Cameroon Stories

They say some villages in Africa do not appear on maps for a reason. In 1975, a young girl from Yaoundé travels to her ancestral village for her first time, for her mother's funeral, a mother she has never seen. believing she will stay only a day then go back to the city. But the roads refuses to let her leave. No matter the means of transportation, road, air, water. It brings her back to departure point. A loop she has never experienced. In Banka, people do not panic when a loop happens, they are use to it. But she is not. It's her first time experiencing a loop. As fear slowly tightens around her, she discovers the village hides ancient women who hunt the stars people are born with... and somewhere inside this darkness lives Santana, a feared seer protecting the youth from evil forces, This is the only person who can help mutera leave this cursed village ruled by evil mothers. Welcome to BANKA. The Village of No Return. 🌑 SANTANA 1975 by The Moghos

I don't know if they're fit to be considered poems or just some random kid's weird or maybe idle thoughts,questions probably just pain...your pick🙂 Mostly just me venting...

"Uncle" is an African man with a prominent title that lacks inherent self-respect. "Uncles" are African men that prey on little girls instead of protecting them; they are African men that carry out acts of domestic violence; they are African men that disrespect women without a care. "Uncle", is an African man that is driven by toxic masculinity; a man that thinks he is entitled to every woman's body. Unfortunately, our African Aunties remain dormant and refuse to speak up about these precarious situations and in turn, they fail to put an end to these toxic behaviors. Instead, the blame is thrusted upon the victims and our African Aunties vehemently defend these African "Uncles".

How igbos do to become rich from generation to generation

It happened again. I woke up suddenly. Flushed. Exhausted. I took deep breaths. Breaths that I wish reached my fingertips. I screwed my eyes shut and pressed my palm to my beating heart. It was scarier this time. Stronger. Like it was pulling me to it. But I didn't want to go. I wouldn't go. But now, I had to. I had to find him. Before he tore the both of us apart. Without even knowing he was doing it. Without even knowing who I was. . I sincerely hope you like it.

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For Africans by Africans! Welcome to the second edition of The African Awards! Are you an African writer? Then this awards is for you. The Grand Awards for all Africans. Cover credits - @Donaldprince