AfriLit

Instagram Poets, Prize Circuits, and Why Everyone’s Still Misreading African Literature From ABS, Who Believes literary fame is not always literary understanding. This is where the syllabus ends—and the spectacle begins. Where the bookshelves gleam with award stickers, and authors smile at literary festivals while secretly wondering if the moderator has read past chapter one.This […]

Sci-fi, Surrealism, and Why African Writers Are Lightyears Ahead of Western Tropes From ABS, Who Believes that the future is African—and the spaceship runs on ancestral memory and sass. In most Western science fiction, the future looks suspiciously like Silicon Valley in space—clean, white, metallic, and somehow still obsessed with AI having feelings.But in Afrofuturism?

Resistance Literature from the Streets of Soweto to the Cells of Lagos From ABS, Who Believes metaphors are weapons, especially when the censors don’t get them. When your country jails dissidents, bans books, and declares “everything is fine” while tanks roll past bookstores, you either stop writing or you learn to write like a ninja.Africa

African Women Writers and the Fine Art of Reclaiming Narrative Without Needing a White Translator’s Approval From ABS, Who Believes the only thing more powerful than a mother tongue is a mother with a pen. He Wrote, She Wrote, The West Misquoted African Women Writers and the Fine Art of Reclaiming Narrative Without Needing a

Myth, Magic, and Modern Mess in African Storytelling from Oral Epics to Bureaucratic Nightmares From ABS, Who Believes folktales are more truthful than most press briefings. Before the printing press or publishing deals, before the empire’s map crayons coloured entire continents beige, Africa had its own Wi-Fi network: the griot. A walking library. A melodic

The African Literature in English “From Proverbs to Protests—Africa Writes Back” 🌍 Colonial Tongue, Native Spirit African literature in English is what happens when centuries of storytelling, fire circles, and ancestral wisdom meet the bureaucratic horror of colonial grammar. It’s a dance—part resistance, part reinvention—where English is no longer the invader, but the instrument. At