My next literary voyage has landed me on the shores of the Americas. It is from here that I bring to you a work of fiction I have struggled with for a couple of years--long before I received any inspiration to write, THE MILAYI CURSE, SINS OF OUR HEARTS, RATENG' AND BRIDE, or WHISPER TO MY ACHING HEART--all of which have seen the light of day.
Here comes NOT ON MY SKIN, a novel in honor our many Safaris and awakenings in the wider diaspora.
In Alila's "NOT ON MY SKIN," the all-American City of Harmony is not exactly harmonious. That is the conclusion of Ochome, a poet and suburbanite, who has staked out his evenings compositing verses in the city's Oak Street Café from where the American life plays itself out before his analytical eyes. Ochome discovers that Harmony City's peace is only skin deep; wherever he turns, he sees, hears, and constantly feels souls cursing in various nuances of "not on my skin"-- a protest mantra against nuances of prejudice he sees, hears and feels in the city café and beyond. The Café crowd has a few regulars, notably the verbally-disengaged Quartet of Sam, Pierre the snoop, Ochome , and Frank. But the hero is the diabolical Alex, a man considered a mad nuisance by all, but who, in reality, is the only mirror and gong off which Harmony City perhaps can see and hear itself--the same way a child's innocent words are the real measure of the moral quality of life in a home.