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by Bongani Sibanda
Things changed from the time the Preventer of Disasters’ eyes started glowing. That was one hundred and sixty seven years since he acquired his extraordinary abilities. Magical years had passed; people had started to die forever. Everyone who trod on fire was now burnt; he who stabbed himself felt the pain.
by Bongani Sibanda
The tall, thin woman’s tail resembled a monkey’s – long, bushy, and grey. Perhaps it is, Busi thought, watching the woman measure her tail and declare, excitedly, that it was 51 inches, just four inches shy of the 55 she’d aimed for. When she finished, still clapping and smiling, the other ladies turned their eyes to Busi. It was her turn.
by Bongani Sibanda
He woke up in a mansion, his throat sore, a letter under his pillow. Dear K., The surgery was a success, thank you very much. The director will have his peace, and you’ll have your monthly stipend, plus this marvellous house, as per the contract. Congratulations. Liking your new home already? That’s to be expected. Please note that it’ll take some weeks before your throat heals completely. There are pain tablets in the chest of drawers by the window.
by Bongani Sibanda
Yesterday Nomusa had gone to see her husband’s tomb at Beula. It was the second time since he died. She had taken a morning bus and returned with evening taxis. She had used the few coins she had saved to buy her son, Sipho, a school uniform because the desire to see his tomb had been beyond her control.
by Bongani Sibanda
Aunt MaMoyo is dishing up, and we’re standing before her: me, Musa, Given and Grandmother NaJeremiah. We’ve hardly eaten anything in the past few days, and we’re starving hungry.