war and running and running. I want to lay down, but these countries are like uncles who touch you when you're young and asleep. Look at all these borders, foaming at the mouth with bodies broken and desperate. I'm the colour of hot sun on my face, my mother's remains were never buried. I spent days and nights in the stomach of the truck, I did not come out the same. Sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body.\  \ \*\  \  \ I know a few things to be true. I do not know where I am going, where I have come from is disappearing, I am unwelcome and my beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing. I am the sin of memory and the absence of memory. I watch the news and my mouth becomes a sink full of blood. The lines, the forms, the people at the desks, the calling cards, the immigration officer, the looks on the street, the cold settling deep into my bones, the English classes at night, the distance I am from home. But Alhamdulilah all of this is better than the scent of a woman completely on fire, or a truckload of men who look like my father, pulling out my teeth and nails, or fourteen men between my legs, or a gun, or a promise, or a lie, or his name, or his manhood in my mouth.\  \ \*\  \  \ I hear them say, *go home*, I hear them say, *fucking immigrants, fucking refugees. *Are they really this arrogant? Do they not know that stability is like a lover with a sweet mouth upon your body one second and the next you are a tremor lying on the floor covered in rubble and old currency waiting for its return. All I can say is, I was once like you, the apathy, the pity, the ungrateful placement and now my home is the mouth of a shark, now my home is the barrel of a gun. I'll see you on the other side.