Writing as writing. Writing as rioting. Writing as righting. On the best days, all three. Teju Cole

It is an especially humid day. The air is stifling and rivulets of sweat run down my back and stain my white shirt. “Ma,” I say. “Why don’t we open a window? This heat is killing me.” My mother is lying very still on the floor, lethargic. She is sweating but she does not answer me… [4mins]

In collaboration with Bahati Books.