Africanfuturism Short Stories
Chinelo Onwualu, ed.
Hardcover
ISBN: 978-1835622735
Flame Tree Collections, September 2026, 432 pgs

This book is a gift. Over four hundred pages of amazing work by African creators from all over the world. It’s part of Flame Tree’s “Gothic Fantasy” series, which may not really be the right name for the series at this point. Some of the books in the list definitely fit, but volumes like Black Sci-Fi Short Stories, Immigrant Sci-Fi Short Stories, and a few others? Probably not. Regardless, they are doing some lovely things for genre, and this book is essential for folks who love short fiction. Moreover, Chinelo Onwualu (along with anyone who may have helped in whatever ways behind the scenes) has created something that improves and expands on not just genre, but English language literature.

The book opens with notes by Minister Faust, Yvette Lisa Ndlovu, and Onwualu, which discuss the term “Africanfuturism” and its relationship to SFF labels, colonialism, and more, including glimpses into the history of SFF written by African authors. These entries should be considered required reading for folks who are in the business of labeling things, from reviewers to booksellers to publishers and more. Following these, over forty stories are on offer: a mix of original pieces sourced through submissions and reprints pulled from a broad range of places. Previously published materials include excerpts such as a section from Tlotlo Tsamaase’s innovative novel Womb City (Erewhon, 2024); works pulled from beloved genre publications, such as a few pieces originally appearing in Omenana, Adelehin Ijasan’s “From Earth to Io, with Love” and Kenechukwu Udoetuk’s “Newborn” from Fiyah and Anathema respectively, and others; Shingai Njeri Kagunda’s Locus Magazine recommended, Ignyte Award winning We Who Will Not Die; and so on, excavated from cool anthologies, projects, and more.

I’ll go over a handful of original stories, just to give a sense of how cool this book is, though even this is a bit deceptive, as the pieces range so greatly in style, form, and purpose. But hopefully this teaser will be enough to encourage you to spend money on this book, and in this way, to support the authors and editors, as well as to tell the world that we need more like it.

The first story in the book, “Floodplain Mayor” by A.A. Ademola, begins, “They call me mayor and I call myself a man who can’t stop counting the price of kindness.” This is, to me, such an interesting opening line, with possibilities of meaning and implications of tensions both internal and external and possibly, to some degree, imagined. This opening also creates allusions to character: perhaps someone cynical or grumpy but also a bit self-deprecating. Or perhaps someone burdened by impossible choices, someone with unbearable responsibility who struggles to see themselves as ever doing good enough. It’s an opening that conveys so much, while being anything but trite or going for standard violence; this is, simply put, a really promising way to start a story, as well as an anthology. Floods have devastated Lagos as well as the land in general, and the Mayor is actually just an engineer trying to keep a floating city, well . . . floating. The city is little more than a set of barges welded together, but as the sea and storms make more and more land disappear, more and more refugees come seeking uncertain shelter, pushing the limits of how much the city can take and still stay afloat. Ultimately at question is what separates one group of people from another, and how being in a position of power or privilege can change you; as well as whether or not that change is inevitable. What’s also at question is whether or not communities can actually function as communities, or if they are inevitably driven to conflict and violence, especially when any kind of scarcity is at issue. This is science fiction, but it is also speaking to direct concerns of the area, as flooding is driven by climate change and other factors and gets worse and worse every year. It’s a seriously well-told story, with occasional literary flair and an interesting conclusion.

“Matters of the Lung” by C.M. Nomxolisi showcases a great concept. Ms. Nkabinde is being asked to insert a tiny writhing plant into her nose, which will ultimately enter her lungs and fundamentally change the way she breathes. The image and descriptions render the moment both a bit funny and somewhat uncomfortable. There’s also a subtle juxtaposition at work, between Nkabinde, whose contract demands she undertake this action despite hesitations, and the blue-eyed “plastic person” doctor who is “helping.” It’s a brilliant and effective opening which is doing a lot within a few sentences, a lot which, if you aren’t familiar with various kinds of power disparities and related situations, you might not fully get. As the seedling moves into her nose, essentially invading her body but also saving her, Nomxolisi does fantastic work of grounding the moment in physical, visceral sensation, while not going overboard, making it seem all the more real. From here the story shifts into flashes of moments, like vignettes, outlining both the future of humankind and Nkabinde’s life. Where things go is fascinating and unexpected and had me pondering while exploring the feelings the tale engendered.

With Ben Murigu’s “The Boy Dreamer,” one thing that struck me immediately was the ordinary nature of misery, the matter-of-fact way the author blended the terrible into a narrative of dreams, perhaps because the terror of bad things is simply part of what is. In other words, unpleasant moments and pain are all a part of this person’s reality; they are present and unexplained because they are the baseline of existence, but pain is not necessarily the point of the story. Mwai is a boy (something of a chosen one, but perhaps also a stand-in for the potential of all of us) who can, to some degree, influence reality with his dreams. The city of Nairobi needs him to avoid falling into utter despair and disrepair. But he’s not the only dreamer, and importantly, a lot of the dreamers are people who face hardship but still have hope. There are shadowy figures who would stop them, and others who would exploit them, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Through dreams they find empowerment, community, and joy. So, for me, this story is, in ways, more compelling than many of the stories that come to mind if I think of only a set of specific moments, or if I focus only on certain elements of the piece; this story is, I think, specifically about connection, about imperfection being perfect, and about finding hope, cherishing it, and letting it make your world feel more complete. It ends with communion and joy and reminds us that these are things we should not forget.

Charity Ogechi’s “The Soil Remembers” starts with wonderful sensory details and something that seems specific but incredibly important: It hasn’t rained in so long that 12-year-old Olunna has never seen rain. The writing is evocative and sometimes beautiful, and the story finds dreams to be as important as waking. Initially, it feels to me like an exploration of the connection between land and people. Soon the focus changes, and it also becomes an exploration of governmental control, both over people and resources. Despite the government’s militaristic attempts to limit access to moisture, as well as trying to control speech and, to some degree, even thought, Olunna’s journey takes a turn for the mystical, guided by dreams that help her find what she needs in the waking world. She becomes a connection to forgotten pasts as well as cultural truths. Ogechi perfectly blends futuristic elements with things that can only be understood on an emotional or instinctual level, allowing for a narrative of resistance which is quiet but active, layered but clear, fictional but true.

“Doll” . . . ! Okay, I almost hate to talk about this one because I feel that I won’t be able to do it justice. Chidera Solomon Anikpe has put together something you should just read for yourself. This is a world where people’s consciousness can be transferred into Manifests, which are similar to but different from the concept of robot bodies in striking and imaginative ways. The length is perfect, and the writing is immersive, while also being a fantastic (and rare) exemplar of a floating third person, which works smoothly and beautifully. The phases of the story explore complex interactions and feelings around identity, mirroring, and to some degree, in thoughtful and honest ways, things that many of us have experienced, while also making them feel unique and specific to the story. What is striking and wonderful is that no one is perfect or purely innocent, the narrative never feels overly simplified or one-sided, and it speaks to larger-scale things while also feeling incredibly intimate and personal. Close consideration of the characters involved, their moments, and interactions will reveal ironies and nuances that are sad, hilarious, frustrating, and more, all at once. The ending had me in tears, and if you aren’t thinking deeply and feeling moved by the time the conclusion unfolds, you just didn’t get it, which is by no fault of the author. See? In the end, I didn’t tell you much about what happens in the actual story. Maybe I just don’t want to spoil any of it. Go read it. This is incredible work.

Another fantastic anthology that I get to read! Seriously? I love this job. But don’t take my word for it. Order a copy and settle in. Do not skip the introductory writings—they are critical for situating the collected works within the context of the field and of literature in general. Most likely, they will only deepen your appreciation of the stories themselves. Take your time with this book, meet the authors on their own terms, and let them take you on the journeys that are important to them.