“Akinyi, you are such a good girl! Eh! Did you make these mandazi’s yourself?” Akinyi watched as Aunty Ruth grabbed four mandazi’s at a time, and dropped them onto her red plastic plate. Her mouth hastily took a bite that saw half
I climbed the stairs to Aunt Tee’s apartment. The hallway was dark but the semi-opened blinds let in a hint of sunlight on the second-floor landing. The burgundy carpet was clean, other than a tennis ball-sized stain in front of the door
The summer Aneka’s leg is broken, her big sister Rima has a sleepover with all of her lacrosse friends. Aneka helps her set up the blow-up beds in the basement. She grabs the pink blankets and floral comforters from the closet where
“I love your hair. You did it yourself?” “Aww, thank you. I wish. I can’t cornrow.” “Wait, you’re a little Black girl and you don’t know how to cornrow?” Correction: I’m a whole 30-something Black woman who doesn’t know how to cornrow.
I remember the time you left your phone at home in our first apartment. It was an old loft close to campus. It was raggedy, the stove was too small, and mildew stained the grout in the bathroom. It was our first
Tamara turned her car into the horseshoe driveway in front of her younger sister Cameron’s college dorm, just managing to wedge her car into a spot at the end of the fire zone. It was Friday before Fall break at Louisiana State
Tisha Kroemer had never felt real fear until that moment. The moment she watched her husband fall off the roof. It was January 9th, already a week past due for the Christmas lights to be down. Tisha walked out of the kitchen