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Articles tagged "Francophone"

From “Baho!”

Nkunda kurya yariye igifyera kimumena amatama The glutton ate the snail; it made his cheeks explode By the time the sun’s luminous fingers had come to rest on Hariho’s fields, his neck was already sore. Undeniably, nights are cold in these parts. This morning he had come down to this trickle of water to rest, like a mosquito sated after a night pumping blood from the depths of fatigued and world-weary veins. He was calm, brimming with images from last night and the mouthfuls he...

from Love Will Wilt in Too Much Sun

As was often the case between the man and the woman, they'd spent the morning hours in delicious intimacy, accentuated by their bodies seeming to fortuitously brush against one another, furtive flirtations in the guise of apparently frivolous jokes. Everything went wrong as the afternoon drew to a close when Elisabeth, returning from having run the many errands the newspaper generally required of her, found Zam busy writing a fax and incontestably in the state that she disliked the...

Among the Targi at Timbuktu

In 1999 and 2000 Birgit Biehl journeyed alone through Africa's Sahel from Senegal to the Sudan, and then through Yemen, Oman, and a half dozen other Middle Eastern countries. During the fourteen months of her trip, the then-fifty-five-year-old author hiked more than 700 miles, rode in overloaded ferries, dilapidated automobiles, minibuses, and old pickup trucks piled high with freight and people. After the trip she published Splitter im Sand, Lektionen am Wege (Athena Verlag 2001)....

From The Belly of the Atlantic

Of course I remember him. Monsieur Ndétare, my former teacher, who was already getting old at the time. With a hatchet face, hands like pitchforks, and legs like stilts to bear him on his mission of public schoolteacher to the remotest corners of the land, places where the state is happy to be cast in a secondary role. Ndétare stood out from the other inhabitants of the island because of his silhouette, his manners, his citified look, his European attire, his academic French,...

from Three Dreams on Mount Meru

Today, in the year 1170 of the Hegira, as I finish the narration of my journey to Mount Meru, I can't help thinking about Omui. He was the best storyteller in all Mombasa. The fabulous stories he would tell every Friday in the square in front of the grand mosque always enchanted me. I keep the memory of that man alive within me. I like to think that I'm made of the same stuff and that like him, I too belong to the race of enchanters. Of course, I'm guilty of pride to think...

from The Butcher’s Aesthetics

The two friends' meetings resembled a ritual that went back to the years of holy struggle when they would drink more cups of coffee than they could count to give them energy, a small vice Laid Touhami had picked up in the mountains and the mayor at a young age, since his father considered coffee an aphrodisiac and permanently wore a necklace of coffee beans round his neck. In fact, coffee had been behind Zineddine Ayachi's flight into the Ouarsenis and his joining the ranks of...

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