I remember being told Onsi was a poor artist barely able to feed his family, and my mother, an admirer of his art and a lover of nature, bought all his paintings.
As in her debut, Antigua heads off any feelings of confessional monotony by mixing her diary poems with an elegant variety of lesser confessional, more expositional poems.
Bige as an in-your-face activist-poet resists the colonizer through a poetry they themselves appropriate and transform mainly via language play and voice into an indigenous poetry of personal redemption.
Whatever happened to that one secretary from your job? The one who likes talking about murders instead of doing any work? I bet she already knows more about Aida than I do.