#Conundrum, #love, #poem, #poetry, #sierra-leone, #sierra-leone literature, #the human-condition, Blogging


York, Sierra Leone. Photography by Nadia Assad

I’m a thief just a peg lower than Robin,
donning a hood Issa Kabbah never unveiled.

Poaching feelings across minds and giving them wings.

Letting them fly to the welcoming hands of estranged lovers
to use as weapons,
in status’ shade wars.

Subliminal yet direct.

Quotes coated in Quixote bravery

Memes Galore.

But then what are we if not mercenaries?

A La God, Allah Messengers to the masses.

What of those in homes whose only solace reside in our words,
and in these moments feel connected to a larger hive that understands the deep pits of depression that internet clout chasers skim over.

We give you passion.

We dish you joy.

And mash your wins to look back on the L’s you took that left you shook.

Of beautiful sunsets and wild romance.

Discreet flings and getting turned down in love at your first advance

In denial of the face of pain and shedding Nile long tears,
and losing loved ones in this mortal world.
We stand by you with all the memories.

For we are dealers.

We peddle and walk the corners of your lives.

We deal in feelings.

The real trap lords, WordBangers.

So when next you see me and remark.

‘You don’t look like a poet’

I’ll smile and reply,

‘What do human feelings look like’?


#Conundrum, #KamandaKoroma, #landmark, #love, #poem, #poetry, #sierra-leone, #sierra-leone literature, #the human-condition, #thoughts, Blogging

Blogging from Sierra Leone: The ‘Why’.

There are millions of narratives online about people and their stories, mostly as strangers without meeting each other we connect with these experiences as we find ourselves relating to them. The intricate nature of human existence is the simple truth that in our differences we notice familiar things that brings us to the earthy truth that we are but just a singular race.

Every human has a story to tell and it’s no wonder in this day and age why blogging holds such a strong allure. Strangely the idea to create a blog to post my poems, articles and ramblings came not from me , but from my cousin, Ibrahim Jalloh (R I P).I had shared a piece via WhatsApp to him and after reading, he remarked that it would be a great idea to have a platform to air out my writings.

In his words he said, ”Kamanda, you have to save your writings and keep them so that they can be a moment in time when you had these thoughts. After all, even if no one reads them, they will always live”. These words rang true, Ibrahim always did have a penchant to say the rights things in a modest way.

Naturally I had some misgivings about the whole idea out of fear of internet trolls and another from the insecure idea that I thought my writings weren’t good enough. I slept on his advice. Several days later I set up a WordPress account and the rest as they say is history.

Blogging from Sierra Leone is not an easy feat. For starters, the internet penetration in the country is relatively low, and the data charges are somehow steep. Less than 10% of Sierra Leone’s approximately 7 million citizens utilize any social media tool and of that number the vast majority use Facebook and the cross platform app WhatsApp the most.

The reality is if you intend to tell the Sierra Leonean story via blogging, you come to terms with the stark truth that your countrymen will most likely not be a huge chunk of your audience. This realization alone is enough to deter many, I have known many fellow writers who started off writing on WordPress or Blogspot only to abandon it due to lack of instantaneous followers. Some chose to stick to Facebook blogging with the same recycled audience and recycled feedback.

I was tempted to take the easy route, but I did not. It dawned on me slowly that it would be better to grow an organic following from complete strangers and also from people I knew who would click my WordPress blog link to let my writing speak for itself. I held the firm belief that if I had to evolve from the cocoon of familiarity of the usual audience feedback that my Facebook posts garnered, I would be stuck in an endless loop, and what I craved was growth along with a bigger platform to tell my stories.

It has been almost two years now and I am approaching 500 followers. Through it all I have learnt some vital lessons. Blogging like any art form requires dedication. You have to put in the work to connect with your audience. The sooner you realise that the quality of your content will boost or reduce the feedback you get, the wiser you will become.

There is nothing I appreciate more than the feedback from readers and fellow bloggers, every comment or a like indicates that someone, somewhere took their time to read what I had to offer and leave a response. On some days as a dabbling writer that is the only thing we require, it’s less about a thirst for the spotlight and more about appreciation that comes with understanding. Blogging brings you closer with the art of others that gives you the necessary push that also stimulates the growth of your own art.

I can say without an iota of doubt that my writing has improved because I have encountered sound writers on this WordPress platform who have directly or indirectly influenced me with their brilliance and simplicity in tackling complex issues.

Blogging instills in you the confidence to air out what you have been stifling. The relief that such an outlet offers is priceless. To tackle the social ills of a nation on a broad expanse of issues and proffer solutions. Every complimentary feedback I receive motivates me to do more and tell our stories.

To every other Sierra Leonean blogger out there, keep doing you. Tell your story.

I will keep on blogging and sharing my experiences, as a voice from the western side of my continent, and let our stories be part of the album of the playlist of the myriad online stories written by people from around the globe.

In the words of Marco Koroma,

“Impact is greater than clout”.


#Conundrum, #earth, #KamandaKoroma, #love, #lust, #nature, #sierra-leone, #the human-condition, Art, Blogging, Uncategorized


Dawn has a hymn

It sounds like water greased in a piano played by crickets.

Don’t ask me what I mean, only God knows.
Even when I wake up early, lately I feel like i’m still dreaming

Sleep on that thought, I’ll come back to it if my amnesia doesn’t remember me to forget.

So I was on a bed;

disoriented, lingering hangover whilst my brain was stitching last night’s memories.

I sat up, I gazed at a familiar stranger in the sheets,

was this my home or hers?
These days I can’t tell.

This Bad Cancer Tho…

Its her place, the tell tale sheets figure it out.

Next thought; usai me phone day? My hands rove under the bedspread and I remember with a slight giggle,

way me korkoh padi say some too cheap for call sheets.
I mean the sheets, not her

But fuck it…

Who go know baing?

So my hands were busy searching for my kori kori fone,

they dance and trace over the maps of her skin which I laid claimed and made conquest to yester-night.

I let my hands linger in the soft crevices.

Lord forgive me,

you forgave David and blessed Solomon.

I’m just a lowkey conquerer with no land to call home.

Other ego laced thoughts butt in like.

Did I win here?

Or did my strokes come fast first like Usain.

No time to dwell on that.

I find my phone.

Destination: Jump go WhatsApp

Eyes scan what and who to reply…

Fuck a two blue tics..

so I switch my data off and read,

a recipe for future denials to say,

‘ I never saw your message’.

With a sly chuckle in my head that I feel within that dark half stone muscle I call a heart.

I feel alive;macho like a mexican cartel Boss yet dead inside.

All whites gone…cocoa leaf broke, unsaintly.

This Bad Cancer Tho…

She awakens, I know.

I feel her before I hear the yawns tasting where she had my madinka snake in,

Such a crude thought imagery, mama forgive me , you raised me to be a decent gent but I fell off.

I smell her before her hands reach the nape of my neck,

my Bvlgari cologne is all over her,

the hint of whiskey she drank from my red cup scintillates around her too.

She says GM.

Funny she doesnt call the words , just ,G M.

I, L O L within.

Even better i’mma eat her breakfast and go home,

with my raspy growl I replied with a smile that I am good.

‘Me man get for kam soon o’,she says.

‘So no eat nr day for me’, I respond.

‘Eat day but oda tem now ‘she says with a wry smile dancing on her lips

‘Ok…i’ll sapp you’ I say.

I don’t plan to or maybe I will.
This Bad Cancer Tho..

So here I was..

Under a drenching downpour of rain that makes one think of coupling pairs heading into Noah’s ark.

and Me ;

As the day breaks tinap day bell okada man for balance police na corner corner and promise for add 5grand ontop d money at 6am.

So dawn, does sing a tune,

only, its different to who we are when it saunters in, and where we are when it arrives.

The sunrise isn’t always warm.

So yeah, maybe, strong memories do override that amnesia I mentioned earlier.

So here I am a lost soul who found solace on a misty night only to be cast in the storm at dawn to wallow.

Sleep on that.

Judge me or don’t.

Just blame it on…
That Bad Cancer Tho.