Throbbing hearts and bleeding inks

If you were presented with the option to choose between being right and being kind, choose kind - Unknown Growing up in the Westlands of Africa, where "Every man for himself, God for us all" is the anthem on the streets and within the four corners of homes, the picture of empathy is as blur as the dotty stars and light bubbles we see after rubbing our eye balls to an itch. Mum says do not go when a stranger beckons in aid. Daddy adds " Everyone is wicked and wants to kill you." Here I am, a man in tarted clothes asks for a sip of my sachet water to quench his harmattan thirst. Some people say, such instances are orchestrated to exchange one's destiny. Others say, your wealth is traded when you comply. Too many superstitions and concoctions to topple over before listening to one's own voice. My belief  tells me to grant his wish and lip a prayer afterwards for protection- the least I can do. The drum of kindness is beaten differently in our part of the ...

I see my niece drawing a young African girl with brown eyes, dark skin and kinky hair. Who fell in love with a prince in shorts , a sleeveless dashiki shirt and a glorious afro. I half rolled the millet pancakes into my hand-made lunch box. I was 40 and she, 15. She told of his most typical Afrikaans accent of a "Hi" and her nervous "beeni" which meant 'Yes' in Yoruba, when he professed his love in Ananse land- Our very own La La Land. No fairies, just a bunch of bees being generous with their honey and firefly lanterns flying across the elephant parks of Zimbabwe. I would send a mail to Mama on the moon and tell her I have found my soulmate in  J'oburg- "She is an Afronaut too, Mama". I would tell her that home was fine just the way she left it but she'd sure squeeze out the truth from my eyes like lemons in a video call. So much for technology!! you can't even tell a lie anymore! At least Nkoloso died for a noble cause. I would ...