Kiini
Ibura
Salaam
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Kiini Ibura Salaam is a writer, painter, and traveler from New Orleans, Louisiana. The middle child of five, she grew up in a hardscrabble neighborhood with oak and fig trees, locusts and mosquitoes, cousins and neighbors. Kiini's work delves into spheres of human liberation, human connection, and evolution. She employs speculative fiction and creative nonfiction to take readers through mind-bending journeys into the transcendent, the mystical, and the fantastic.
Foreign Land
FictionSpeculative FictionForeign Land // Otherworldy // Yearning
Of Wings, Nectar, & Ancestors
Posted on 6 February 2013
1 On deep purple-black nights, when the whole house has pushed itself into slumber, WaLiLa’s energy flits around her room like a moth. It leaps up to do jumping jacks & turns cartwheels, then clings to the ceiling. It bounces off the walls & jiggles its knees impatiently. WaLiLa is a jitterbugging ball of need… »
NonfictionEssayForeign Land // Race // Sexism
“There’s No Racism Here?” A Black Woman in the Dominican Republic
Posted on 4 December 2012
When I first returned home from studying abroad, everyone wanted to know, “How was the Dominican Republic?” I was reluctant to respond. Masking the truth behind “fine’s” and “good’s,” I skirted my real feelings. “Did you like it?” is such a loaded question that it can’t be answered with a simple “yes” or “no.” For… »
NonfictionEssayReportTravel WritingForeign Land // Humanity // Musings
Reflections on Fiji - Turn of the Century: December 1999
Posted on 4 December 2012
Fiji is a place that exists on the edge of an East Coaster’s imagination. Maybe for a Californian or some resident of a Pacific Rim nation, Fiji is a familiar neighbor. But for me—a New Yorker—Fiji is worlds away. We don’t share an ocean or a hemisphere, just a dim awareness of each other’s existence…. »
FictionMediaPodcastSpeculative FictionForeign Land // Loss // Otherworldy
Debris
Posted on 4 December 2012
It is legend how my mother kept my grandmother’s eye sockets clean with the pure white feather of a cockatoo. She often sent me to the forests to pick marigolds to stack high around Grandmother’s skull. Grandmother loved the smell of the marigolds. She told me so every time I entered the house with an… »
