I’m Carlos Battaglini and I left everything to become a writer. Here you will find posts about my curious life in Liberia and other African countries. It is also where I immerse myself in the burning light of African literature through brutally honest book reviews. Welcome to your home and thanks for joining me on this adventure.
I left everything to become a writer, join me on this adventure.
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Did you know that the sea and air conditioning sound quite alike? When I am…
I SLEEP IN GBENEQUELLEH IN A TINY ROOM with no mosquito net, hoping malaria in Liberia…
“NO. IT’S NOT MALARIA,” said Drazen, dripping, “it’s something else. Something cold that gets in…
Africa
Our football team has won and we’re all celebrating at the Red Lion, under the…
The meeting will begin at eight o’clock in the morning. That’s what the green paper…
Being born black can be very hard, and while there are quite a few nuances,…
Helene Cooper tells us that she had ancestors on the colonisation ships coming from the…
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I hit the streets once again without an umbrella in Liberia and after taking a mere seven steps, I have to go back in. Under some kind of porch, I wait to…
I GENTLY WALK INTO THE MINISTRY OF LAND, MINES AND ENERGY in Liberia, but nobody sees me. They are all there, but nobody sees me. They are asleep. The secretary, receptionist or whatever…
Heart of Darkness narrates the story of a sailor named Marlow, who one day decides…
Blue Clay People tells the story of William Powers, a North American aid worker in…
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I AM WRITING FROM ACCRA, GHANA, AND I CAN SCARCELY BELIEVE THAT I AM FINALLY HERE. I am writing with bloodshot eyes, with several days’ stubble and pronounced bags under my eyes,…
CONSISTENT WITH THE IDEA THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE ANIMALS who usually have dinner at night, I logically attended the collation at the Korean restaurant at Bushrod Island, Monrovia, in the evening. As you do.…
