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.

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.

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.

 

 

Suffering in Silence

By Wafula p’Khisa

Dr. Makaja’s sexology clinic opened at 6 am. By sunrise, it was a beehive of activity. Clients were everywhere, hardly managing to keep a social distance from one another as per the new regulations from the ministry of health. Most of them had called to come early.

“Good morning!”

“Hello…”

“Bonjour…”

Dr. Makaja shouted greetings at his clients as he reached for the keys to open his tiny office. Their faces lit up as they responded cheerfully. It was clear that his arrival inspired a sense of hope in them. His secretary ushered them in, one by one.

“Hi Doc,” Pendo said. They could not shake hands. The ritual had been banned since the Covid-19 hit the world to minimize the possible spreading of the virus.

“Hi too Pendo. Please have a seat,” he said warmly.

“Thank you.” she said, folded the back of her skirt and sat on a bench opposite the doctor and his tiny table.   “Sorry for waking you up…,” she started as she beckoned a man in.

“Oh, never mind. That’s my job.”

She was with her husband. He could read joy written all over their faces. The first time she had visited the clinic, her marriage was on the verge of falling into oblivion. She was in tears, thoroughly beaten by frustration.

“Doctor, save my marriage please,” she had cried.

“I’ve tried to endure the pain for two years now… I’m afraid I can’t hold on any longer… I’m walking out…” she explained. Dr. Makaja was confused. He was torn between consoling her and listening keenly to her problem. He ended up doing both.

“I’ve never enjoyed sex right from our wedding night,” she said t.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her, wondering what on earth could deny such a beautiful woman the glory of sex. Is she bewitched? Did her man fall with a sack of maize?

“That shouldn’t be the case. What’s the problem?” he asked.

“My husband roughs me up everyday. Every time he erects, he rams into me furiously and falls off once he’s reached heaven. Then, I would be hanging somewhere between Egypt and Canaan…,” she explained tearfully.

Dr. Makaja pitied her. But as a sexologist, he recommended that she brings her husband along for therapy and coaching. They had several sessions afterwards.

“Sex is not a one person’s moment of pleasure, but a detailed process for two people to derive pleasure from one another,” he told Dula, Pendo’s husband. “It’s not all about penetration and you are done. Think about her. Is she ready? Have you prepared her? Is she satisfied…?”

There was gradual progress after every session. Even Pendo banished the thought of divorce from her mind. Today, they came to thank Dr. Makaja for saving their marriage.

Six more clients came and left. Then a middle-aged man came. He looked withdrawn and troubled. After exchanging pleasantries and rushed introduction, Kioo proceeded to explain his predicament.

“I’m married with two kids. I last made love to my wife one year ago. It wasn’t an interesting thing though for my engine weakened and went off before I could reach the promised land. I chewed kumukombero the next day but the results were terribly worse. I decided to avoid sex since then…”

“Oh, that’s very disappointing,” the doc said. “How, then, have you been managing? Is she comfortable staying in a sexless marriage?”

“I arrive home late from work. She would be asleep then. Sometimes after supper, I watch the TV until late for her to be dead asleep before I go to bed,” he explained desperately.

“Well. So what’s the problem?” he asked gently.

There was a little silence. Then, in a subdued voice, Kioo opened his heart.

“You see, daktari, ever since we were instructed to stay at home in an effort to combat the Corona Virus, things went South for me,” he paused and looked at Dr. Makaja.

“Yes, go on please.”

“I’m zero-grazing in the house and my wife is on my neck demanding for sex all the time.”

“Have you been doing it?”

“Not at all doc! I’ve been dodging. I’m afraid I may not rise to the occasion and you know what damage that could cause if she discovers. But what scares me is that this lockdown is taking too long and I have run out of my tricks. She is already suspecting something.”

“I understand,” Dr. Makaja said thoughtfully.

Silence reigned again.

“Have you been suffering from any terminal illness?” the doctor asked.

“None that I can recall.”

“I think you need to undergo some medical tests and see if we can establish your sexual history. It’s only after that that we can tell the source of your problem,” the doctor explained.

A series of lab tests were carried out. It was established that Kioo had, for a long time, been on Viagra– a sex enhancement drug. He had stopped upon his wife’s complaints against his mechanical bedroom performance. But its long term effects started to show when he could not have a full erection. Upon the doctor’s recommendation, Kioo was not to touch Viagra again. Thence he had to undergo sex coaching and skills building. He brought along his wife for the doctor insisted that such an issue was to be handled in the presence of the two.

Three weeks of regular coaching would pass. In the fourth week, Kioo experienced his first full erection, thus restoring the glory in his marriage. But now, the lockdown is almost ending, and he does not want it to.

 

\

About Wafula:

Wafula p’Khisa is a poet and writer from Kenya. His work has been widely anthologized and published in various online (and print) literary journals and magazines.

THE THINGS THE SEVEN HILLS OF KAMPALA WITNESS

By Aidah Agwang

The Things the Seven Hills of Kampala Witness – an extract

It was not always like this. She flashed back to the day they met. After University, Stephanie had found a job as a teller at Standard Chartered Bank on Acacia Mall. Stephanie had been working at her new teller job for a month when James Wetaka walked in. Suddenly there was a furor of activity. The branch Manager walked up to James, exchanged pleasantries and asked if they could handle his transactions for him. It was then that James looked directly at her and asked that she serve him…

She smiled to herself… There was only one problem, aside from the forehead kisses and hugs, James had never made any further move on Stephanie. This puzzled Stephanie. Whenever she would bring it up, he would laugh it off and tell her he wanted their first time to be special. In the beginning, Stephanie found it endearing but with time she grew frustrated and hatched a plan. They had a getaway

After University, Stephanie had found a job as a teller at Standard Chartered Bank on Acacia Mall. Stephanie had been working at her new teller job for a month when James Wetaka walked in. Suddenly there was a furor of activity. The branch Manager walked up to James, exchanged pleasantries and asked if they could handle his transactions for him. It was then that James looked directly at her and asked that she serve him. Even though Stephanie was just a teller and James’s transaction was a bulk transaction he was too valuable of a customer and so Stephanie was sent to serve him. In the privacy of the VIP lounge of the bank, James had struck up an easy conversation with Stephanie asking her about her job and herself. Being an older, sophisticated business man, James managed to get Stephanie to agree to coffee with him that evening. Flattered by the attention from the noticeably powerful James, Stephanie felt butterflies in her stomach. After the transaction Stephanie hurried back to her desk. She quickly logged into the banking system and checked James’s bank account the figure left her speechless. Having grown up in a modest home, Stephanie knew a life time opportunity when she saw one. Having gone through the upheavals of dating of campus boys, she was done with games and wanted to settle down. She has not seen a wedding band on James’ finger and figured that was a good start.

That afternoon, she faked a stomachache and left work early. She had earlier called Terah and asked for her bodycon-Herve leger dress in maroon. She jumped on a Bodaboda, picked up the dress and dashed home. She quickly took a shower, sat down and applied makeup. She pulled out the expensive dress and out fell a silver clutch that Terah had generously added to the dress. ‘’Bless her heart!’’ said Stephanie out loud as she slipped into the body hugging, knee length dress. She pushed her feet into silver stilettos and headed for her coffee date with James at the Serena Hotel. Once she got to the Serena the door man had her name and took her to a private dining room where James waited. She later learned that he had spent a huge amount of money to hire out the private dining room for just the two of them. He looked dashing in a crisp white button down shirt which was open at the neck, blue jeans, a checkered jacket and loafers. He stood up and pulled out her chair for her. As they made their orders, James was overly attentive as her complimented her dress, hair and shoes. Stephanie was in heaven; she was in love. After an evening of laughter and great conversation, James dropped Stephanie home and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead before driving off. Disappointed she walked into the house. As she was getting ready for bed, she heard her WhatsApp message tone. It was James wishing her a good night, telling her how much fun he had and asking her out to dinner that weekend. She smiled to herself and said yes, life after that was filled with dinners, dates, trips, shopping sprees and everything a girl could ask for. James and Stephanie became inseparable and after three months, Stephanie introduced James to her mother. Her family was elated.

There was only one problem, aside from the forehead kisses and hugs, James had never made any further move on Stephanie. This puzzled Stephanie. Whenever she would bring it up, he would laugh it off and tell her he wanted their first time to be special. In the beginning, Stephanie found it endearing but with time she grew frustrated and hatched a plan. They had a getaway trip planned to the Serena Lake Victoria Hotel and she knew this was the best time to carry out her plan. Once they got the hotel, James took out his laptop, settled on the balcony and within minutes he was lost in his world of work. Stephanie went to the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes and took a bath. A few minutes later, James heard Stephanie scream from the bathroom, panicked he dropped his laptop on the table and ran into the bathroom. He found a naked Stephanie dripping and rubbing her eyes furiously.

“What is the matter, Honey?” he asked as her and she clung onto him.

“I got soap into my eyes,” she said.

James laughed out loud and held Stephanie tightly. Soon his laughter subsided; he became conscious of the naked, soft and yielding body of Stephanie, pressed deliciously into him. She looked into his eyes and his body stirred. He made to push her away but she clung onto him, taking advantage of his hesitation Stephanie kissed James hungrily on the lips. She poured all her love, the frustration of waiting and her desire for him in that one kiss. James responded with an equal measure of passion as he kissed Stephanie and carried her to the bed. Lowering her on the bed, he asked “Is this what you want? If we do this, there is no going back.’’ Nalubaale Review Short Stories

Aidah Agwang is a Ugandan Writer and Accountant. Her short story, The Things the Seven Hills of Kampala Witness was published in the maiden issue of The Nalubaale Review Literary Magazine which you can read by clicking on this link https://nalubaalereview.wordpress.com/…/here-is-the-first-…/

 

You can also submit your travel short stories, poems and essays to be published in our coming issue themed TRAVEL. Send your submission to nalubaalereview@gmail.com.

 

Read more here: https://nalubaalereview.wordpress.com/2019/02/16/here-is-the-first-issue-of-the-nalubaale-review-literary-magazine/

 

Photo credit: https://echwaluphotography.wordpress.com

A WASTE OF SIN

By Daniel Many

A waste of sin

Small, small money steal not,

If you must steal then steal huge amount,

So that when you are taken before the court,

You can bail yourself out.

Petty, Petty lies do not tell,

If you must lie then tell gigantic lies,

So that when you find yourself in hell,

It will not come as a surprise.

Underage girls leave alone,

If you must rape then go for mature asses,

Why leave huge chunks of meat and go for a dry bone?

Give the devil a good reason to give you lashes.

A few people do not kill,

It is pointless to give the devil a flirter,

If you must kill, then a Million people is a better deal,

Justify why you will be charged for murder.

 What a waste of sin will it be,

To burn eternally in hell fire,

For committing half-baked sins?

 

 

Daniel Many is a Kenyan poet from the Nyanza Region in Kenya, his poems were published in the first issue Of The Nalubaale Review Literary Magazine.

Read his other poems and short stories about love and money by following this link https://nalubaalereview.wordpress.com/…/here-is-the-first-…/

 

You can also submit for our next issue by sending your submission to nalubaalereview@gmail.com.