Word from the Editor

Doeba Bropleh

“Wilton Sankawulo, the man who wrote for our souls even when we chose to forsake ourselves.”

Book Reviews

Jestina Doe Anderson

A Critical Review of Helene Cooper’s The House at Sugar Beach

Robtel Neajai Pailey

Deconstructing Helene Cooper’s The House at Sugar Beach

Althea Romeo-Mark

A review of Wilton Sankawulo’s Sundown at Dawn: A Liberian Odyssey

Creative Non-Fiction

Abdoulaye W. Dukulé

Meeting Wilton Sengbe Sankawulo: Literature, Dictators and Wars

Stephanie C. Horton

Sankawulo, Ancestor: African Consciousness, Social Memory and Narratives of Self

Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

Where Have All the Years Gone? Recollections of Home… I knew that my journey back

Essays

Robert H. Brown, Sr.

Liberia’s Most Prominent Writer: A Tribute to Professor Wilton Sankawulo

D. Elwood Dunn

Homage to a Major Liberian Literary Figure, with the full text of, “LIFE IS ETERNAL: Essay in Memory of My Father” By Wilton Sankawulo

Althea Romeo-Mark

Wilton Sankawulo: Storyteller, Folklorist . . . Professor Sankawulo stood out among us

Wilton Sankawulo, Sr.

The Importance of Liberia Sea Breeze Journal

Vamba Sherif

Wilton Sankawulo: The True Measure of his Greatness

Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

Come, the Warrior is No More: Tribute to Professor Wilton Gbakolo Sengbe Sankawulo

Fiction

James V. Dwalu

One of the Strongest . . . “the hot asphalt road a perfect substitute for a podium.”

Daniel Chukpadeh Gayedyu

Niipuwin… “the pot boiled over with red foam the color of blood.”

Saah Millimono

Too Late for Flowers . . .”They even stole the coffin and left Theresa in a bush . . .”

Interviews

Jomo Stubblefield

An Artist Unleashed and Unafraid … the documentary filmmaker with Sengbe Khasu

Letters

Wilton Sankawulo, Sr.

A Letter to Robert H. Brown . . . Courtesy of Dr. Robert H. Brown

Poetry

Watchen Johnson Babalola

The bombs had been falling for close to three days/ He didn’t dare leave the house

Charlina Daitouah-Smith

In the privacy of my mind/ I give vent to rage, lies, envy, and vices of every kind.

Ralph Geeplay

No tread of our lives seems useful now/ Like the dead we mourn

Ruby Harmon

the black, coarse striations / the well of darkness

Nathaniel N. P. Nah

She tore at us . . ./“Papa, I want my own, papa.”

Chrichtian A. Neal

lovely dragonflies were murdered in her astounding beauty

Alexander Queh

By the riverside the sky seems gloomy/ The thunder rolls/ Unpredictable it appears

M. Woryonwon Roberts

Far, far away/ The voice of my country calls/ For me to come/ For me to come

Augustus Voahn

Beneath Mount Wologisie/ In a little hamlet, they both saw light/ Two little boys, twins of one