Kuhelika Ghosh

Oct 3, 2024 | brittlepaper.com | Kuhelika Ghosh

1Where’s Carl? It was a dark and cloudy Monday morning. Veronique Plaatjies, or Nique, as her family and friends knew her, sat at her makeshift desk. She started every morning the same way. A steaming cup of black coffee, pen in hand, her journal in front of her, the curtains pulled back and windows pushed slightly open: a perfect frame for watching the world go by. A few old magazines were stacked on a corner of Nique’s desk. Receipts and bills lay scattered next to an empty handbag.

Sep 25, 2024 | brittlepaper.com | Kuhelika Ghosh

Who Will Bury You? “Come in, come in, Mai Mfundisi. I’m so happy you could make it. It’s not every day that the reverend’s wife comes to visit. Please, sit. And I’ll get the tea. Yes, it’s just me here. Been that way since my Tino left for Canada last year. My only child gone to the other side of the world. I’m still not sure why she left so abruptly. For so many years, she watched her age-mates board planes to try their luck elsewhere, and she was content to remain with her mother in Zimbabwe.

Sep 5, 2024 | brittlepaper.com | Kuhelika Ghosh

Chapter NineThe night was warm, and the mosquitoes unobtrusive, their presence announced only when they pricked the bare legs and arms of a patron at Shigudu’s. Around Zanya, customers buried their heads in steaming bowls of pepper soup, and he caught a glimpse of their faces when they needed to wash down the ganda or cool their tongues with a swig of beer.

Aug 15, 2024 | brittlepaper.com | Kuhelika Ghosh

Learning to Make FufuStanding in the kitchen feels like standing in the oven: the heat suffocates me, and the smell of various foods cooking churns the acid in my stomach. It’s almost too much, every burner on the stove occupied by a bubbling pot, the oven stuffed with a turkey, a ham, and baked fish, the counters covered with bowls and trays of side dishes African and American. “Okay, Akosua,” Auntie Fergie says, pressing her palm against my shoulder. “The jollof rice will be done soon.

Jul 25, 2024 | brittlepaper.com | Kuhelika Ghosh

There’s an old tale where we live about throwing a newborn into the lagoon. If the baby drowns, it is illegitimate and the mother must be banished from the community. But if it floats, the infant is embraced by all. They say fathers used to celebrate their child’s birth with this test. It must have been a trick, though, as every- body knows that all babies float. I was born in the water. That’s what Papa says but it’s a fiction.