to be African, to be Woman, to be Creative, to be Fashionable, to be Intelligible, to be be IMARA

imara by Mshana

This is the canvas and the pages on which I curate and display the life I wish to create for myself and other liminal hu-women like myself. I explore here my passion for fashion, present my literally inspired visual arts, write my visual arts inspired written works, share my linguistics, travel diaries, show my finding comfort in food, and heck, whatever else I feel like... Welcome and enjoy!

Posts tagged Prose
On a daladala in Dar es Salaam

“Pee peeep!” The bus honks to the vendors who have placed their magunia with madera and jelojelo products. It finally comes to a stop right in front of me and I hop on before the many people who have been waiting for a bus to town start fighting for a seat. “Ta ta ta!”-the sound of my shoes in motion as my feet meet the rusty iron of the Tegeta-Kkoo bus. I head straight to the empty seat at the back. I slide in as fast as I can because, a second delay and I am one of the people standing back to back from Tegeta to Kariakoo.

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Love letters, The Reply


You really do love words! In your letter, the words are as definite as they are meaningful and passionate. However, I wish your letter was not as conclusive as it were. I see in your eyes an endless summer, and I hope you would lend me your sunshine a while longer.

The nights you allowed me to hold you were…

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Love letters


I am glad I met you when I met you; not a moment too soon or a moment too late.  The night when I swiped right for you, was the same night I had decided to give up on love. Then the notification came and I was surprised that you -tall dark and handsome you- were interested in my broken self.

It might have not been obvious to you at the time, but I was broken. I gathered the courage to ask for your number because heck, there...

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We close and lock our doors from the inside to keep out the men we fear and keep in the ones we love.

From the inside, so that when the ones we love want to leave, they can simply open the door and walk out of love from us.

Inside so that we can open the doors and walk out of love from them or open the door so that we can let new ones walk into our love.

We can’t help it though if the men we let in or those who are already in our lives betray us.

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Time of death, 12:07 am. May her soul rest in peace!

He pulled the knife she had been using to chop up the sweet potatoes they were to have as a midnight snack and pierced it straight through her heart. Just like that, she fell dead on the floor and her last words were written in her blood.

“You owe my unborn daughter her last name. I may forgive you but she will forever haunt you.

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