colonialism

Colonialism walks into a chop bar

February 2016: I have gone to a chop bar and bought fufu with what soup I cannot remember.

Sing us a Catholic song in Nigerian tongues

The tune was simple enough, but to pronounce the words with the correct Izzi intonation was grueling.

Out of Africa

Claire’s father Sam Simmons would be there, and they would spend the next hour or two quaffing Castle beer, smoking and playing snooker in the dim, curtained rooms adjoining the bar.

Slove You, N.Y.C.

Giving the people what they want, Slav-style

Imagining Colonial Soldiers

Touch by touch, gesture by gesture, worlds could be reformed, alliances forged.

From the River to the Sea

The pretense that “from the river to the sea” refers to something that didn’t happen rather than something that did debases all of us.

My Airport: Karachi

There’s just a handful of airlines that still make it to Pakistan, so even the wealthiest of Jinnah International’s patrons have limited options.

My Dictator, Hastings Banda

Naively, they thought with Banda and about 500 of his supporters in jail, everything would just go back to “normal.”

Everything is Free