I have been discovering some outstanding African writers lately, mostly from Algeria, Senegal and Nigeria.

This is from Algerian writer Boualem Sansal’s “The Voice,” which describes the sensation when one’s false sense of certainty is shattered.

“Ancient groans worn out by the steady hum of the days explode in infernal dungeons and belch into our mouths like volcanic lava. The collapse occurs when everything seems fine, when tomorrow looks like being the perfect replica of the day before. But good God, what do we know of the soul’s cries, of the fractures of our being, of the silent miseries that poison our legs? Where the mind never ventures for want of light and walkways and a safety harness tight enough to cope with death rattles, the smell of putrefaction and viscous couplings, in those depths there arise colossal ruptures, infinite dramas, final ends…”