I look back at this journey with gratitude. It’s a journey filled with wonder, excitement, and productivity, rejuvenating my spirit during moments of doubt.
Blog
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: ‘PARRHESIA’ — CỌ́N-SCÌÒ MAGAZINE ISSUE 4, VOL 1, JUNE 2024
Explore unfettered expression for CỌ́N-SCÌÒ’s Parrhesia Issue. We welcome diverse expressions, including poetry, short prose, essays, artwork, and photographs.
SO, WHEN DID YOU DIE? | A review of Tolu A. Akinyemi’s ‘On The Train To Hell’ by Jide Badmus
This is a journey through the pitch dark of loss with the torch of language. Grief has never been this soft! The 53 poems in this collection are reels of heartbreak with the mercy of metaphors.
Apply to the 2024 Sprinng Writing Fellowship for Young African Writers
Are you an emerging African writer? Apply to the Sprinng Writing Fellowship today! You don’t want to miss this opportunity!
“Whom The Gods Would Destroy, They First Make Mad” | an essay by Temi Tayo
The gods play a dangerous game, tempting us with their gifts while slowly but surely eroding our minds. And as we spiral deeper into madness, we must ask ourselves, “Is this really what we desired?”
A Distant Elegy | A Memoir by Akal Mohan
Tonight in Kampala, you turn off your light but open the eyes in your head: to see Liz finish her life in a struggle. You see her flapping her hands as the waters lap on her face, helplessly as you yelp for any help. None comes and so she dies. You wish you had contained her spirit before it migrated to a different realm, leaving her body—lifeless.
Between Two Shores: The Migrant’s Tragic Duality | An essay by Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
You see, the migrant’s tragedy is not merely displacement, but also the denial of their potential. Opportunities—once alluring mirages from home—vanish at the point of need, leaving only the echo of the cruel refrain, “Go back where you came from.” Each rejection carves another notch on the tally of our exile.
On The Road | a short story by Blossom Umoren
Your foot collides with the brakes and your car screeches to a halt. You lean your head on the steering wheel and begin to sob because, today, you don’t know where you’re going.
Soursop | a short story by James-Ibe Chinaza
Mama will send you to school, and you will return to your room each day and hide because the other boys threaten to stick their hands down your throat and release the poor toad you swallowed. She will say, Touch this world a little bit; it might answer us. You cannot sit beneath your window and cry forever. You will try to obey your mother, but you cannot recognize your hands or this place.
The Things We Leave Behind | a short story by Torkwase Igbana
Mfe, my brother now offers me stories and laughter in a desperate plea that I remember him, that in the upheaval of a new life, I should not uproot him from my mind or forget the memories that bind us.