In Swahili Sheng, Safari boots are referred to as Saharas. I wonder if this is in reference to the sand coloured colourway that is the most common one produced by Bata Kenya, or if it is somehow connected to the desert related history of the shoe.
Norval Edwards, Jamaica
Together, these entries reflect the extraordinary talent and vision of their creators. They remind us that storytelling is not merely self-expression but a vital tool for understanding and navigating the world. In a time of uncertainty, the Fertile Ground Writing Competition has given us stories that challenge, inspire, and unite, celebrating the enduring power of art to illuminate the human experience.
MILLAN TARUS, Kenya
FIRST PLACE WINNER
At the house, he told me to boil some tea, then placed my hand over the pot, curious to know the texture of the steam on my skin. I became a bird, breaking down each meal into words and descriptions for him to feed.
Ömer Tevfik Erten, Turkiye
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Every border is a wound, and in that wound lies the beginning of both pain and healing. This year has allowed me to look into these wounds and explore their healing power through my art.
Shoty Ndjoli, Democratic Republic of Congo
THIRD PLACE WINNER
how do we learn to live with our new faces
carrying the scars of thousands
how do we learn to live with our new faces
which are transformed by injuries
how do we learn to live with our new faces
in this new crisis of human identity
Sovran Nrecaj, Kosovo
THIRD PLACE WINNER
And at 10.00 I whispered…I foolishly wished for leaders who prioritize compassion over power. At midday, 11.59, I found myself seeking solace in memories of a gentler past. I recalled long summer days filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, the sound of waves lapping against the shore, the warmth of sun-soaked afternoons with light dinners, with freshly cut tomatoes, home-baked bread and joy.
Maame Adwoa Prempeh, Ghana
HONOURABLE MENTION
They did not tell me that there would be days when I would question God. Days when I would pour out my heart full of tears to Him asking what I did wrong to have my parents taken from me. Days when I would ask which part of His plans my parents’ death fell into.
Gloria Kiconco, Uganda, HONOURABLE MENTION
We are the emergency, the wound and the trauma ward nurse stitching us into sense while blinking back sleep on another late-night shift.
My fingers, tendons, biceps are translucent with aches. I keep folding zines, little books, love letters to a disappearing people. A galaxy of stars exploding upon themselves from Kivu to Rafah.
Mariah Reodica, Philippines
HONOURABLE MENTION
My recorder captures this salient stream of the senses, albeit reduced into a handful of channels. The signal chain undulates, distilling spatial information. In exchange, I am now capable of playback. I savor sounds like candy.
Chris Luza, Perú
HONOURABLE MENTION
If a river is scripture,
may Perseus and Olympus remain in their heroic pantheon,
and may the political prisoners of my country soon be released to remember.
If to remake the uncertainty of the present, we need these and more gods,
may the eternal trench of struggle not tear our conviction apart.
Sadiq Al-Harasi, Yemen
HONOURABLE MENTION
Since 2021, the Houthis have been systematically erasing murals and artwork from Sana’a’s streets, replacing them with political and religious slogans, repressive rhetoric, calls for jihad, and messages restricting women’s freedom.
Lady Donli, Nigeria
HONOURABLE MENTION
We live in a world that often feels like it’s losing its way. We see it in the news, in our cities, in our interactions. But no matter how loud the chaos gets, there is something sacred about choosing to hold on to hope. About creating small spaces where we can breathe, where we can connect with each other, where we can find meaning in the madness.
