Identity Theft

I have a new story out in the Spring Issue, volume 10, of SNReview: http://www.snreview.org/0109Onyemelukwe.pdf. It was also published last year in issue 5 of African Writing: http://www.african-writing.com/five/cheluchionyemelukwe.htm. Below is an excerpt:

Identity Theft
The day seemed to go by in a blur; it now hung in that dim zone that was neither night nor day. The ceremonies of the first day were almost over, but the smell of the burnt skin of the cows that had been killed the night before still lingered. The akwunechenyi music produced by rhythmic drums, beat by well-dressed drummers dancing to the sound of their own music, and the piping sound of the oja, the small wooden flute that praised the deserving and those who had come of age, got fainter as the musicians moved farther away from the ceremonies. Most of the guests – and there had been many – had gone home too. But a few people were still sitting out front, under the brightly coloured canopies, talking and smiling, asking to be served with food and drinks, as if this was a party. Some asked for the more expensive bottles of small stout and Guinness malt in place of the cheaper Coca Cola. Mrs Anoliefo could not see any of this from where she was sat on a small stool in front of what used to be the kitchen. But she could hear the noises and having attended, and even helped organise events like this, she saw the scene in her mind’s eye: young men lounging around, drinks in hand, showing off their youth as if they would never die, young women asking for food for their children who had eaten more than once, old women saying their soup lacked meat, all having a good time. As if they had come to a party.