TABLE contents of
Politics
The Last to Wake, the First to Bleed
Kitchen
The African Kitchen: Where Memory Lives and Meal Planning for Busy Mothers
Self Care
he Weight of Two Worlds: The African Diaspora’s Silent Burden
Women voice Visit
Daughters of AFrica
7 African Islands You Must Visit Instead of Bali or Maldives
editor letter fromthe
Dear Readers,
As Fall colors the season, I invite you to journey with us through the voices that make People of Africa Magazine a mirror of our past, a witness to our present, and a compass for our future. This issue is a tapestry of identity, heritage, innovation, and sustainability. We celebrate the diaspora proof that Africa is not bound by borders but lives in our languages, music, food, and rituals carried across oceans.
We honor the future being built today by bold entrepreneurs, creators, and visionaries who show us that Africa’s potential is alive, not distant. And we honor the past traditions, wisdom, and art that are not relics but living testaments, roots that continue to nourish our wings.
Finally, we reflect on sustainability the balance between growth and stewardship, dignity and responsibility. Every choice we make echoes across generations
Your presence is proof that Africa’s heartbeat is strong, steady, and unstoppable.
And through it all runs the power of storytelling. It is through stories that we remember who we are. It is through stories that we challenge the narratives imposed upon us. It is through stories that we reclaim our voice, reshape our image, and reimagine what is possible. This issue, dear readers, is both a celebration and a call. A celebration of what we have carried with us and what we continue to create. And a call to see ourselves not as bystanders in history, but as authors of the future.
Thank you for being part of the People of Africa community. With every page you turn, every reflection you share, and every conversation you spark, you give life to the vision of this magazine. Your presence is proof that Africa’s heartbeat is strong, steady, and unstoppable. With gratitude and anticipation,
HoneymoonAljabri Chief Editor, People of Africa
WHERE EVERY VOICE MATTERS.
TheLasttoWake,theFirsttoBleed
For centuries, Africa has been told what it is, what it should be, and what it must accept. But how long can a continent of one billion souls keep swallowing lies dressed as aid, friendship, and “development”?
Let us be honest: No Western country invests in Africa without milking it dry. The handshake comes with cameras; the deal is signed with conditions; and when the spotlight fades, planes depart in the night carrying gold, cobalt, oil, and the sweat of Africa’s soil.
Thomas Sankara warned us: “He who feeds you controls you.” Yet Africa continues to beg at the tables of those who mock its leaders in broad daylight. Western heads of state publicly scold African presidents as if they were disobedient children, while those same presidents roll out red carpets and summon schoolchildren to dance for their “guests.”
Why must the richest continent in resources behave as though it is the poorest? Why do we celebrate outsiders while mistrusting our own innovators, our own farmers, our own youth?
The ghosts of Kwame Nkrumah, Julius Nyerere, Ahmed Ben Bella, Nelson Mandela, Muammar Gaddafi, and Sankara himself are watching. They remind us that independence was never meant to be the end of the story it was meant to be the beginning of true self-reliance. Africa is not lacking. Africa is looted. Africa is not voiceless. Africa is silenced. But here is the truth they fear: Africa’s heartbeat is too strong to be buried.
Why does Africa not choose itself?
in suits sat around a polishe table and carved Africa into pieces, like bread to be sha yet not a single African voic was heard. They thought th story would end there. But Africa remembers. Her wounds are not erased. The transatlantic slave trade ca millions of us away mother torn from children, sons fro fathers. The ocean became graveyard, heavy with bone songs, and silenced dreams Middle Passage was more t route; it was a wound that n healed. Across the seas, the children of Africa built nati that refused to call them family. They lived in two worlds, but belonged to none.
From Berlin to today, the African story is one of wounds, resilience, and unbroken spirit.
Independence came like a sunrise, yet it was not the morning we dreamed of. Flags rose, anthems played, but the chains were only changed, not broken. Patrice Lumumba’s voice still echoes a young man who believed freedom could be real, only to be betrayed by those who feared an Africa standing tall. Thomas Sankara dared to imagine self-sufficiency, but was silenced before his dream could take root. The price of vision in Africa was too often death.
We speak of a wound and a healing. We speak of loss and renewal. We speak of a people who will not be erased.
Neocolonialism came dressed in new clothes. The CFA franc still ties economies to Paris. Trade deals keep Africa poor while her resources make the world rich. Western soldiers walk African soil, while not a single African soldier sets foot in theirs. The exploitation is quiet now, more polite, but it cuts just as deep.
And yet Africa gives. Always, she gives. She gives rhythm to music, colors to art, power to language. She gives the world cocoa, cobalt, diamonds, and oil. She gives spirit, innovation, and resilience. The diaspora too gives through culture, activism, and brilliance even while carrying the weight of exile and rejection. We are the gift that never stops giving, even to those who once enslaved and silenced us.
The struggle is not finished. It lives in the young African in Paris, wondering if home will ever see her as one of its own. It lives in the African-American walking streets built by his ancestors’ hands, yet still fighting to be seen as equal.
When we say I am an African, we do not just speak of geography. We speak of a wound and a healing..
It lives in African nations demanding fair trade, not charity. But Africa is not broken. The Berlin Conference divided land, but it could not divide the spirit of a people. Our story is not one of endings it is one of return. The drums still beat. The languages still rise. The children of Africa, scattered across oceans, are finding their way back, carrying memory like fire. When we say I am an African, we do not just speak of geography. We speak of a wound and a healing. We speak of loss and renewal. We speak of a people who will not be erased. History cut us deep, yes. But from those scars comes a strength the world cannot contain. Africa is not a shadow in someone else’s story.
Africa is the story. Africa is the future.
African by Heart, Powerful by Nature.
A Living Language on Skin: The Story of Amazigh Tattoo
I was born under the vast skies of North Africa, where the Sahara is not just sand, but a living archive each grain a memory, each gust of wind a messenger of the past. The Atlas Mountains rise in the distance like sentinels, watching over lands shaped by centuries of stories, struggles, and survival. This is the land of my ancestors, the land of the Amazigh, indigenous Africans whose voices have long been whispered across time, carried by the wind and inked into skin.
FOR AMAZIGH WOMEN, TATTOOING WAS NEVER A MERE CHOICE.
When I moved across the ocean to the United States, I felt a fracture. The diaspora is often caught in silence suspended between two worlds, belonging fully to neither. North African children grow up speaking borrowed languages, wrapped in borrowed flags, yet deep inside, their bones still hum with the rhythm of the Amazigh.
I realized then that we were forgetting. Forgetting the taste of our grandmother’s bread baked on stone. Forgetting the tattoos our mothers once wore blue ink pressed into skin as maps of identity and protection. Forgetting that our stories are not written in books, but carried by tongues, sung by fires, whispered by the wind.
So I began to tell them again. I write. I speak. I translate. I create. My zines sit quietly in bookstores across six states in America, but they are more than paper they are small flames, resisting erasure. I host a podcast where my ancestors sit beside me, invisible but present, correcting the Orientalist lens that has too often painted us as strangers in our own land.
IT WAS A WEAPON OF INK, A GUARDIAN OF FLESH AND SPIRIT.
w
shield, a deterrent against French soldiers; to the colonizers, a tattoo was a strange and unsettling mark, but to Amazigh women, it was a weapon of ink, a guardian of flesh and spirit. Colonial authorities tried to erase this practice. Laws banned tattooing, prohibited women with tattoos from certain jobs, and sought to silence a culture that carried memory in every line and dot.
Girls, often beginning their tattoos at puberty, were kidnapped, subjected to violence, and forced into labor or worse an attempt to sever their connection to heritage at the moment it should have begun. Yet despite the blood and silence, the stories endured.
People of Africa had the chance to sit with Ifri, a modern voice of the Amazigh people. Born in Morocco and raised with oral histories passed down through generations, she has dedicated herself to reconnecting the North African diaspora with their ancestral roots. Through her zines, Ifri’s podcast, and translations, she preserves the knowledge of Amazigh symbols, stories, and traditions. Last year, she bore her first tattoo a personal reclamation of history, a statement that ink can speak louder than fear, that culture cannot be buried.
BECAUSE IF WE LOSE THEM, WE LOSE NOT JUST HISTORY, BUT THE HEARTBEAT
OF A PEOPLE WHO HAVE ALWAYS BELONGED TO THE EARTH.
This work is not just for her. It is for every child of the diaspora who has felt unmoored, caught between continents, told they are not indigenous enough, not Western enough, never enough. The Sahara still speaks. The Atlas still watches. The land remembers us, even when we forget ourselves. And so Ifri keeps telling our stories. Because if we lose them, we lose not just history, but the heartbeat of a people who have always belonged to the earth.
THEAMAZIGH: GUARDIANSOFTHE SAHARA, KEEPERSOF HISTORY.
Amazigh Tattoo Symbols:
Cinsla (Chain): Connection to family and tribe.
Thabanat (Flies): Protective charm against evil.
Sun & Diamond Shapes: Mark rites of passage and fertility.
Blue Ink: Natural dye representing protection and beauty.
Rites of Passage & Protection:
Tattoos marked puberty, marriage, and womanhood.
Served as protection against illness, misfortune, and colonial violence.
A map of identity, culture, and survival.
Colonial Suppression:
French authorities banned tattooing and prohibited tattooed women from certain jobs.
Girls at tattoo age were kidnapped to suppress cultural continuity.
Many hid or stopped tattooing to survive, but the legacy endured.
Resilience & Continuity:
Tradition survived through oral history and secret practices.
Modern creators, like Ifri, reclaim symbols as a living language of identity and protection.
Tattoos now celebrate heritage, connecting diaspora communities to their roots.
Get Lost Before You Get Married
No-GPS road trip to test
Leadership, and the long road ahead
If you want to know whether a marriage can hold, take two people, one car, and no GPS. Then drive past smooth tarmac and potholes, past tidy plans and sudden storms until the road teaches you who you both are. Because marriage is not a destination. It’s weather. It’s detours. It’s the art of staying kind when the map stops making sense.
Why the “no-GPS” road test works
On a road without the blue arrow rescuing you every five seconds, real habits surface. You’ll meet the versions of yourselves that matter in a lifetime: the patient navigator, the stubborn driver, the silent sulker, the quick apologizer, the calm planner, the joyful improviser.
It reveals how you solve problems, share power, and repair conflict.
It shows your money mindset (splurge vs. save), your risk appetite, and whether you can still laugh when the sky turns on you.
It lets you see how your partner treats strangers attendants, vendors, elders which is often how they’ll treat you when the romance gets tired.
Across Africa, roads are metaphors made of gravel: Cape Coast sea mist hugging the windshield, Atlas switchbacks teaching humility, baobab shadows offering shade when tempers run hot.
.
journeys make families long The continent knows:
before ceremonies do.
Ground rules (love needs boundaries)
1.Safety first. Pack a spare tire, jack, triangle, first-aid kit, water, snacks, cash, headlamp/torch, copies of IDs, and emergency numbers.
1.No GPS… with an emergency envelope. Keep one phone sealed with offline maps for true emergencies only(medical danger, nightfall + no safe lodging).
1.Rotate roles. Swap driving and navigating daily. Power must travel both ways.
1.Set a daily budget and a time box. Agree when to stop for the night fatigue is a home wrecker.
1.Daily check-in ritual. Ten minutes each evening: High/low/learned/loved.” No fixing, just listening.
The love-intransit toolkit
HALT rule: Don’t debate when either of you is Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. Pause. Eat. Breathe. Then talk.
The 20-minute truce: If voices rise, pull over, step out, feel the wind, reset.
U-Turn dignity: A wrong turn is not a moral failure. Say, “We’re learning the road,” and turn back together.
Repair words: “You’re right, I was unkind.” “I’m sorry.”
“How can I make this better now?”
Five-to-one: For every correction, offer five genuine appreciations. Marriages run on fuel you cannot buy at a station
Micromoments that tell the truth
Decide before you roll:
The missed sign. Do you blame or brainstorm?
The roadblock/checkpoint. Do you stay respectful, organized, calm?
The cash-only toll. Do you problemsolve or panic?
The flat tire in the rain. Do you become a team or two solo acts?
The hungry hour. Do you weaponize silence, or share the last mango?
The beautiful detour. Can you choose delight over control?
Budget: One envelope for fuel/food/lodging, one small emergency stash.
Decisions: If you deadlock, trade choices: one chooses today’s lunch, the other chooses today’s stopover.
Generosity: Tip fairly, greet people in the local language if you can, listen when locals give directions. Kindness is a compass.
Money, time, and the myth of “my way”
Green flags
Green flags & red flags (be honest)
Quick apologies without courtroom arguments.
Shared leadership: you both ask, “What do you think?”
Humor under stress; gratitude spoken out loud.
Curiosity about people and places; respect for different ways of living.
Red flags
Contempt (eye-rolling, mocking), stonewalling, score-keeping.
“Winning” the argument more important than arriving together.
Money shaming or secret spending.
Cruelty to service workers or strangers (it won’t spare you later).
Debrief: the 12 questions that matter
After the trip, sit somewhere quiet. Tea helps. So does honesty.
1.When did I feel most loved by you on the road?
2.When did I feel least safe/seen and why?
3.How did we handle hunger, fatigue, and heat?
4.What did we learn about spending and saving?
5.How did we treat strangers and what does that say about us?
6.Which role felt heavy (driver/navigator) and how can we balance it?
7.What apology do I still owe you?
8.What did we do brilliantly as a team?
9.Which fight would we handle differently next time?
10.Where did we choose joy over control?
11.What new ritual from the trip should we keep in our marriage?
12.After seeing us under pressure, do I feel closer and clearer about forever?
A short sample route (3
days, any country)
Day 1: Leave late morning; aim for a town 3–4 hours away using only road signs and human directions. Picnic under a tree; arrive before dusk.
Day 2: Take the scenic, slower road. Stop for a roadside market. Let yourselves get a little lost; ask for help kindly. Journal your “high/low/learned/loved.”
Day 3: Choose a different route home. Switch roles. Debrief at sunset before you re-enter regular life.
Get
Final word (from the road itself)
Marriage is a long road across
changing country Sahara crosswinds, Rift Valley light, the green hush after a storm.
You won’t always know the way. But if you can be fair when you’re tired, gentle when you’re right, and brave enough to make a U-turn without shame, you’re already most of the way home.
Note: This is loving, practical guidance not a substitute for professional counseling. If the trip uncovers deeper hurts (control, fear, disrespect, safety concerns), consider premarital counseling with a qualified therapist or faith/community elder you both trust.
We are Africa. Divided on paper, united in spirit.
No matter where come from in Afri or Cape Town, La Lusaka there are things that unite deeper than bord Forget passports colonial lines dra butcher marks on ribs here, a T-bon chopped without They divided us, b never cut out our Because if there’s thing every Africa knows, it’s this: n plays with Mama’ or the household Those are not cleaning tools; they are weapons of mass discipline.
“I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD, AND I CAN TAKE YOU OUT.”
They fly faster than any drone, with GPS locked on your back, your leg, or your behind. And when they land, they carry the famous African proverb every mother knows by heart: “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”
We laugh now, but those moments stitched us together. They taught respect, resilience, and the sacred truth that in Africa, discipline is an act of love wrapped in tough words.
Beyond the shoe and the broom, there are other threads that weave us as one:
From griots in Mali to fireside tales in Kenya, our histories dance through words, rhythm, and song.
Respect for elders: Wisdom is not written in books alone; it lives in wrinkles, in softspoken counsel, in the patience of grandparents.
Hospitality: Step into any African home and you’ll leave with a full stomach and a fuller heart.
Music and dance: From drums in Senegal to Afrobeat in Nigeria, from kizomba in Angola to taarab in Zanzibar our feet cannot stay still.
Resilience: No matter what borders sliced us apart, we remain bound by community, by the instinct to stand together when times are hard.
Our strength is not in uniformity but in the joy of recognizing ourselves in one another. We may speak different tongues, eat different dishes, or dress in different colors but we all know the sting of the broom, the swiftness of the slipper, and the deep laughter that follows when we tell the stories years later.
The Shoe, the Broom, and Africa’s Shared Laughter
STORYBYSTORY SHE GIVES AFRICA
ITS
FLOWERS AFROMACHI
In the digital age, when attention is fleeting and stories vanish with a scroll, one young woman from Enugu, Nigeria, has chosen to slow us down. To remind us of who we are. To ask us to look again at Africa not through the eyes of the world, but through the soul of her people.
Her name is Udeh Precious Enyiomachi, but to millions online she is simply Afro Machi. A content creator, storyteller, mentor, and dreamer, she has become one of the bold voices of a generation reclaiming Africa’s narrative.
“I started creating when I was still in college,” she recalls. “I knew storytelling was powerful enough to change how Africans see themselves and how the world sees Africa.”
For Machi, Africa is not just a place it is a heartbeat, a hidden jewel, a story waiting to be told. Her journey into storytelling began not with beauty, but with pain. She once watched a true crime documentary about Nigeria that went viral. It attracted millions, but left her unsettled.
THE WORLD HAD SEEN AFRICA’S SCARS, BUT NOT ITS LAUGHTER, NOT ITS LOVE, NOT ITS PRIDE. “AFRICA DESERVED MORE THAN THAT,” SHE THOUGHT. “AFRICA DESERVED HER FLOWERS.”
SO SHE BEGAN. DAY BY DAY. STORY BY STORY.
ONE PEOPLE. ONE HEARTBEAT. ONE PRIDE.
Her series 100 Days of Africa brought history, culture, and pride to the timeline starting with the infamous “Ghana Must Go” bags, and unfolding into tales of hidden gems, leaders, and moments of resilience. At first, she imagined her audience would be only Africans. But soon she realized it was wider. Africans in the diaspora. Lovers of Africa. Curious strangers who discovered joy, pride, and wisdom in her voice. Through storytelling, Machi learned as much as she taught. She rediscovered the heroes of independence, the unity that once defined us, the brokenness of today, and most importantly the hope that refuses to die.
When she speaks of Africa Without Borders, her eyes light up.
“A borderless Africa is the Africa that will rise,” she insists. “Visas hold us back. They stop us from traveling to each other, from loving each other, from building together. If we opened our borders, we’d realize that everything we search for outside is already here. Africa must learn to visit Africa first.” She speaks of the Sahara and the Kalahari with the same wonder others reserve for Dubai. She reminds us that the beaches of Zanzibar, Cape Verde, and Seychelles rival those of Bali. To her, Pan-Africanism is not theory it is practice. It is pride. It is love. It is choosing to know your own continent before you search elsewhere.
FROM ENUGU TO THE WORLD, SHE RECLAIMS AFRICAN NARRATIVES WITH PRIDE, POWER, AND PURPOSE.
Being African tells us,
isnot aboutthe colorof yourskin
But her storytelling is not blind to the past. She invokes the Berlin Conference of 1884, where Africa was carved apart without a single African at the table. For Machi, healing is essential. “It’s time to stop fighting each other and start healing each other,” she says. “Time to stop crying over what was done to us and start building the Africa we want.”
Her vision is bold. An African Union flag at the Olympics, the World Cup, the African Cup of Nations. A symbol to remind the world and ourselves that Africa is not just 54 countries, but one people. One heartbeat. One pride.
Beyond the screen, she speaks at youth programs, mentors young creators, and hosts Safe Space with Machi, a platform for mental health and identity conversations. Her work blends purpose with vulnerability, weaving personal healing into continental hope.
Itisabout pride.
“Being African,” she tells us, “is not about the color of your skin. It is about pride. It is about love. It is about belonging.”
And in every story she tells, she gives Africa exactly that belonging, love, and the flowers it has long been denied.
“WHEN SUDAN WEEPS, AFRICA CRIES. WE ARE ONE BODY EITHER WE ARE ALL WHOLE, OR WE ARE ALL BROKEN.”
THE HEARTBEAT OF AFRICA
Sudan. A name that carries history, resilience, and sorrow.
From the Arabic Bilād as-Sūdān the Land of the Black it has always been more than a place on a map. Sudan is a rhythm, a pulse, the quiet heartbeat of Africa. Yet today, that heartbeat trembles. While the world looks away, while the news cycle turns to other stories, Sudan bleeds in silence. But for Africa, there is no silence here. For when Sudan weeps, the whole continent cries.
A body cannot say it is well while one limb is broken. Africa, too, cannot claim progress while Sudan suffers.
The People: Pride in the Midst of Pain
Sudan is home to some of the most humble and welcoming people in the world. Hospitality runs through their veins. Pride and resilience stand tall in their spirit. Even in the shadow of war and hardship, the Sudanese have carried themselves with dignity and grace, teaching the world lessons about strength that textbooks could never hold.
But resilience is not an invitation for neglect. Sudan’s people deserve more than survival; they deserve a future where their children inherit peace, not war; where their laughter echoes louder than gunfire; where their hands hold books and dreams, not weapons.
Africa’s Shared Wound
Sudan’s pain is not Sudan’s alone. It is Africa’s. When the Congo mourns, when Somalia suffers, when Sudan breaks the entire continent fractures. Our unity cannot be selective, our solidarity cannot be seasonal.
The world has long come to Africa’s soil to take what is precious. They mine our lands, drink from our rivers, carry away wealth that should build our nations and too often, they leave behind nothing but division and guns.
But Sudan’s struggle reminds us of a truth we can no longer ignore: either we all rise, or we all fall.
Choosing Us
It is time to stop waiting for outsiders to save us. It is time for Africa to save itself. For leaders to understand that Africa’s future will never shine if its heart is bleeding. For ordinary people across the continent to realize that Sudan’s tears are ours, too.
Because Sudan is not just a country. Sudan is a mirror showing us what happens when we turn our faces away. Sudan is a lesson teaching us that the cost of silence is always too high. Sudan is a light one that flickers but refuses to be extinguished. Sudan, you are not forgotten. You are Africa, and Africa is you. We see you. We honor you. And we believe one day, your heartbeat will steady again, strong enough to carry all of us forward.
OUR UNITY CANNOT BE SELECTIVE, OUR SOLIDARITY CANNOT BE SEASONAL.
SILENT BURDEN
“Whenyoucomefrom Africaandthisis somethingIdon’tthinkwe speakalotaboutwhenyou makemoney,itisnotyour money.”
The Weight of Two Worlds: The African Diaspora’s Silent Burden In November 2023, former Chelsea midfielder John Mikel Obi reignited a conversation that has long lingered in the shadows: the heavy, unspoken weight that African breadwinners carry. Speaking on the Vibe with Five podcast hosted by Rio Ferdinand, Obi admitted, “When you come from Africa and this is something I don’t think we speak a lot about when you make money, it is not your money.”
Those words carry a truth that cuts across stadiums, streets, and oceans. For African footballers, yes, but also for nurses working double shifts in London, taxi drivers in New York, students balancing studies and side jobs in Paris, or caregivers in Toronto. It is the unwritten contract of the diaspora: your success is never just yours. Your paycheck, your energy, your dreams they are divided before they even reach your own hands.
You give to parents, to siblings, to cousins. You pay school fees for children who are not your own. You build houses in villages you may never live in, while renting a single cramped apartment in a foreign city. You carry entire families on your shoulders, yet often feel unseen, uncelebrated, and alone.
For some, like the footballers we once adored Emmanuel Eboué, Celestine Babayaro, or Lerato Chabangu the wealth was dazzling, but fleeting. Riches slipped away under the weight of obligation, bad choices, or relentless requests. But this is not just the story of stars. It is the story of ordinary Africans in the diaspora, stretched thin between two worlds.
And the cruelest part? Even as you give, you are never enough. To those back home, you are African but not quite. Your accent has shifted, your ways softened by foreign lands. To the West, you are an immigrant useful, but never fully embraced. Always the outsider, you find yourself suspended between continents, floating somewhere in the Atlantic or Indian Ocean, never fully belonging to either shore.
It is in this space of in-betweenness that the deepest questions live: When is enough, enough? When do we learn to say no without guilt? When do we begin to live for ourselves, to claim our right to joy, to belong not to duty but to destiny? The diaspora’s story is not just about money; it is about identity, dignity, and the constant tug-of-war between heritage and survival. To choose Africa is to honor your roots but risk feeling stranded by expectations. To choose the West is to seek stability but risk feeling like a stranger to your own blood. And yet, perhaps the answer is not choosing one over the other, but finding peace in the paradox.
To carry Africa within, wherever we go. To honor family, but not lose ourselves. To create a home whether in Lagos, London, or Lisbon that whispers: I belong here. I belong to myself. The African diaspora is both bridge and burden, exile and embrace. It is a life of sacrifice, but also of resilience. And maybe, just maybe, it is time to loosen the chains of expectation and let the next generation carry lighter loads, so they may finally stand with both feet on solid ground
Dear Diasporas
Createahome whetherin Lagos,London,orLisbon
That whispers: I belong here.
I belong to myself.
Ourprideis Africa felt,not told.
wo Worlds, ne Kitchen
Some journeys begin not on grand stages, but in the quiet corners of a kitchen For Marie founder and executive pastry chef of L’ATELIER her stage was a wooden table in Ivory Coast, where her mother’s hands measured more than ingredients. They measured patience. They folded memory into dough They stirred love into bowls that fed both body and spirit
Born on Ivorian soil and raised on her mother’s secret recipes, Marie carries that legacy like a heartbeat into everything she creates. Each cake is more than sugar and flour it is a bridge: between past and present, Africa and America, memory and dream.
“Ingredients like mango, hibiscus, or roasted peanuts bring me back home,” she says. “They’re not just flavor notes, they’re memory keeper
Flavors That Remember
hermother,roots, andIvorian ingredients
Her leap from corporate America to the warmth of the oven was not a simple one. It was, as she recalls, terrifying and liberating at once. Yet the first real order the cake she decorated until dawn, the cake that finally whispered this is where you belong transformed her life. It was not just a cake; it was a declaration of selfhood. From that moment, Marie refused to separate the worlds inside her. She allowed them to dance: Africa with its boldness of fruits, colors, and ancestral stories; America with its restless energy and open canvas. A guava cake layered with strawberry confit, or a hibiscus posset crowned with citrus, becomes a culinary passport a sweet dialect spoken in two tongues, yet always tasting like home.
But Marie is not only baking cakes she is writing edible stories. Her desserts speak of resilience, migration, and joy. They whisper of a 17-year-old girl leaving Ivory Coast to chase a dream across the Atlantic, and of the woman she became an artist who shapes butter, sugar, and flour into vessels of memory. “I hope when someone tastes my work, they feel more than comfort,” she says. “I hope they feel seen, inspired, or reminded of their own story.”
For every dreamer who sees themselves in her journey, Marie offers wisdom forged in fire and frosting: start messy, honor your roots, stay curious, value consistency, and protect your joy. These aren’t just lessons for bakers they are lessons for living. Through L’ATELIER, Marie is not simply redefining what cake can be. She is proving that food is archive, culture, and poetry. Every bite carries the taste of home, the courage of a leap, and the beauty of belonging.
How
FelaKuti’s
MusicBecametheDrumbeat ofPan-AfricanResistance
Start with Zombie that hypnotic rhythm, the sarcasm, the mockery of blind obedience. Show how one song turned the Nigerian military upside down. Describe how Fela turned his grief into rhythm, how Coffin for Head of State was not just a song, but a funeral procession turned protest after his mother was killed during a government raid.
When the Saxophone Spoke Louder Than Guns
easonina orldofNoise
lk about the chaos postlonial Nigeria, military coups, ctatorships. And in that noise, s barefoot saxophonist merges.
la doesn’t just entertain he ucates, exposes, enrages. He comes the truth the media on’t print. builds Kalakuta Republic, a opia for free thought, music, d rebellion.
Pan-African
Pulse
plain how his music spread ross Africa and the diaspora.
la wasn’t just a Nigerian artist was a continental nscience. His Afrobeat came the sound of Panricanism. People in Ghana, uth Africa, the Caribbean en Black America recognized e message. He reminded ricans they were not werless, that African unity as possible and necessary
CCoffinforHeadofState CoffinforHeadofState offinforHeadofState
Recount the tragedy the army attacks his commune, throws his elderly mother from a window. He marches with her coffin to the president’s doorstep. Then he records Coffin for Head of State. It’s grief turned into defiance, a soundbite for the ages
Why Africa Still Needs Voices Like
Reflect on today corruption, injustice, suppression of voices. Ask: Where are our Fela’s now? Music has power. Artists have power. But who dares speak truth to power today?
Heblewintohissaxophoneand Africaexhaled. Hesang,anddictatorstrembled.
Feladidn’tjustplaynoteshe playedfutures.
Andtoday,westilldancetothe drumbeatofhisdefiance.
Why the World Charges
Visa Apartheid AfricanstoDream
In the heart of Africa, where dreams often outgrow the soil they were planted in, the journey to the West has always been a beacon of hope. For many, it's not just about travel; it's about opportunity, education, and a chance to rewrite their narrative. But what happens when that beacon becomes a distant star, unreachable due to policies that seem to favor the few over the many?
The Bond That Binds Dreams
On August 20, 2025, the United States introduced a pilot program requiring citizens from Malawi and Zambia to pay visa bonds ranging from $5,000 to $15,000 for tourist and business visas. This policy, aimed at countries with high visa overstay rates, has been met with criticism for imposing significant financial burdens on individuals from nations where the average monthly income is around $150. The Zambian government has expressed concern over the "unnecessary financial strain" this policy places on its citizens, highlighting the disparity between the cost of the bond and the average household income.
A Tale of Two Policies
While African nations grapple with these stringent visa requirements, they often extend hospitality to Western travelers. Countries like Kenya, South Africa, and Rwanda offer visa-on-arrival facilities to citizens of many Western nations, including the U.S. and the U.K. This reciprocal gesture underscores the warmth and openness that Africa extends to the world. However, the question arises: why is this hospitality not mirrored by Western nations?
The Emotional Toll
Imagine a mother in Malawi, saving for years to visit her daughter in the U.S. Her dream is to witness her child's graduation, to be present for milestones that define a lifetime. But the $15,000 bond stands as an insurmountable barrier. The emotional weight of this policy is not just in the denial of entry but in the dreams deferred, the family reunions postponed, and the opportunities lost.
It's time for a shift in perspective. African nations have long opened their doors to Western travelers, often without the stringent visa requirements imposed on their own citizens. It's time for Western countries to reciprocate this gesture. Policies should be rooted in mutual respect and understanding, not in financial barriers that perpetuate inequality.
The visa bond policy is more than a bureaucratic measure; it's a reflection of how the world values its citizens. Africa has always been a land of resilience, hope, and warmth. It's time for the world to recognize this and to build bridges, not walls. As we look to the future, let us advocate for policies that honor the dreams of all individuals, regardless of their birthplace.
Divided to Conquer:
...
Why Crossing Africa Is Harder Than Leaving It
Lines drawn in Berlin still lock our hearts. Yet we can’t cross our own deserts without visas or exorbitant fare.
1. A Scar Etched in History
In 1884, colonial powers met in Berlinnot to understand Africa, but to partition it. With pens, they sliced through kingdoms, cultures, kinships with no consent. That act didn't just redraw borders it cut through our memory, our unity, and seeded a distance that travel alone cannot heal.
2. The Added Cost of Exploration
Today, those lines still stand on our maps and in our wallets.
In West Africa, travelers face departure charges of $109 on average, compared to $30–$34 in Europe or the Middle East. Across the continent, airfare is 45% more expensive than similar-distance flights globally.
Flying from Kinshasa to Lagos (about two hours away) can cost up to $1,500–$2,000, while Berlin to Istanbul is less than $150 for the same or longer journey. These numbers are absurd and emblematic of the burdens imposed on African mobility.
3. Visas, Invisible Walls
Nearly 47% of intra-African routes still require visas, down slightly from 55% in 2016 but far from open borders.
Aliko Dangote, a billionaire, lamented needing 35 visas to move across the continent.
Only four countries Benin, Gambia, Rwanda, Seychelles offer visa-free access to all Africans; Kenya has joined in opening access to African nationals.
4. Why It Matters
Travel restrictions are more than inconvenience they’re barriers to our collective future. Intra-African trade remains low hovering between 15–17%, compared to Europe or Asia. Tourism potential is largely untapped: African citizens can’t easily cross to explore the Sahara, Great Lakes, Serengeti, Timbuktu, or the Cape but foreigners can.
6. The Sacred Invitation
To truly love Africa, we must first know her feel her rhythms, understand her landscapes, and honor her stories. That begins with removing lines that keep us from ourselves
5. What Liberation Could Look Like
Open Borders: A rich pan-African visa-free zone born of unity, not vestige.
Affordable Skies: A revived SAATM (Single African Air Transport Market) powered by competition and smart policy as Unity: to an act of ning each d a stitch f Africa’s
Map made by colonial powers. Our hearts tied. It’s time to redraw not with pens, but with footsteps.
Africa
In the tender embrace of "Heartstring," Honeymoon Aljabri weaves a tale as poetic as the African sunset. Ahmad, a Moroccan footballer, and Zahra, a Sudanese artist, flee their respective storms, finding solace in the ancient streets of Italy. Their journey is a symphony of whispered dreams and unspoken desires, an escape from the shadows of Istanbul and Washington D C In the quiet moments between heartbeats, their souls recognize each other, echoing the rhythms of their shared continent. As their paths intertwine, love blossoms like the desert rose, pure and unwavering In this dance of destiny, they discover a sanctuary in each other's arms, a love that transcends borders and heals the deepest wounds, resonating with the timeless beauty of Africa itself.
heartstrings
homefolk
Every Home has a voice where walls hold stories
Wherewallshold stories,and memorybreathes throughfabric, wood,andclay.
An African home is never silent. Even when empty, its walls whisper the laughter of children, the rhythm of drums, the scent of spice rising from kitchens, and the stories carried in woven mats, carved stools, or a grandmother’s clay pot.
Whatmakesahousetruly African,yetmodern?
Fabric as Memory:
Kente, Kitenge, Mudcloth, Shweshwe every pattern is a page in our collective history. A cushion stitched from ancestral cloth can sit beside a sleek leather sofa, reminding us that modern design doesn’t erase tradition, it converses with it.
Artifacts as Anchors:
A carved mask on a white wall. Beaded baskets holding fresh flowers. A calabash on a glass table. Accessories are not just decoration, they are symbols reminders that heritage lives in our daily gaze.
The Blend of Past and Present:
African homes today tell layered stories: smart TVs beside handwoven baskets, incense burning near essential oil diffusers, solar lights glowing above ancestral photos. The past does not leave it adapts.
Homefolk is about listening. Listening to what your home says about where you come from, and how you choose to live now. Because every African home, no matter how modern, carries the echo of roots that run deep.
Iam an African
"I am an African... I owe my being to the hills and the valleys,.. the mountains and the glades, the rivers, the deserts, the trees, the flowers, the seas and the everchanging seasons that define the face of our native land. I am an African!..
I owe my being to the Khoi and the San whose desolate souls haunt the great expanses of the beautiful Cape..., they who fell victim to the most merciless genocide our native land has ever seen, ...they who were the first to lose their lives in the struggle to defend our freedom and independence and they who, as a people, perished in the result.
Today,.. as a country, we keep an audible silence about these ancestors of the generations that live, fearful to admit the horror of a former deed,... seeking to obliterate from our memories a cruel occurrence which, in its remembering, should teach us not and never to be inhuman again. ..
I am formed of the migrants who left Europe to find a new home on our native land... Whatever their own actions, they remain still, part of me... In my veins courses the blood of the Malay slaves who came from the East...
"Their proud dignity informs my bearing,..their culture is a part of my essence. ..The stripes they bore on their bodies from the lash of the slave master are a reminder embossed on my consciousness of what should not be done.
I am a grandchild of the warrior men and women that Hintsa and Sekhukhune led,.. the patriots that Cetshwayo and Mphephu took to battle,.. the soldiers Moshoeshoe and Ngungunyane taught never to dishonour the cause of freedom. ..
My mind and my knowledge of myself are formed by the victories that are the jewels in our African crown,.. the victories we earned from Isandhlwana to Khartoum,.. as Ethiopians and the Ashanti of Ghana, as the Berbers of the desert. ..I am the grandchild who lays fresh flowers on the Boer graves at St Helena and the Bahamas,... who sees in the mind's eye and suffers the suffering of a simple peasant folk,... death.., concentration camps,.. destroyed homesteads, a dream in ruins.
I am the child of Nongqause... I am he who made it possible to trade in the world markets in diamonds, gold, in the same food for which my stomach yearns...
I come of those who were transported from India and China, whose being resided in the fact, solely, that they were able to provide physical labour,.. who taught me that we could both be at home and be foreign,.. that human existence itself demanded that freedom was a necessary condition for that human existence... Being part of all these people, and in the knowledge that none dare contest that assertion,.. I shall claim that: I am an African...
I have seen our country torn asunder as these, all of whom are my people,.. engaged one another in a titanic battle; the one to redress a wrong that had been caused by one to another and the other, to defend the indefensible...
I have seen what happens when one person has superiority of force over another,.. when the stronger appropriate to themselves the prerogative even to annul the injunction that God created all men and women in His image.
I know what it signifies when race and colour are used to determine who is human and who subhuman ... I have experience of the situation in which race and colour is used to enrich some and impoverish the rest...
I have seen concrete expression of the denial of the dignity of a human being emanating from the conscious,.. systemic and systematic oppressive and repressive activities of other human beings... There the victims parade with no mask to hide the brutish reality,... the beggars,.. the prostitutes, ...the street children,.. those who seek solace in substance abuse,.. those who have to lose their sanity because to be sane is to invite pain... Perhaps the worst among these, who are my people, are those who have learnt to kill for a wage ...
Among us prowl the products of our immoral and amoral past, ..killers who have no sense of the worth of human life,.. rapists who have disdain for the women of our country, ...animals who would seek to benefit from the vulnerability of the children..., the disabled and the old,... the rapacious who brook no obstacle in their quest for self enrichment...
All this I know and know to be true because I am African!.. Because of that,... I am also able to sta this fundamental truth that I am born of a peopl who are heroes and heroines, of a people who would not tolerate oppression...
I am of a nation that would not allow that fear of death,.. torture, imprisonment,.. exile or persecution should result in the perpetuation of injustice...I am an African.
I am born of the peoples of the continent of Afr ... The dismal shame of poverty,... suffering and human degradation of my continent is a blight that we share...
The blight on our happiness that derives from this and from our drift to the periphery of the ordering of human affairs leaves us in a persistent shadow of despair... Whatever the setbacks of the moment,.. nothing can stop us now! Whatever the difficulties,..
Africa shall be at peace! However improbable it may sound to the sceptics, Africa will prosper!
7 African Islands You Must Visit Instead of Bali or Maldives
Known as the Spice Island, with white-sand beaches, turquoise waters, and centuries of Swahili culture. A place where history whispers in Stone Town’s alleys and sunsets paint the Indian Ocean gold. Reason to visit: Perfect mix of culture, food, and stunning beach escapes.
1. Zanzibar, Tanzania
2. Seychelles
115 islands scattered across the Indian Ocean, home to giant Aldabra tortoises and coral reefs. UNESCOprotected beaches like Anse Source d'Argent are ranked among the most beautiful in the world.
Reason to visit: It’s African paradise.
3. Mauritius
A melting pot of African, Indian, Chinese, and French cultures.
Famous for its volcanic landscapes, waterfalls, and lagoons that look unreal. Reason to visit: Luxury + culture without leaving the continent. .
4. São Tomé and Príncipe
Africa’s second smallest country, hidden in the Gulf of Guinea. Untouched rainforests, cocoa plantations, and volcanic beaches. Reason to visit: For those who crave offthe-map beauty and authenticity.
5. Madagascar
The island of unique biodiversity 90% of its wildlife is found nowhere else on earth. From baobab forests to pristine beaches, it’s truly a world of its own. Reason to visit: For adventure seekers and nature lovers.
PEOPLE OF AFRICA
Known as the Perfume Isles for its fragrant ylang-ylang and spices. Volcanoes, hidden beaches, and warmhearted culture welcome you at every step. Reason to visit: Raw, untouched beauty a hidden gem in the Indian Ocean.
6. Comoros
7. Cape Verde (Cabo Verde)
Ten volcanic islands off West Africa’s coast with stunning beaches and Afro-Portuguese culture.
Famous for its morna music (like Cesária Évora) and colorful Creole identity.
Reason to visit: Perfect for travelers who love culture as much as coastlines.
To travel Africa is to love Africa.
It’s about time Africans stop spending billions flying to Bali, Maldives, or Jamaica when our own continent holds treasures the world envies. Our islands are not just postcard beaches they are histories, cultures, and futures woven into the ocean ’ s rhythm.
To travel Africa is to love Africa.
To invest in Africa is to believe in Africa. ��✨
thisis africa
Our pride is not shouted, it is lived.
Sameera Moussa: Egypt’s Atomic Visionary
The sun rose over Zifta, Egypt, on March 3, 1917, and with it, the birth of a girl whose mind would one day stretch to the stars and beyond.
Sameera Moussa grew up in a world where women were seldom allowed to dream of laboratories or lecture halls, yet she carried a vision no walls could contain: to make atomic energy a force for healing, not destruction, and to bring cancer treatment within reach of every patient, as simple and vital as aspirin..
A Mind Ignited
Her journey began at Cairo University, where her intellect shone like a beacon. By 1939, she earned a BSc in radiology with first-class honors, and soon became the first Egyptian woman to obtain a PhD in atomic radiation. But titles and degrees were only the beginning. She became the first female assistant professor at Cairo University, breaking barriers in a world that often underestimated her. Every day, Moussa blended science with compassion. She organized the “Atoms for Peace” conference, rallying international minds to envision nuclear power as a gift, not a weapon. She walked the corridors of hospitals, comforting patients and offering her expertise, driven by the loss of her mother to cancer. Her work was never abstract; it was a heartbeat, a promise that knowledge should serve humanity.
The Day the World Stood Still
On August 15, 1952, the world lost Sameera Moussa in a tragic car crash near Sheridan, Wyoming. Her 1952 Buick sedan plunged into a ravine, claiming her life at the age of 35, alongside the driver, Arling Orwyn Kressler. The official verdict was accident, yet whispers of foul play persist. Some say foreign intelligence agencies silenced her, wary of a woman whose research and vision could shift the balance of power. Others accept fate’s cruel hand. Her death left a void but also a story that refuses to fade. The brilliance of Moussa’s mind, the audacity of her dreams, and the warmth of her heart live on, demanding remembrance.
ALegacy Beyond Borders
Sameera Moussa remains a beacon for women in STEM, a symbol of ethical science, and a testament to the power of daring to dream. She reminds us that Africa has always held minds capable of reshaping the world, minds that should never be ignored or silenced
Her life asks us: what could humanity achieve if we honored the vision of those who dared to choose knowledge over fear, compassion over convenience, and courage over comfort?
Even decades later, her story speaks with urgency: choose knowledge, choose humanity, choose Africa first.
Sameera Moussa’s light may have flickered too soon, but the fire she ignited continues to burn. Her life is a call to remember, to dream, and to act.
(FACTS CREDITED TO WIKIPEDIA, WITH LOVE POURED IN BY US)
Zambia VISIT
GAZA BURNS: THE WORLD WATCHES IN SILENCE:
Did we forget? Never again. That was the promise that no nation would starve, that no people would suffer at the hands of power unchecked. Yet here we are. Gaza burns, its streets reduced to rubble, and the world watches. The response? A familiar, empty chorus: “We condemn what happened.” And then business as usual resumes. This is not a distant conflict. This is systematic destruction. A powerful country, backed by allies, wielding weapons and influence to crush a people denied freedom for decades. Palestine has been resisting dispossession since 1947, yet global powers act as spectators, offering statements while the fires consume homes, schools, and hospitals.
Statements of “Never Again” ring hollow when we fail to act. Gaza’s children will grow up knowing the world watched them burn. History will not forget this silence. And neither will the next generation. It is time to stop pretending that condemnation is enough. It is time for the world to choose humanity over politics, justice over convenience, and action over empty words. If not, “Never Again” becomes the cruelest lie of all.
Being African is a pride written in our blood and sung in our soul.
Honeymoon Publishing House
(FACTS
Daughters of AFrica
Healing with Purpose
Let us celebrate their triumphs, learn from their struggles, and pay tribute to their unwavering dedication to making Africa and the world a better place.To Our Daughters of Africa: You turned palaces into platforms for the people. You taught the world that African women can be anything they want, and that leadership in medicine is not about power it’s about purpose. Africa sees you. Africa thanks you. Africa is you. Today, we honor three women who have written history in medicine and continue to heal generations with their courage and brilliance.You wore crowns of thorns to plant seeds of progress.
These women Julie, Elizabeth, and Ncumisa are Africa’s heartbe medicine is not just about curing disease, but ab , breaking barriers, and inspiring generations. T s proud of you.
Tanzania
Dr. Julie Makani
A medical researcher and Associate Professor at Muhimbili University of Health and Allied Sciences, Dr. Julie Makani has dedicated her life to fighting sickle cell disease in Africa. As Principal Investigator of the Sickle Cell Program, she has not only advanced groundbreaking research but also changed lives across the continent. Her work ensures that sickle cell, once overlooked, is finally receiving the attention and solutions it deserves. She stands as a testament to science serving the people.
Nigeria
The first female physician in Nigeria and the second West African woman to qualify as an orthodox medical doctor, Elizabeth Awoliyi broke barriers that seemed unshakable in her time. Licensed as a Royal Surgeon in Dublin, she returned home to heal her people and lead with vision. Beyond her medical brilliance, she served as the second President of the National Council of Women’s Societies of Nigeria, championing equality and access for women. Though she passed in 1971, her legacy continues to pulse through every young African girl who dares to study medicine.
Elizabeth Abimbola Awoliyi - (1910–1971)
South Africa
Africa’s lowship at the University of Pretoria. Her achievement was not just personal it was symbolic, a reminder to millions of young Africans that the impossible can be redefined. With every surgery she performs, she proves that youth and gender are no barriers to greatness when courage and discipline take the lead.
KITCHEN
The African Kitchen: Where Memory Lives
This issue, we are not sharing recipes. We are sharing memories.
Because the African kitchen is not just about food it is about memory, migration, and belonging. To taste Africa is to taste both history and future, served on the same plate. The kitchen is our first classroom, where we learned to listen before we learned to speak. It is where our grandmothers’ hands taught us that food is patience, where our mothers’ voices carried songs over pots, and where our fathers returned to the table to tell us the world outside.
In Africa, every meal is a story, every spice a history, every grain a journey.
The smell of cloves will carry you to Zanzibar, where the ocean air is thick with spices brought by traders who once linked the continent to Arabia, India, and beyond. A plate there is never just food it is centuries of exchange, survival, and beauty.
The spices of suya will pull you back to Nigeria, to smoky street corners where meat sizzles and laughter rises. Suya is not only roasted beef and pepper it is fellowship, a memory of friendship under the wide African sky.
Think of Egypt. Do you see pyramids? Perhaps. But the truest symbol of Cairo’s streets is Kushary: rice, lentils, pasta, and a tang of tomato. It is a dish born from the people, messy yet whole, feeding millions with pride.
From there, we move westward. The couscous of the Maghreb Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia arrives on the table like a song of the ancestors. Handrolled grains of patience, Friday gatherings of family, and a quiet prayer before the first spoonful.
And then, the laughter. The eternal debate: Which jollof is the best? Is it Senegal’s, where it all began? Ghana’s, smoky and proud? Or Nigeria’s, bold and unforgettable? Perhaps the truth is this jollof is Africa’s crown jewel, a dish that is less about winning and more about identity, joy, and competition wrapped in love.
Travel east and taste injera from Ethiopia, that spongy bread that is not only food but also a table, an embrace. Its cousin, kisra from Sudan, stretches across borders, reminding us that while we carry many flags, Africa is one kitchen with many fires.
Further south, the fire burns higher. The braai of South Africa is not just meat over flame it is music, community, and celebration. Smoke rises like prayer, neighbors become family, and the table expands with every passing hour.
CrossthechanneltoMadagascar,andletthe aromaofromazavafindyou.Abrothofmeat andleafygreens,tenderandcomforting proof thatevenanisland,kissedbythesea,still carriesthevoiceofthecontinent
And so, when we look back at these journeys, we see more than plates. We see stories. We see belonging. Because Africa’s history will always travel through her plates. Our foods are not only meals; they are maps of memory, carriers of culture, and keepers of love.
The African kitchen is a cathedral of survival and joy. And in every bite, we taste not only what has been but also what is yet to come.
EYE ON
MADAGASCAR
"LOVE,
FATHERLAND, PROGRESS"
When you think of Madagascar, maybe your mind goes to the animated film. But beyond the Hollywood screens, lies a real island of wonder the Republic of Madagascar, or as the Malagasy people proudly call it, Repoblikan’i Madagasikara.
"FITIAVANA, TANINDRAZANA, FANDROSOANA"
An island that drifted away from Africa millions of years ago, Madagascar grew in solitude, and because of that, it became a treasure chest of life found nowhere else on Earth. Over 90% of its wildlife is unique from the famous lemurs who leap through the forests, to the chameleons who change their colors like shifting poetry. No wonder scientists call it one of the world’s “megadiverse” countries.
But Madagascar is more than biodiversity. It is a land where love, fatherland, and progress are not just words in its motto they live in the songs, dances, and everyday smiles of the Malagasy people. Its anthem sings to the ancestors, its languages (Malagasy and French) carry centuries of heritage, and its people from the Merina in the highlands to the Sakalava on the coasts reflect a story of resilience and beauty.
The capital, Antananarivo, sits high in the hills, full of winding streets and a heartbeat that never sleeps. Beyond it, you’ll find golden beaches, rainforests echoing with bird calls, and rice terraces carved into mountainsides. Madagascar’s story is not without struggle from colonial rule to the challenges of poverty and inequality today. But it is also a story of hope. With ecotourism, farming, and education, the island is striving forward, balancing its past with dreams of tomorrow.
To visit Madagascar is to walk on land that whispers both history and magic. It is to meet people who remind you of the strength of community and the warmth of belonging. So, when we keep our Eye on Madagascar, we don’t just see an island. We see Africa’s heart beating in the ocean proud, diverse, alive. (Facts credited to Wikipedia, with love poured in by us.)
visit
MADACASCAR
An Island, a People, a Heartbeat of Africa.
Join us as we weave the
and connect hearts and minds across borders.
People of Africa Magazine - Where Every Voice Matters.
BeHeard?
Do you have a story waiting to be told? Is there someone you know whose experiences deserve recognition? We believe every voice has a story worth sharing, and we want to hear yours.
People of Africa Magazine invites you to contribute to our vibrant community of storytellers. Each season, we curate four issues that capture the diverse narratives, rich cultures, and inspiring journeys across the African continent.
Whether it's a personal journey, a community initiative, or an extraordinary achievement, your story could inspire, motivate, or enlighten others. We welcome contributions from writers, photographers, artists, and anyone passionate about storytelling.
Editor-in-Chief Honeymoon Aljabri and the entire team are dedicated to amplifying voices and celebrating the essence of Africa. We want you to be part of this enriching experience.
To share your story or nominate someone whose narrative deserves a spotlight, please contact us via:
Phone: +1-202-977-7175
WhatsApp: [+1-202-977-7175]
