Nakupenda Yeyo: I Love You, Mama
The literary care package, scratched and battered from its 3000-mile journey from the coffee table of my mother’s living room in New Jersey, is part of a tradition she started when I was a child. Every month, she would purchase one or two books by notable African-American authors; and two or three others from some other literary heavyweight. I remember watching her hands, slim and brown, slide over the dusty cracked spines of second-hand paperbacks. Her long fingers stretching like brown snakes, and darting out to snatch a dog-eared copy of a Langston Hughes’ anthology from the crowded shelf.
READ MORE
