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Who invented truth

Who invented that piece of nonsense called truth? Tired of truth, I am. And metanarratives and more truth and post colonies. An intellectual world in which each paper rewrites its own perceptual framework; everybody is represented, nobody is real.

Sick, I am, of affirming stories about strong brown women; of being pounded into literary submission; patronised beyond humanity. I miss beginnings, middles and ends. Please bring back the myths and legends – even those ones about wise rabbits and wicked witches.

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A Day in the Life of Idi Amin

The hot dry breeze is lazy. It glides languorously collecting odd bits of paper, they tease the ground, threaten to take flight, tease the ground.

Every so often there is a gathering of force and a tiny tornado whips the paper into the air, swirls dust around, dogs lift their ears, tongues lolling, then burrow their faces between their forelegs as the wind collapses, exhausted.

Children are in school, long lines of spittle reaching their desks as they try to keep awake

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Discovering Home

Somebody has locked themselves in the toilet. The upstairs bathroom is locked and Frank has disappeared with the keys. There is a small riot at the door, as drunk women with smudged lipstick and crooked wigs bang on the door.

There is always that point at a party when people are too drunk to be having fun; when strange smelly people are asleep on your bed; when the good booze runs out and there is only Sedgwick’s Brown Sherry and a carton of sweet white wine;

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Where Is This Place

Bracketed and intersected by 9/11, Mwai Kibaki’s ascent to power, Kenya’s post-election violence, and Barak Obama’s election; written primarily during Binyavanga Wainaina’s residence in the US, or at least away from Kenya; set in Kenya, Uganda, South Africa, Nigeria and the US; and marked by sounds from Congo, South Africa and the US, along with the Kenyan benga; and shifting, frequently, between the confessional and the ethnographic, the nativist and the cosmopolitan, the national and the postnational, how might one describe where One Day I Will Write About This Place lives as it travels?

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DISCOVERING HOME

By Binyavanga Wainaina (Winner of The Caine Prize 2002) Chapter one THERE IS A problem. Somebody has fallen asleep in the toilet. The upstairs bathroom is locked and Frank has disappeared with the keys. There is a small riot as drunken women with smudged lipstick and crooked wigs bang on the door. There is always […]

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