The Golden Baobab Prize for African Children's Literature

Followers of this blog know that I'm an avid supporter and noisemaker of writers - especially writers who are African. Today, I am introducing the most outstanding literary award on the continent for children's literature: Golden Baobab Prize for African Children’s Literature (2013).

Golden Baobab is a social enterprise seeking to inspire the creation, ensure the production and facilitate the distribution of enthralling, captivating, culturally relevant literary content by African writers and illustrators for African children. And you know I'm all for African content generated by Africans!

The Golden Baobab has organised the most competitive literary prize on the African continent, having received a record number of over 800 submissions since its inception, thereby spearheading a renaissance in African children’s literature. This year, the prize promises to be even better. Yep, the illustration bit is a turn on for me too.

The Golden Baobab Prize for Children’s Literature is calling for African citizens of all ages to write and submit stories to any of the three prize categories for the Golden Baobab, based on eligibility. Read here for more details.

The Writers Project of Ghana supports Ghanaian writers (add Creative Writing Ghana here too), and has supported the Golden Baobab Prize since its inception. Now, I belong here. So Gh writers, stand up and let’s put Ghana on the African literary radar by submitting stories to this year’s Golden Baobab Prize.

If you’re going to be the next big name in African children’s literature, you better go the Golden Baobab Prize way. And if you want to just try out, well, there is nothing to stop you

Deadline for Submission is 14th July, 2013. All the best.

In the Light of Our Tomorrow

This poem was first published on Akwantuo, an online literary magazine, in June 2010.

Shrinking

Shrinking…

shrinking to the core

Man has lost reason

Man has refused the light

What Man has been longing for ages

Man is shrinking

Shrinking his power of thought

To his vast stretch of rich unusable land

He must lose reason

His eyes set nowhere beyond his corridors

Shrinking, Shrinking, Shrinking

Flipping his very self to hide in his ears

Man cannot think the possible

of the impossible

His firmer grip of the imagery of the impossible

is first forged, then the possible

must be forced out of Man

for he has lost reason

His knowing of everything

has become his nothing

So all things held simple

must first be complex

to be broken down to its core again

That is the unsung philosophy

Cyclical madness

Man has lost reason

So we must go to his funeral

It is at the burial grounds Man must think

who next to follow

in the journey of the burying of Minds

Man has lost reason

So keep your beloved lads indoors

He is a thief of minds

He seeks such stuff to bury

So shut your future up–away from Man

Man is you so shut yourself up

lest you kill another Mind of tomorrow

for your tomorrow

Man has lost reason

So he is shrinking, shrinking to the core

- Nana Yaw Sarpong

The Morphology of Your Dance: Poetry

It is poetry month in the United States. In Ghana, we do not have such. In an earlier post last month, I had mentioned something about how the World Poetry Day has been celebrated in Ghana for more than a day. In fact, for a week.

Kinna Likimani of Kinnareads is observing it on a bigger scale with 21 days of poetry. Do check her out

Today, I share an old poem of mine. Happy Poetry Month, Americana

The Morphology of Your Dance

Your pride is as light as your heart

Your heart as weak yet

As purposeful as the Spider’s web

Yours remain where it sits on a knife’s edge

We know the intricacies of your proud dance.

We taught the original: so

Your time and pride is predictable

You Wretched dancing to the dead

Come back with your cobweb heart,

Anaanu ntang!

Let’s see the morphology of your dance.

On the stretch of the Spider’s web

Messing your way to the dead

Your skin did

The adaptation to your cold winds

But you covered your beginnings

Telling us you were original

Playing a tune of subterfuge

Till we are

Subverted in your reverse

Psychology.

We — for the Earth’s movement —

A moment,

Believed

And while drunk with your weak tears

You danced your way into our hearts.

But come!

Let’s see the morphology of your dance

We knew your tricks were

From your weakness

Your imposed fear

That we shall come for your blood

So you came for our lands

Opening up her belly, bloodying your way to your glory

It was you covering your weakness

As you danced your way to the dead.

But when we believed you, we lost, and

You won

Yet we know your pride and time is predictable.

So come let’s see the morphology of your dance

7 December 2011

Something Beautiful

I want to write something beautiful
Not a poem
For I fear the gruesome reality
Might shock me
Shattering the smithereens 

Of what so human is left

Of my community's love

I want to write something beautiful

Not a poem

For I might record something grim

Wiping the smiles off the walls

Of strangers faces that greet me

Each morning

On Amantra Street

I want to write something beautiful

Not a poem

For I must capture lost dreams

Why passers-by pass by

Erasing our once communal love

But what I heard this morning was beautiful again:

Of You telling me "we don't know you yet we love you"

19 December 2012.

Osu.