African Stories

Obioma parked the car and walked into the airport, noticing how sparse the hustle and bustle was. In fact, you couldn't even call it that, it was more like just a few people going about the arrival and departure activities, most of them going and coming from business trips. "Definitely not like Christmas," Obioma thought to herself, knowing too well the loud commotion typical of Nigerian airports during that season. This...

The first time I saw Neema, she was gliding between tables at that charming restaurant in downtown Kampala, her movements effortless, her smile luminous. I had come for the lasagna, but it was her, the way her eyes flickered with warmth as she served me, the delicate curve of her backside as she leaned to refill my glass that left me hungry for more. When I complimented her and left a generous tip, her lips parted in surp...