Moon of Memories by Emmanuel Sigauke

Of course, I had expected to see a car, any car, so I was overjoyed when I saw the big-wheeled, black Jeep, which they parked in the shade of our Muzeze tree. They had arrived in in the middle of the day, so as mother and I ululated our greetings, several people raced to see them too. Some crowded around the car, talking to it, while others jumped with us in joy. We had stood there under the tree for what seemed like an hour, and when the last villager returned to her home, we entered the compound, where our roofless, brick house awaited their entry.... Full Story

Fiction and poetry

Now I see how this works: my poetry writing and fiction work together, and it seems when my poetic inspiration is high, I produce prose that pleases me. Since I am involved in a lot of poetry events in April, I am seeing an upsurge of fictional creativity. One art informs the other, vice versa.

With Leticia by Emmanuel Sigauke

I bumped into Leticia on Bank Street, where she was almost hit by a car as she ran across to greet me. She shouted curses after the speeding car, but when she turned to me, she had calmed, like nothing had happened. She dodged my hug and offered a hand which I shook gratefully. “I always see you here. Do you work somewhere close?” she asked. “I work at Sales House,” I said, noticing that she was still ugly, which is why I had once thought I could have her in high school. “Sales what?” she asked, and before I could answer, she started laughing, an honest, toothy laugh, like she could just die on the pavement and go to heaven. Full Story

Still Going by Emmanuel Sigauke

I was going to the gathering and no one would stop me. Not even Mai, not Maiguru. Nothing, not even the duty to take care of the goats would get in the way. I was going to meet with Chari behind Chisiya Hill, join others like us on the road to Mototi Primary School, and arrive at the gathering before the dancing began. The only person who would have been able to stop me was Mukoma, but he was away in South Africa and no one knew when he would be back. With no one to stop me, I was sure going to that gathering. Full Story

Kennedy by Emmanuel Sigauke

The entrance to Kubatana was dotted with scantily-dressed women and peanut vendors, a curious combination about which I shook my head as we entered the flood-lit bar.

“Tonight you’ll see a side of me that will blow your mind away,” said Mukoma, my big brother.

“What he’s saying is that he has something important to tell you,” explained Jakove, his friend.

“And to show you,” added Mukoma.

The beer hall was crowded. Shouting men waved at us. Mukoma and Jakove waved back at acquaintances scattered in the swaying crowd, where loud music competed with the loudest of voices. Full Story