There is a memory of a river—long and deep—remote and isolated but full of the things it is meant to carry—in a place ever swallowed by...

The keys of the piano play softly from its strings, deeply, persistently the melody of a thousand steps drifting across the floors of...

Today I wandered endlessly along unknown paths —as yesterdays I've done before. To meet with courage and hear the silence and haunting...

Mistaela Correia was born in 1954 in Gorongosa. When he was 12 years old his grandfather died. As was customary, his family made a...

The moments appear, they ebb and flow all day long—a lifting curve of the lip is always near—dazzling us with choice— to move with it so...

In the village, the chore always comes, be it child or not, with the silhouette of a woman or girl for this one, no doubt—though...

My story, Yours from where I stand from where you do the moon glows big and slithered and the sun rises and sets with flowers spread...

The village was nestled in the rainforest, over 15 miles from the main, red-dirt road that slithered the country of Liberia from north to...

You travel far away in place to know the story only you chase the slush of snow, or rain that pours down, down saturating the earth, as...

Time opens a passage for which to step through When we see one we have but a moment to choose The foot shifts, it leans and then boldly...

Funny how the world just continues to turn. While on its surface waves agitate and—though not invited—move onto sacred ground, and...

It was 1995 and a very long ride of swells on a dhow to get to the Island of Ibo, with its bluest waters and pink coral, its whitest...

I used to pluck the lines of the song and the fingers glided over the ebony chords I used to run the steps of a forgotten hill and dance...

The rains would come heavy each afternoon in this hot tropical land—mostly—without fail. And those who had—even just a bit more than the...

The hour is grey. You know—that hour when many are as you, not of the earth but floating in another time and place, dreaming—perhaps. And...

It was a blanket of mystic and awe along the River Buzi— its water embracing precariously those who travel, as me, along its deepness—and...

It was at the tip of my mind where the light peeked in and asked on which path my heart should travel and my thoughts begin. On top of...

Chomba Chakala Chakulumamwanyoka was born of the Makonde in Miula in the year when they built the shops in Namawa village. An elder—Ndona...

That yellow leaf that falls gently, landing by your foot new, yet familiar, as the comfort of a mother's eyes and walking barefoot and...

It was July 1992 when Samsão Damangani sat down with me in the urban sprawl of Maputo City. He was 78 at the time, an old man—he...

The window brought me near to an ordinary day of light and dark already thought, heard, seen, even touched—before the sunrise. Like the...

Under the shade of tall, swaying coconut trees in the far away town of Buzi in Sofala, in December 1994, a woman—an elder—Macore...

A persistent siren churns in the background, as the bird chirps its enchanting song. It's all in a moment—this right to choose. Dread or...

There was a small hint of a rainbow that lingered in the horizon It is where my soul went And where my longing lingers