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Angola Divina by KWAKU KAMASO

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“Feeling sick, being unwell, dragging yourself from ward to ward, silent commutes by car, staring at the window the roads, faces, fields go by, while all around you marbled gypsum is white and crumbly, undecipherable like the blank stares of those who won’t make it. But sometimes the code unfolds
and everything is clear and bright like Gods and Goddesses in the blinding clearings of Africa, and suddenly you see land and this land is Angola, a maze of rivers and deserts, anguished and miserable like the dark and obscure and looping thoughts of melancholic ebony Goddesses, once fierce and all-mighty and magical, now scattered on floors of corridor after corridor, white cigarette paper burning and the toxic smell of disease and solitude. When nobody understands you and the only thing left to do is let go and flow along the currents of the Kwangu river, all the way to the oceans and plains once inhabited by proud tribes, now as vast as desolated and miserable, heavy with sorrow and disconsolation. Sick. The faintest of chances you’ll be better. And then one day you are better. Your skin shiny, limps moist and you don’t need to close your eyes to the sun, you’re not afraid of pain. Angola unfolds, in the midst of marbled gypsum and savannahs.”



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