Ink Thick as Blood
Even though Japan had annexed Okinawa twenty years before she was born, Haa-mee’s generation never thought of themselves as Japanese. And though Japan banned tattooing, many families continued the practice in secret.
Separate Lessons of Summer
About mid-way through the three blocks separating the Black and white sections of town, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of money. In his hand was three dollars. Daniel immediately felt angry. Some customers always gave him more than they owed. Others often offered him lemonade or cookies after he mowed their lawns on scorchingly hot days. Today, he’d missed baseball practice and worked all day.
Husband Swept Away at Sea
And the strong waves of the sea swept him away in minutes with the debris of the boat, his cries ringing in your ears. Somehow you made it to shore.
Men Who Get It
I’m not attracted to him. At least… I don’t think I am. I spent a few formative summers at conversion camp. Daily prayers. Ice baths with shards so sharp it’d cut any temptation right out.
The Visitor
If my mother had her way today, I would be with her at the market or sipping tea with wives and daughters of military men. But I find solace in Machiavelli and Dante, the speeches of Azikiwe, the discourse of men.
A Voice Note from Johannesburg
In the excitement of our meeting, we did not exchange numbers when we parted. Then the light faded and so did he, into the Johannesburg shadows, a cold Jozi night.
Divided Over Dinner
This was one reason she wanted to live alone. Dinnertime was meant for family to be together at one table and enjoy each other’s company. In the Adebayo’s house, dinnertime was a mere façade to act like they were one big loving family.
Fufu, Sardines, and Tomato Sauce
A world-class meal. It tasted like red soil, dry seasons and warm climates. It tasted like cousins’ daily fights and late afternoon reconciliations. It tasted like Grandma sitting on her plastic chair watching us from the corner of her veranda. It tasted like heaven.
Michael, Deportee
At first, yeah, people was cool. They would say good morning and all that, ask about London and thing. Then they heard the story that I was one of them deportees and people changed. It was like I had some disease. People started crossing the road and avoiding me.
From Glasgow Without Love
Elvis sniffed, mulling over words to tell the man sat opposite him that he was an illegal immigrant and his love for Molly was conditional. He heaved a deep sigh and gulped down his martini for some form of courage but found none at the end of the cup.
The Best American Short Stories
Congratulations to Arnold Edwards! Decolonial Passage has submitted his short story, “Come Full Circle,” for consideration and possible publication.
Come Full Circle
The article was an explanation of the picture. It was a lynching in Coffee County, Alabama, August 1968; White people standing around; men, women, children as if at a Fourth of July picnic. Drinking from cups and bottles, smiling, eating snow cones. No caption, no explanation under the photo, just two figures circled.
Blooming
She had created something beautiful — at least, to a fresh eye she was sure it would be, but to her these bloated buds were decay even when bursting into bloom, in that moment when they were all potential and wonder.
British Relic
“And this was a club they let Indians in since inception.” His appreciation for what he thought a privilege was immense. “Shall I order tea for you?” He chose to cash that privilege in the form of tea.
You Are No Longer Welcome Here
Most of your parents were taught by their parents but now those teachings which they ought to pass down to you have eroded because you prefer the white man’s culture. I am not saying the white man’s culture is bad. No, the white man’s culture has paved the way for us, but charity begins at home.
Night Watch
That Saturday, two evenings later, the village carried on with their usual routine of cleaning up, gossiping, and chasing down the children for their baths while an underlying nervousness floated from house to house. It had been two nights of quiet and no thieves, but this encroaching night felt different, especially with the elderly Ramatu.
Memory/I send myself
Slow, within the quiet pupil of the noisy scuffle the message arrives, and lands: You don’t know me. You’ve only heard about me. I know myself; I know my self. I re-member.
Home Affairs
I pondered on the moment a little more until I realized that the silence and awkwardness that characterized the room was a culmination of the disbelief of seeing white people in the heart of our township and having to come to terms with the possibility that they, too, could endure what has become such a norm in much of our lives.
A Striking Space
The paintings appeared like bruises fading in and out in their intensity. Eleanor had worn long sleeves for years and made it her job to inhale her husband’s fits of anger.
the Decolonial Passage 