It was a blanket of mystic and awe along the River Buzi. Its water embracing precariously those who travel along its deepness. And then...

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

Gray, white, silver, yellow, red, black and brown goes the painting of the world— like the waves that forever come to embrace the...

To the side of my door, he would come. His young face gnarled with piercing eyes and burned out skin, that's what, today, floats to the...

Where the horizon meets the land, water and the sky— that's where the naivety of humanity lies To be a bird or a fish or a rock or all...

The boy walked the streets—cobblestone, dirt, paved—with a long back, strong feet, determined eyes, and quick wit. He walked the streets...

The streetlights speak of passing feet, swift goodbyes, and lingering eyes Up the mango tree I go, as sweet drippings ping below and...

They call it musiro in Kimwani. It's a piece of wood from the xumbuti tree—ground against a sand-like stone using a bit of water creating...

As the tree in the wilderness, so I stand strong limbs outstretched with crinkling bark I breathe, I crack, I return I grow deep and...

To drift along the shores, with footed prints against the stones —and wind, gently teasing stale songs out of yesterdays now gone. To...

Everything has a purpose even a stone even a star even you.

In the spirit of tradition, the men cleared the farmer's field, made offerings to those who had come before. The women—lined up, wrapped...

They used to go early in the morning to the beach. They used ndala—prawns—as bait for fishing off the coast, casting the line and hook...

Wearing culture on a sleeve, in seeking eyes or dancing feet, colossal stories are built to reach— into the sky they go, appearing wiser...

They keep the bzinyanga in a sack on the veranda of Phoinde Vinte's house in the village of Mpadwe in the Province of Tete. It's much...

It was January 1994. The time of the kanyi had just begun, bringing in the New Year as it does each year—a time when the people talk to...

Into the future we must go brave and strong evermore. Walking the line, breaking the line held by the energy of the cosmos, and metal and...