Nalubaale Review Issue Two is here.

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Behold the second Issue of Nalubaale Review Magazine is here. he topic is travel so dive in, download and read the amazing travel experiences from across Africa.

We feature over 50 poems as well as short stories and essays. This time around we have over ten countries represented. Our target is to have an Issue where all African countries feature.

That said, we have gifts like T-shirts and more to give away, just read and be among the first five readers to answer the fun questions and win the amazing gifts!

Here is The Nalubaale Review ISSUE TWO

Read it here Nalubaale Review ISSUE TWO 

 

Call for Submissions: Lockdown Stories.

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Nalubaale Review Writing Challenge.

Share with us your lockdown experience. We want to hear your lockdown story. We are looking for stories of hope, resilience and strength in this situation that has blanketed the whole world.

Here is a list of prompts for this writing challenge. *We shall publish the best short stories from this.

Prompt 1: My Lockdown Story.
Prompt 2: Things I have learnt.
Prompt 3: Things I miss most about normal life
Prompt 4: The first thing I will do when the lockdown ends.
Prompt 5: A habit I had before that I will drop/won’t do again.
Prompt 6: My lockdown resolutions.
Prompt 7: Letter to your grandkids about the lockdown/Covid-19.
Prompt 8: Stocktaking the Lockdown: achievements, new dance strokes, …
Prompt 9: Write a movie story ‘the pandemic that was!’
Prompt 10: A plan/ innovation for the future/Lockdown (What can we do to adapt, and live normal.

* You can write about one or all of the prompts.
*Only short stories and long poems (prosaic poetry) are accepted.

Send submissions to: nalubaalereview@gmail.com

This too Shall Ebb.

By Kimutai Allan.


Fear abounds,
In crowded cities,
And in the little hamlets,
The world, is scared stiff,
Hopelessness is all we feel.
It’s here,
A rogue affliction,
Ravaging us like a fire.
We want to escape,
But, whereto?
It’s all upon the world,
Can we win against it?
Well, it might serve us,
To relook at our past.
We,
The intelligent human species,
Have been bedeviled before,
By disasters so detrimental,
But haven’t we risen up?
And lived better than before?
Take heart,
Be of good cheer,
This insidious tide too will ebb.
Keep on acting,
Upon all that our medics tell,
For a day is coming,
When normalcy will again grace,
These our beautiful shores!

Poet Bio:

Kimutai Allan is a Kenyan writer whose works have been published in numerous publications like the Kalahari review and others.

Covidéjà vu.

By Jean Pierre Nikuze.

Unhand that twig
& recede
into your tenebrous tub!

Backtrack, creep
in reverse. Sibilate!

Like a funambulist
hinged,
the gasping close by
notwithstanding,
backpedaling

on a duly oiled
unicycle, silently
as time en route
even
as time unlapsed,

career backwards
& grow into your death
as the rouged user
of a concave mirror
colors her vim.

Tumble back first
heel into curb,

miss the ground’s receipt
of your inion, only
a figure of speech
you levelled bastard,

you bleeding out beast,
cursed owner
of a
staunchless wound,

the compound
good-as-dead;
in three syllables: carrion.

Glide, wriggle, convulse,
rousted by the tail

as in an ill-matched
tug of war,

for though
the wild goats are as

close as Wales,
all who’d been to Eden
died off
with the memory
of whereabouts.

Poet Bio:

Jean Pierre Nikuze is a Rwandan writer and poet.

Windows.

By Jean Pierre Nikuze.

Bumbling behind masks,
the world’s on the wrong side
of a beekeeper’s suit.

Provisional signatures of eyes
for God knows how long.
Each blink a flag
by which we hail & respond.
Call it a promotion.

For lack of competition
from the facial household,
they’ve become that
we always ascribed to them.
Also, chimneys, doors, balconies…

Poet Bio:

Jean Pierre Nikuze is a Rwandan writer and poet.

A Letter to the Future.

By Guttabingi Mary Prisca.

Dear 2050,

How are you? How are the daily struggles of life
-breathing, smiling, living-?
Do not grin till your charred lips
Crack from the repetitive exercise
You like calling survival.
Do not force it
Because right in our cemetery
a mould of humor rots
rolls relentlessly.
We even have potential jokes like the cabinet
And a now-powerless-covid-bully.
It’s not all about pandemics and worms
Like they all claim.

By the way,
You are cordially invited to our land
Where we finally absconded
with a new “no social distance” rule.
Here, we are family;
Constantly rubbing shoulders like Siamese twins,
We are inseparable like that!
So why stick to your grief-stricken generation?
A sad era with happy selfies?
We used to be genuinely sad.
We can’t tolerate your sarcasm
from our lockdown graves.

Also, here,
There’s no hate to give,
But rather love that’s threatening
To burst out of us like water through a dam,
But you are in self-denial,
Feeling appalled.

Since absence makes the heart grow fonder,
We shall wait for you
Like Christians wait for judgement day!
And when we finally meet
It will be more of an explosion
Than the kiss of death;
A bomb erupting between the moment
Our lips will make contact,
Fusing us together
Like two atoms in a nuclear reactor.

This sort of perfection
Deserves to be immortalized.
Who says no to a dark paradise?
Whichever vehicles takes you there,
Pandemic or not

Your patient lover,

2020.

Poet Bio:

Guttabingi Mary Prisca is a young writer passionate about writing poetry and mechanical engineering. She is a student at Kyambogo University in Uganda.

Stopped in our Tracks.

By Pheobe Nortey.

I was in school
I had a paper soon. Not cool
The first case dropped in the land
My parents panicked but I didn’t understand
“What do you mean I should come home? I’ve got a paper to write”
Later I realized I didn’t have to put up much of a fight
The paper was canceled and we were all sent home
For some reason, that day, the clouds looked like foam
Impromptu vacation, everything was fine or so I thought
Every day brought with it new cases to light
Nations of the world, were brought to their knees
Covid 19, listened not to their pleas
I was coping, at first
Then, like a balloon, I burst
I know I’m no Frontline worker
But the lockdown seemed too much for me
All days blurred into one, for thee
I became weary of waking up to the same routine
The soldiers and doctors are heroes
I hoped they got their reward.

So many are the e-learning assignments,
I don’t have time to get bored
I cast aside mourning and worrying
I’d take another chance at coping
I decided to better myself
Learn a few more skills, certificates on my shelf
Condolences, love to family members made fatherless, motherless
Prayers for to all those struggling in hospitals,
Hoping to one day beat the deadly lion.
May you survive this, I say, live well.

I will sit at home. Learning, designing, hoping,
Waiting for when everything will be fine,
Again.

Poet Bio:

Nortey is a Ghanaian high school student. She loves books and all forms of Literature.

The Dawn after the Corona Pandemic

By Obinna Chilekezi

Loud smiles creep across the waves. Yes smiles were loud
At the meander of holding hands again together
All along the landscape of nesting
And the incredulous affectation, in the air
As we danced to the tune of the invigorated song of laughter

The weather in blue bright. Reminder of then days of isolation
From days of death, fear and rumours of
That deadly virus that swan across the
Gatepost of boundaries, darkly and oozing
Out more deaths along every corners of the globe

The earth became sick. Sick of the deaths of its pride, mankind;
our earth was sick, with its garters down, in the
foam chest of doubt. Darkness became
The beginning of the morning sun, and love
Was kept at bay. Our lovely sandlot turned gray

Then this new dawn. This dawn
Became warn and grew like our Iroko of hope. And
It came as a time of relief, unimaginable
Or imagined – we all in unison said
Bye to covid 19, Bye to death and fear.

Loud smiles creep across the waves. Yes smiles were loud
At the meander of holding hands again together
All along the landscape of nesting
And the incredulous affectation, in the air
As we danced to the tune of the invigorated song of laughter

Masks

By Mniko Chacha 

Masks.

“Wear the masks,” the prominent governor announced,
Soon after Covid-19 emerged,
Despite the increase in price everyone demanded masks at any price,
So, I bought two masks to cover my face,

At home, the wise passerby uttered,
“Wear masks everywhere you go, otherwise, you will cease to exist.”
I resisted it for a while and tried to disbelieve my mind,
Then, I recalled what the Television broadcasted. “Those who will wear masks will defeat this pandemic beast.”

I thought a little bit and took the face mask,
And covered my face,
I looked on the mirror and saw that my face was becoming the dusk,
The confusion disturbed my eyes.

Afterwards, I moved towards the sitting room where my wife drank a beer,
“Woo the ghost is coming to kill me right here.”
She shouted and struck me with the whisk broom,
And fled from my sight.

I threw down the mask thinking that it brought the pandemic ghost in my home,
“Take care, nowadays, the face masks are rare to find,
Like the dust of gold.”
The fading mouth roared to me,

Later, I shook my head to grasp the reality,
And restore into me the sincerity,
To the best of my own ability,
I wore another mask and got back to my sanity.

Listening to Frank at Work during the Corona Virus Lockdown.

By Jack Bowman.

The trumpet flares out, steamy notes, well felt ones,

Frank sits at his desk during a break,

glasses lost, he does his best to shuffle through.

Outside, the world is filled with viruses

and billions are confined to their homes.

Bands of morons,

defy this and will surely cause another wave

of the pandemic to spread.

So Frank writes, does his best to focus and balance

let’s the jazz in

it calms him –

reduces his typos

and reminds him about ‘the moment’

how it feels to be ‘moved’ about all you do

then does it.

Poet Bio:

Jack Bowman is the author of over ten books including poetry collections and novels.

We Live by the Hands of Others.

By David Mellor.

We live by  the hands of others

Not seen by you or me

They pass the parcel

Stand at the till

Nurse the wounded

Or keep order

We live  by  the hands of others

Not seen by you or me

Our hands scrubbed clean and safe

But…

We  live by others. We are grateful to them,

Who have to live with that fear, day by day.

So that a whole humanity can be preserved.

Poet Bio:

David R Mellor is from Liverpool, England. He is a writer and performer.