03 December 2010

Sheltering Hearts by Gothataone Moeng

Mma-Kgosi shredded the piece of chicken on her plate with her hands and poked her finger at the pink flesh saying, “it’s alive! It’s alive! How can we eat it while it’s alive? It’s going to jump up from the plate and run out this door!” In the kitchen where she was making the after-supper tea, Katlo sulked and listened for words which she knew were coming. She did not have to wait for long.

This story has been selected for the StoryTime anthology African Roar 2012, please go to the African Roar site for more info.




Sheltering Hearts was written by Gothataone Moeng.

Copyright © Gothataone Moeng 2010.



Gothataone Moeng is a freelance journalist and writer based in Gaborone, Botswana. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in Media Studies from the University of Botswana, where she did a double major in TV and Video Production and Print Journalism. She is an aspiring filmmaker, and was a participant at the Berlinale Talent Campus 2009. She has written three episodes for a television drama series that is still in development.

Her story Singing in the Rain was published in Mslexia literary magazine (2005) and in Lemon Tea and other Stories from Botswana (Petlo Literary Fund, 2009). Who Knows What Season Tomorrow Brings was published in A Long Time Coming (Amabooks, 2009). Recently Lie Still Heart: Scenes from a Girlhood Devoured was published in The Bed Book of Short Stories (Modjadji Publishing, 2010). She is currently working on a collection of short stories.





1 comments:

Unforgettable said...

This is really interesting. It presents the internal conflict between female liberation and marriage that many women struggle with.But I like the way you show Katlo's thoughts and link her past with her present and future. The problem is I don't seem to connect with Katlo's feelings towards her mother at all. Does she pity her, dislike her, hate her? I can sense some resentment but see no justification for it, despite Katlo's half-explanation. The story is great though. The last line was perfect.

 
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