Photo by Mmartin1460 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0 By the quiet waters of the suburban town of badagry/ there is somewhere called: the point of no return/ slaves that were carted away on wooden vessels beyond that point would never return home again/ I stand at the...
Photo by Cc3339 via Wikimedia Commons. License: CC BY-SA 4.0 The sign on the locked gates to Holy Land said ‘No Trespassing,’ but it was almost lost in the overgrowth. Graham thought he could make a convincing argument that he hadn’t seen it if...
(text by Miriam Calleja; photograph by Dylan Willoughby) They said I should hide my body but make it more accessible, fit it with locks that only stay on the latch, never lock the doors, and never draw the curtains completely. My mum insisted that I should get...
Photo by Scott Anderson Old stone steps wedged in loam wind down the gorge to forest then river. Here shadows hide before noon and the world-weary congregate— cottonwoods, maples, oaks. Brown switchgrass. A hollowed out log worn smooth by wind, water, the work of...
Photo by T. Obi, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons This story, as with all stories about apartments in Lagos, begins with a girl searching for home on lost shores and fading highways. And the sellers of the city conning naïve buyers in the streets, drying out...
Photos by Claudia Lundahl We land in Alghero and the air feels like a warm bath, tepid and gentle, soothing my senses – a corporeal lullaby that triggers an immediate shift in my mindscape. I’ve been here before, several years ago, and my body seems to remember. I...
