There is so much knowledge and wisdom embedded in the unknown. Thus, when one says, “I do not know” it does not always mean one is not wise. Quite the contrary. The unknown is a headroom. The ever sprawling horizon. It is an ordered hierarchy that discreetly and patiently hold the missing pieces of our logic, waiting for us to weave our way to it.
The 21st century is witnessing unprecedented technological advancements, giving rise to interconnectedness and reshaping our understanding of knowledge and truth. Amid this progress, anxieties about the future loom large. As we grapple with the deconstruction of institutionalized knowledge and the emergence of new forms of subjectivity, the power of delineation becomes pivotal. It allows us to recognise and honour differences, paving the way for a more inclusive and harmonious future, transcending historical biases and pointing to the way towards genuine progress.
The year 2023 was marked by global challenges and tragedy, particularly in Israel and Gaza. The author sees hope in the ordinary citizens protesting for a more harmonious world. They inspire everyone to stand up for a better future, emphasizing the beauty at the core of humanity. The coming year is seen as an opportunity to advocate for peace and a more honorable concept of humanity.
The essay discusses the importance of language and terminology used when addressing children with learning difficulties in an international bilingual school. The author argues that terms like “learning differently” can still be stigmatising and suggests using expressions like “children requiring further assistance in learning” instead. They propose a shift in focus from the child’s inadequacies to the teacher’s methodology and the need for tailored educational strategies. The author emphasises the need to embrace diversity and prioritise critical thinking, adaptability, and creativity in education. The article calls for a reevaluation of the education system to prepare children for a diverse and interconnected world.
This essay is a short recount of my time in the city of Bloomington in Indiana. In the later part of the essay, I shared lingering thoughts about the dialectics of the future.
Exhibitions must invite the audience to partake in an experience wherein they become co-sojourners on the road conjured by the artist’s proposal. This road is one of myriad, rhizomatic strands for which Africa, in our time, is a story of journeys.
Yesterday, it rained and somewhat doused the sunniness of the city. Yet, it rendered the coal-tarred roads, streets, and pavement glasslike and reflective — like a mirage. There is something about the earth-colour aesthetic prevalent in the city. It lends warmth and cosiness even to a gloomy atmosphere. In the sun’s absence, the sky acts like a giant softbox, the rain a diffuser. Tungsten-lit stalls and shops come alive — like a film set. A framed iconic photo of Nina Simone is placed almost centre frame. I would wonder why it had to be so evident. I didn’t go into the shop to ask. But I allowed myself the thought that the story could be more intimate than meets the eye: “I had a chance encounter with Nina Simone, which changed my life”. You see, here in Barcelona, there is a veil over blackness. That much I have noticed since my arrival. Such a veil makes invisibility and hyper-visibility feel like two sides of the same coin. I still do not have enough appraisal of …
“Truth is bitter” is an all too familiar expression. As it seems to me, the expression borrows its validity from an understanding of “bitter” as the opposite of “sweet” – chocolaty, ice-creamy, sweet – as such, the antithesis of comfort and the comfortable. Many English words and adages ought to be passed through the scrutiny of a renewed gaze if they are to retain in them anything of a life-giving, regenerative meaning. “Truth is bitter” carries within it something of a malediction, an indictment, a condemnation even before Truth is born. Truth becomes judgemental even before it has a space to form itself into a revelation. Truth is bitter because there continues to be a hegemony of Truth, or more leniently, a truth that supersedes other truths. Truth is bitter because it fears being contested and doubted. Truth is bitter because, for a long time, it has been conflated with “facts”. Yet in a world where facts are synthesised and manufactured – like wearables are churned out from sweatshops – and sold for profit to keep …
In beginning this reflection about the collective, I have, ringing at the back of my head, an Igbo saying: Igwe bụ ike which translates to “the collective is power”. This saying is in many ways fundamental to the social psychology of the Igbo people of Nigeria with whom I share a lineage. Elsewhere, Chinua Achebe, the acclaimed Nigerian novelist, and critic, referred to this as the Igbo’s preference for duality as opposed to singularity: “Wherever Something Stands, Something Else Will Stand Beside It”.1 Given that in many African cultures, the place of family and community is, in most cases, held in the highest regard, I can imagine this saying taking on different allegorical and idiomatic forms. Thus if art is to some tangible extent a mirroring of a people’s sociocultural contexts and realities, the notion of the collective as it relates to artistic practices from such places as Africa would be a given – a natural consequence of a way of being. Rightfully so, the collective from time immemorial has served to preserve something of the dignity …
Twenty-four hours prior to hopping into a plane for a fifteen-hour journey, I had no idea I would eventually be making it to Chennai. My Nigerian passport seems to be the gift that keeps on giving where it has to do with being a document that, rather than aid mobility, actively facilities its restrictions. I was informed by the Indian embassy that holders of a Nigerian passport will have to wait six to eight weeks for their visas to be ready. What for! Many applicants of other nationalities are simply applying and printing out their visas online almost as fast as they are in and out a self-service photo booth. “Nigeria did not colonise India!”, I would find myself muttering time and time again. Anyway, all of that was eventually bypassed thanks to the relentless push by the organisers of the Chennai Photo Biennale by whose invitation I would be partaking in “Light Writing”, the International Conference on Photography. Chennai is in South India – if I am to be precise, I would say Southeast …
DIARY OF A BORDER-BEING 