I’m Carlos Battaglini and I left everything to become a writer. Here you will find posts about my curious life in Liberia and other African countries. It is also where I immerse myself in the burning light of African literature through brutally honest book reviews. Welcome to your home and thanks for joining me on this adventure.
I left everything to become a writer, join me on this adventure.
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ON BRINGING MY HEAD ABOVE THE SURFACE, I DISCOVERED A GIRL WITH DREADLOCKS (the rasta…
SOMETIMES IT HAPPENS. You are walking in the middle of a Liberian road, heading in…
The word Party encapsulates the meaning of the universe. The idea of a party offers…
Africa
HE RAISES HIS HAND. In the middle of the trial, the man with the gold…
THE GATES WERE CLOSING AT THE POLLING STATION SET UP AT WATERSIDE, BUT WE MANAGED…
The House at Sugar Beach is an autobiographical novel (it may also be considered quite…
Despite a number of negative consequences, Powers also discovers that these same development projects are…
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CAN I SAY SOMETHING? Imagine an airport. Can you think of an airport and feel what it is? An airport, a kaleidoscopic space, a mental multiplication, a neurological trampoline. And meanwhile, I…
I hit the streets once again without an umbrella in Liberia and after taking a mere seven steps, I have to go back in. Under some kind of porch, I wait to…
The African Child is not strictly speaking a novel, but rather an autobiography of a…
Helene Cooper tells us that she had ancestors on the colonisation ships coming from the…
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Our football team has won and we’re all celebrating at the Red Lion, under the influence of Club Beers and other natural juices. Like every other day, nightfall is punctual and dictatorial.…
I SLEEP IN GBENEQUELLEH IN A TINY ROOM with no mosquito net, hoping malaria in Liberia doesn’t recognise me. Deep into the night, an overwhelming silence alternates with the roar of generators. I…
