Long ago, underneath a yellow acacia tree, a redheaded green fly had smashed one of its see-through wings against the dancing branches. A small episode in the Kalahari that wouldn’t be overheard because of the angry wind threatening to dig up the papery tree. The crystal wing was not wholly off though. The green fly...
The Protection Troopers tasked me to bring Kambangane’s skull. So, I skilfully hunted him down in the feet-baking Kalahari’s sand.
Donkey years ago, along the edges of the Omatako River, a naked-chest clan used to wolf dragonflies. Throughout the feast, kinfolks puffed the scattered see-through wings.
Long ago in the Kalahari, porcupines were barbed thorn bushes that sprouted beige flowers and pencil-thin leaves.
Sally was squatting underneath the thatch-roof patio. Her reddened and swollen eyes were a clue to her insomnia. So, she buried her yo-yo hair between her knees. She lifted her head after picking mom’s footsteps. “What’s wrong?” asked mom, rubbing her scruffy hair.
The clock had just struck 12 midnight, and an owl hooted. This time, not a distress call of a spell or announcing a dark cloud hanging over them, but a merry tooting in the midnight forest.
The baby-face girls crowded the Katutura Country Hotel. The only open space was between the nylon chairs. Even a housefly would not risk entering the airtight dome for free.
The rose-coloured sun hugged the reddish sandbanks. Instantly, the governor dinged the chime hooked on an umbrella-shaped tree.
First, the blue and red flashes bounced against the silvery roof. Then, a Merry Christmas ringtone tickled Mrs Brownstone out of her creaking bed.
Simon stepped into the fried-potatoes-smelling shop and grabbed a few yellow bags painted with a red ‘S’ in the centre. Soon, he played cat and mouse with the security’s bush pigskin whip, before knocking down a chuckling girl in a wheelchair. The bashing lash chased him into the grass-choked footpath.