Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile.
I could not stop talking because now I had started my story, it wanted to be finished. We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us.
We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us.
I do not know why the mind chooses these small things to break itself on.
You are blind to the present and we are blind to the future.
April showers bring May flower.
Me and Nkiruka, we watched through the window until the moon grew an extraordinary size, so big that it filled the window frame. We could see the face of the man in the moon, so close that we could see the madness in his eyes.
A girl like me gets stopped at immigration.
Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.
For me and the girls from my village, horror is a disease and we are sick with it. It is not an illness you can cure yourself of by standing up and letting the big red cinema seat fold itself up behind you.
A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.
At some point you just have to turn around and face your life head on.
Looking after a very sick child was the Olympics of parenting.
I was carrying two cargoes. Yes, one of them was horror, but the other one was hope.
Life is extremely short and you cannot dance to current affairs.
Our stories are the tellers of us.
It was the month of May and there was warm sunshine dripping through the holes between the clouds, like the sky was a broken blue bowl and a child was trying to keep honey in it.