Call for Submissions

Theme : ANCESTORS

Deadline : 28th May 2021.

Send in poems, short stories, articles, art and other forms of writing exploring the theme of ancestry, especially African ancestry. Any length is welcome.

#culture #History #AfricanHistory

#African Heritage

#family lineage

#rich African ancestry

#African spirituality

#Witchcraft and the dead

#African medicine

#African kingdoms

#African beliefs

#Lineage practices

#African naming

#Ancestry and nature

#the God /gods of our ancestors

Delve in, explore, write and send to nalubaalereview@gmail.com

New deadline: 28th May 2021.

Nalubaale Review Issue Two is here.

Featured

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!

Read it here

Here

Look Away, Child.  

By Dan Mulinge

 

I’m in line at the hospital,

Seated, not standing

With an awkward distance from her,

Her two little incisors proudly present her smiles

Her scattered hairs, a sombre yet fun reminder

That we are all born bald, and delicate.

She’s playfully dancing on her mother’s lap,

As if it were a ball room and she, the ballerina

I make faces every time she looks this way

I wink, and she blinks twice,

I smile under my mask, she smiles back openly

Her little fingers clutch her mother’s skirt, she ascends

She’s stands, then walks, supported by the bench.

She looks up at me, wanting to be held.

I cannot touch her. I should not touch her. Or hold her. Or tickle her

So long are the days of abujubujubujuu!

So long, child, are the days we’d hold you and play along.

Corona is watching, I better not be her victim.

And neither should you.

So I let her walk around,

I have stopped making faces, she won’t be tempted to be held

By anyone but the mother.

 

We Won the War.

By Dan Mulinge – Kenya

 

We went to war, son.

Everyone, including your mother.

No one left home, yet to war we went,

For the war was within.

 

Son, the enemy was brutal!

No one ever saw him, except with a cough

No one could touch him, except with masks,

With soap and water, we fought.

 

Many lost their lives, son.

Fear killed us before its hands could.

Restrictions killed us before the war murdered,

It was hard fighting what you couldn’t see.

 

Mothers never saw the graves of their sons,

Husbands too, couldn’t bury their wives!

Death was slow, and painful.

It was death without blood. Cunning!

 

Nations staged a world war, son.

States began fighting together,for the first time,

Never has an enemy been ruthless.

In an emotional world,it was a cold rage.

 

So the rich pleaded with the poor to cough less

The poor begged the rich to travel less

The young begged the old to forget sunbaths

The old urged the young to never hold hands

 

Governments needed the people

The people needed governments,

Tyrants stayed home at last

Terrorists too were awed

 

We fought,son,with all we got.

All we got was discipline,water, soap.

All we got was division,

The far we were the more we won.

 

We fought with masked faces and gloved hands.

Bullets of running waters and grenades of soap

An enemy was this easy to kill.

Were it not for our love of our faces.

 

We won, son.

With clean hands and foaming buckets

We won with division, and unity

Yes,we won.

That’s why I hug you like a trophy.

That’s the prize of winning the war.