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The 3500 hrs. Impostor

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The airport attendants at São Tomé International Airport were busy serving the enthusiastic travellers. Maleek Nabil and Soraya Rafiq made their way to the airport two hours before their travel. They couldn’t hide their happiness as they were newlyweds, awaiting to explore the depths of their love in a special honeymoon treat at Kenzi Menara Palace in Morocco. The atmosphere was inviting and everybody anticipated their destinations, some with business deals to secure, tourists’ souls awaiting an adventure, others with family to meet but for the cabin crew, it was a call of duty to ensure a safe touch down at Casablanca V International Airport. Ana Osralado the captain of the day, Carlos Domingos the first officer, Arlindo Gilson the relief captain and Nilza Elisio the relief first officer all assembled for their usual routine, signing paperwork, ensuring the maintenance engineers had released the aircraft, carrying out a couple of inspections, configuring various systems, e

Nirvana

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“Some fish love to swim upstream. Some people love to overcome challenges.” Amit Ray. Nandrianina and Litasoa walked down in the bustling wharfage, stinking of the lifeless fish and seaweed. They walked past the decrepit old fishing boats and their owners, all surrounded by wooden lobster pots and rope nets, before they noticed a body by the shore. His body was shivering; it was as though his blood was frozen in his veins. Before Listasoa’s boots were submerged in water, his skin was already rough with goosebumps, “How could he be alive?” he asked Nandrianina as they rushed to check on the man.  “How could he have survived the icy water? Surely he must be God’s favourite son”, said Litasoa as he tried to confirm the man’s pulse. Nandrianina was preparing himself to perform CPR if the man needed any form of resuscitation. The two used a commercialized tricycle as a major means of transport to ferry their fish. “He is alive, we need to take him to the old man”, shouted Litaso

IMMORTAL GREATNESS

Poem by Mutua W. Mutheu (Silent Volcano)   Part I   From silence to whisper It was that time when ambassadors and alligators confine, Time when the fate of the living would align, Some were sipping wine, consciousness to resign, While the religious went to the shrine, Hoping that this time, just this time everything would realign,   Aldric, was moving on the slower lane, Contrary to the greater universe, all the expectations to disillusion, Externalities brought in confusion, The city was dark and in seclusion, But somehow, Aldric's light was viewed as an occlusion, A stumbling block to the conclusion,   Stay silent, they said, Be vocal not, or else...... Tremors and shivers, Was all Aldric had become, forgetting the expected delivers, Trickling rains and flowing rivers, Both meant nothing, just as painful as blisters,   Part II Like tossing the dice, Rovana, looking for a way to get rid of Aldric, One way to die or six ways to be

THE CALL

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“The time is always right to do what is right,” Martin Luther King. It was 5.00 a.m. and Abdillahi Youssouf was keen not to miss the morning's magical skies. In his meditation, he reflected on the events and journey that had led to visit one of the greatest Islands in the beloved continent. He has been the longest-serving President in Djibouti. The country was, however, undergoing political tensions during the uprising of the Arab Spring. He was privileged to gaze at the slothful sea, ebbing so gently, a reflection of peace in its Neptune-blue glory. The pink beach felt soft like he was walking on a blanket of candy floss. Shimmering pink sand swept around in a scythe of the shore, howling in by towering cliffs. Far out of the ocean, rays saturate the surface with a golden gaze. The horizon seemed woven with a line of silver. Abdillahi was in awe of the aura, as it felt like paradise. The calmness of the ocean reminded him how Djibouti was when he first rose to power. He assumed th

Unfinished

“Chaos can be beautiful if you love all your ingredients.”- Celerie Kemble The days were long, and the nights ushered periods of self-doubt, helplessness catalysed by the events and seasons that left us hopeless. A weary mental state, isolated emotions, ignored the physical state, and desolated spiritual life defined our situation. It was this kind of distress that prompted our journey to Ngazidja in Comoros. Golden Tulip Grande Comore Moroni was our home for two weeks. The restaurant was on a private beach. We had devoted ourselves to exploring the area amidst our mystery while trying to unveil the world's beauty with a hope to tap the beauty within. Scuba divers walked along the coastal beaches free-spirited and in awe of the tranquillity the ambience brought. Business seemed unusual, as women in colourful ‘lesos’ [colourful shawls worn by women] sat in small groups engaging in deep conversations. “This is a sign of a grand event about to take place. We call it Ada, which is basi

Conventional Desires and Passions

“The conventional view serves to protect us from the painful job of thinking,” John Kenneth Galbraith The rain had fallen, but drained instantly through the deep sands, leaving the substrate completely devoid of moisture. This reflected Keeya’s soul as she watched the night creeping in. She watched the stars and felt as if she was observing the dunes. She thought of herself as a drop in the ocean, in the world of unknown mysteries. Not only that, but she was devoid of tears and the images of her brother deluged her mind. She was born to Naledi and Mmusi, who lived within the Tswana community. Kenosi was her elder brother and Ngaka was the last born of the family. Their family struggles were not different from those of any other African family. Patriarchal setup, misogynist subscription and powerful traditions described their family. This gave her brother’s enough reason to gravitate towards phylogeny, as she dreamt of a more liberated family of her own. Her mother was broken in all way

Expect a Miracle

“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attraction,” Albert Einstein. From breathtaking sunsets, sunrises, rainbows and thunderclouds, to enchanting full moons and highways of stars–Zuwarah is a replica of the magical African Skies. Byamungu Zongwe and I nostalgically gazed at the greatest wonder of the world; the horizon. We were reliving the words of Bern Williams, on the impossibility of watching the sunset and not dreaming. Zuwarah is a Berber town forty miles from the Tunisian border and offers the most scenic beach view. With an invitation from Byamungu, I expected the greatest festival in the town, commonly known as the Awassu Festival. It comprises swimming races, sailing and traditional dances on the beaches. The common adage illustrates the shine behind the dark clouds. To Byamungu clouds came floating into his life, no longer carrying rain or ushering a storm, but adding colour to his sunset sky. He was the son of Amunazale and Mpata Zongwe, born and r