I don’t know how I got there—on the street, with the protesters, and their songs and chants of “ENDSARS!”—but I feel like I was exactly where I was meant to be. When we were younger, we were taught to sing: “we are the leaders of tomorrow.” But what happens when the leaders of tomorrow emerge, and the leaders of today …

Last year, I visited my homeland, Ghana, for the first time in my life. I did not know how much I would need that trip, and how the lessons I learnt would free me from myself. Being born and raised in Canada, it’s very easy to feel detached. Yet when I had the opportunity to visit Ghana and learn about …

Everything you plant in Kinshasa grows. A seed towers into a mountain, a molecule of salt into a diamond, a quarrel between brothers boils into civil war.  Maybe this is why Congo is the most resource-rich nation on earth. Maybe this is why the plunder still rages. The Beauty of the Congo is not just in its earth, but also …

Usually, when people ask me where I am from or what my background is  and I mention Zimbabwe, they pause for a bit and either ask “where is that?” or “you’re the first person I’ve met from Zimbabwe.” The continuous response that always strikes me the most, however, is “MUGABE? that’s the country with Robert Mugabe right?”  After years of …

Words are powerful instruments that some are expertly trained to play. In West Africa, the talent of wordplay belongs to the Griots. These prolific wordsmiths form a caste of skilled storytellers, but the tales they regale are not fictional, they are rich oral accounts of West African history and philosophical thought.  In Medieval Mali, Griots of the Malian Empire served …

My grandmother likes to begin a story by looking into herself. She sips from her tea which is sometimes chai, other times orange pekoe, decaf – seeing as she drinks multiple cups a day and we realized how much caffeine that was – laced with honey, just a touch of it to sweeten her words. She closes her eyes. She …

If there were founding fathers, then surely, there must have been founding mothers. The birth of a nation, I am certain, is not without the influence of those most vital to its continued lineage. Those who were critical in shaping the destiny of our nations, birthing constitutions, and willing governance to existence are, at worse, erased from its history and, …

It was the summer of 2017 and I had just graduated from my MA in Globalization. It had been 6 years since the Arab Revolutions, and 7 years since my last visit to Egypt. By then I had developed a hobby out of documentary photography and was yearning for a good adventure. I was torn between capturing the aesthetics of …

Winston Churchill is quoted as saying “Democracy is the worst form of government except for all those other forms that have been tried.” It’s hard to disagree. When I compare democracy to other forms of government that I understand, this sentiment rings true to me. Worldwide, non-democratic governments are revered as illegitimate and primordial, while Democratic pursuits are funded by …

For as long as we have existed, Africans have been storytellers. It goes beyond the simple concept of sharing of information or telling a story. It is about carrying forward the ways of our ancestors, of assuring a transferring of culture and rites of passage. It is an ingrained part of our tradition and so without further ado here are …

The Caribbean is littered with rich experiences and adaptations of life on the islands. The stories and culture often transcend borders and are reflected in the experiences of Caribbean immigrants all over the globe. Dive in with us into these narratives as we explore 7 titles written by Caribbean writers.  ‘Til the Well Runs Dry – Lauren Francis-Sharma Francis-Sharma takes …

The point of mythology or myth is to point to the horizon and to point to ourselves: this is who we are; this is where we came from; and this is where we’re going.

“Eh Kwik!” “Eh Kwak!”  In her book, “Tales From the Caribbean,” author Trish Cooke recounts the call and expected response that raconteurs would give in her parents’ native Dominica before launching into traditional folk stories. With roots in African tradition oral tradition, this type of storytelling has allowed the passage of monsters and mischief-making characters across the Atlantic. Cooke notes …

In Bridgetown, the world has changed in many ways; a tiny rat with goat horns, bat wings and an eye is breaking into people’s homes and feeding on their terror. A large bird is sighted in the sky, causing the authorities to shut down all travel, and a herd of albino cows flock to the ocean. The Caribbean Ocean rages, …

“Bue pono no.” Open the door. Sunset, and our Chief Priestess stands on a grassy mountaintop amid water yams thick with the thatch of an unharvested season and calls on Nyame. She is trying to cast out a wicked future and invoke one where invaders do not capture our Helpers. Weeks ago, in the nebulous confines of tomorrow, she saw …

In my dreams, there is a little girl standing in front of a door. Waiting.  And I am waiting too. For her, or for this dream to be over, and to be free from these tremors that haunt me at night. Whichever one comes first. I try to see what is on the other side, of her face, of My …

There was an odd wind that evening that blew across the field. Something about it that carried an air of intrigue as it rustled the tall grass. As the big top tent rose, curiosities were wheeled in one by one under the cover of the night. Some boxes were large, and others were small. The night protected those wandering eyes …

Whole bites are taken out of Uncle Lu’s tomatoes. Bites shaped by vaguely human teeth, as if someone had taken a single chomp and decided to walk away. The black earth in Uncle’s garden is uplifted like it’s been danced in.  A breath exhales right by my ear, and I flinch.  “Akeelah, I don’t suppose your uncle wants to use …

Who is Akeelah?  The question annoyed me, even now, days after my professor had asked it. It was homework, an introductory essay for the Literature elective I had stupidly decided to take. I had no idea where to begin. I knew I was myself, everyone has a sense of just knowing without really understanding. I knew instinctively what kind of …

I stepped into Brown Sugar at a quarter past twelve. Dry-ice smoke coiled around my feet. The lights were low and colours skated across the dance floor, hues of blue, red and gold. Ganga, fried fish, sizzling meat and scented sweat shot into my nose. Bodies swayed to the vibrations of Chronixx from the speakers. An ache swirled in my …

There are some things the body remembers. How to ride a bike,  the way home, and the feeling of shame.  The tricky thing about the body is; it may heal from the scar left by a rabid dog, but it may never heal from the terror of its bite. I still hear barking in my dreams. The snicker of the …

All the curry from her fingers rush into my nose. She was the peppers under her skin, and light as basil. All of her flowed into me as my nose swallowed the scents from her scarf. Her voice summons me to the places in between what is true, and what is possible. The living room became an auditorium, an arena, …

On my flight back home,  I clutched silvery and blue feathers for my life, riding on the back of a bird the size of a moon. We soared through a current of storm clouds as the bird spoke anxiously over the sound of thunder.  “I’d like to express that I have several concerns,” said the bird.  “Uh-huh,” I muttered, more …

Everyone had gathered at the table for lunch, we had even convinced Grandma to come sit, although she had been strangely reluctant, muttering on about something she was looking after.  Come to think of it, Grandma had been distracted at the market. Rather than looking at what we needed for stew, she haggard over to stalls that were selling herbs …

Akeelah is awaken by a herd of albino cows as they march towards Bridgetown beach. Akeelah tracks them down, and tries to set them free.

It was Akeelah’s destiny to open the door of return 1000 years after her Ashanti ancestors put the helpers inside. But she forgot. Now the helpers are free and are ravaging her dreams and Bridgetown. Akeelah must find a way to reconcile with her history, and unravel the web Anansi spins for the people. This is a soundtrack to this …

All uncomplicated relationships are alike; every complicated relationship is complicated in its own way (Anna Karenina principle anyone?). From polygynous partnerships to unpaid bride price, the novels and short stories below delve into a variety of relationships. Some stories will leave you asking: What’s love got to do with it? Others answer: Everything.

The earth is in shambles. But it’s not entirely OUR fault. Sure there are things we can work on together. Take time to nurture our soil a bit more. But we are reducing reusing and recycling. The margine container with leftovers, eco-friendly. Plastic bag drawer for all our plastic bag needs, eco-friendly. Kids being yelled out to turn off the …

Black people have this united talent of making the best out of any situation. COVID-19 and quarantine is no expectation. Calling out someone’s ashy elbows can no longer happen as easily as before, we can still manage to laugh at other things like taking Dr. Umar out of context and applying his invigorated speech to literally anything else.  We have …

We all had travel plans this year. To Africa, to Asia, to the fridge. As unfortunate as it is that we were put on house arrest without warning for the last 7 months, that does not mean our travel plans have been totally wiped from this year. Many are rediscovering their own backyards, their states, provinces, and countries. With a little creativity (or delusion) you too can travel and have the vacation experience.

Obviously these are not the only clubs that exist in Ontario or even in North America and the west that act as representatives of our collective power. Let us know about your Black/African Association and your experiences. We are always looking to connect and grow the TRAD family. We are who we are because of the people that have built us up!

If 2020 has taught me one thing, it’s the importance of cultivating and healing my mental health. In a world where we are continuously absorbing content that is littered with Black and African Death, In a world where we are obviously addicted to social media and its connectivity, we are bringing you some accounts to add to your instagram and make your feed a space of healing.

What does it mean to revive Igbo; a language on the verge of extinction, and can saving a language also mean saving a people? This is the question we were investigating when we spoke to Amarachi Attamah, Dr Oluchi Ibe, Ịfụnanya Nwanonyiri, Emeka Ibe, Maazi Ogbonaya, Yvonne Mbanaefo, and we gleaned from the work of Lotanna Igwe-Odunze

“Il faut travailler ton Francais”, I recall my mum saying. “You need to work on your French.”  It was a regular summer afternoon, and as regular summer afternoons went, I was working on exercises from the next year’s curriculum under my mum’s supervision. This was when I was still in primary school, say grade 3 or 4. The subject I …

Fram reggae tu dub poetry tu pride in a wi culcha, nationality, and dialek, whole eep a ting bout wi Jamaican culcha wi owe nuff respek to one oman. As a poet, comedian, folklorist, television and radio personality, singer and actor, di whole a Jamaica luv har like fambily and call har Miss Lou – not Louise Bennett-Coverley. Di way …

The way in which language is molded in every part of the world is very intriguing and to track the way colonization has impacted language and the way in which people communicate is very important.

No matter where we come from, languages are the tools by which we gain access to communities. Omar shared with us how growing up in Sénégal naturally made him into a polyglot.

From her poetry to her musicals to Ring Ding, Miss Lou’s work always embodied traditional Jamaican culture

Its never enough to read about languages, its not even enough to hear them. You have to feel it. The languages of our people are vessels that carry centuries of memory. From Xhosa clicks that are strung into melodies by Makeba and Bongeziwe to the clash of Wolof used as a rallying cry by Youssou N’dour, our languages tell the …

There are about 2000 languages spoken on the African continent. This does not even include its vast diaspora. Our languages, like our peoples, are deeply diverse. Our languages are ancient and modern. They are recited, signed, written, and sung. They are Creoles and pidgins; they are holy languages and love languages. May the best language win.

I am of the hope that, by the end of this exercise, you would appreciate a great deal, my presentation of the various perspectives relative to the subject matter, and in conclusion, rightly agree that indeed, Fante, is the most romantic Ghanaian language, therefore, the most romantic language in the world.

Language is the foundation of human identity. In all its forms—whether it’s written, spoken, drawn, or signed—it has given us access to learn about societies that date back centuries before our time. It is a way for people and societies to connect and interact.

Yoruba is a language that exists entirely in the realm of my grandmother’s house, and here, in this church, where it is mine and ours, where I finally feel like a part of something.

Many linguists describe communication in most African regions as being heavily oral. Historically, many stories have been passed down through word of mouth.  But what happens when you do not speak with words, or listen with your ears?  Different types of communication within African cultures are rarely discussed.  What is not widely known is that  African regions have a long …

For most of my life, I have straddled this reckless line of never being African enough and also never being Arab enough. As a Libyan, I have been told I break the mold of who should be an Arab and cannot be placed in one of the countries in the Levant, Machrek and Maghreb regions. The cultural rule of thumb is: if you speak Arabic and you don’t belong to one of those countries then you are not a “true” Arab speaker.

As I walked through the streets of Dakar in Sénégal, I heard the whispers of Wolof all around me: Na nga def, mangi fi rekk, toubab. The words all blended together to my untrained ears. As a foreigner, I’d wrongfully expected to hear French, since Sénégal is a former colony of France. I later appreciated that the local language of the Wolof people was thriving here, unerased by the forces of colonization.

Language is an integral element of our identities. It serves as an embodiment of our communities, our heritage, and oftentimes, our history. Our words can be used to express our deepest truths, but the dialect that we speak them in can reveal hidden stories that we may have been completely unaware of.

Behind every click, tonal pattern and phoneme, we hear a language so familiar to southern Africa and the continent. It is the language that was taken to the international stage, and amplified Makeba’s exoticness through her music, by having her sing her “click” songs—a diminutive term that white South Africans and Americans used to mimic the Xhosa language. A ‘click song’ to the colonial ear, ‘Qongqothwane’ to the Xhosa ear, but in its essence a song of good fortune.

I’d often wonder if African peoples from before they were colonized had more comprehensive concepts of what constitutes a person, and how they understood romantic and sexual encounters between people. I wonder if by revisiting some of these concepts and reintroducing them, we can build a bridge to better care for, and respect queer Africans. Indegious african perspectives on sexuality are desirable, but not necessary to guarantee the dignity of members of our community.