On Wednesday, 23 March 2022, Parenting Consultant and Educator Justine Kakoko represented children’s author Gloria D. Gonsalves at the handover ceremony of copies of the donated book Jai Albino Cow / Jai Ng’ombe Zeruzeru to the Tanzania Library Service Board (TLSB) in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. The event took place at the children’s department in…

An ekphrastic poem and an illustration prompted by a heart-shaped wall art with birds. The poem is about a heart witnessing the war from afar. My heart, I dare you to sing forgiveness again.The birds in your chambers no longer tweet.War is here and has your singing mornings stolen.All you have now are the invasive…

As I am writing this, it is exactly ten days since the passing of the Tanzanian veteran journalist Gabriel Pereira Mgaya, known as Gabby Mgaya. I was recently in Tanzania, an exciting time, to see my family after two years. I would have called Mr. Mgaya (in Tanzania, we do not address our elders by…

By Corona Kimaro Cermak Jai the albino cow is a beautiful story. Why did you decide to write about albinism?The original idea, as is in my morgue file, was neither African nor about albinism. The idea to write about a cow protagonist came to me while on a nature holiday in Austria, after a calf…

The NYC Big Book Award recognized Jai the Albino Cow: Jai Ng’ombe Zeruzeru in the category of Multicultural Fiction as a distinguished favorite. Title: Jai the Albino Cow: Jai Ng’ombe ZeruzeruAuthor: Gloria D. GonsalvesIllustrator: Nikki Ng’ombeReading age: Baby – 12 yearsGrade level: Kindergarten – 6Language: bilingual (English and Kiswahili) Can an albino cow possess abilities…

For Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day Grieving, they say, is the cousinof loneliness, bonded throughcloseness or distant blood.You left my body the same way.Slipped away silently, as far kinof my clan, and yet closer for Istill, feel the knives cutting throughthe womb where I had you alive. Our conversation was one-sided,but I knew you…

Stone after stone he throws into the river,and the water rippling waves of laughter,to meet the tiny feet kissing the shoreline. I, his mother of three years watch in awethe sacred gift before me, my son, and a riverthat brings me each day a pebble from life. I swell into an ocean from praise,“Mama, are…

Bluebells are here, some loweringtheir necks downwards as if shyof admirers, of intruders, of critics.Some days, a writer feels this way. Some days, a writer feels this waylike bluebells stretching their necksupwards towards the arrival of summerwhere life is a meadow of wild ideas. Where life is a meadow of wild ideas,the joy of writing…