Canada
My debut novel, Everything is Fine Here, is forthcoming with House of Anansi press April 22, 2025. It's available to preorder at Amazon, Indigo, and from Barnes & Noble in the U.S. Several bookshops in the UK also have it for pre-order, including Waterstones and Foyles.
In the lead-up to my the publication of my debut novel, Everything is Fine Here, I have created a new website to help keep everything in one place. Find me there! I'll keep it updated with events, reviews/interviews, and general musings.
We are so pleased to announce that House of Anansi's Shirarose Wilensky has acquired World rights to Ugandan-Canadian writer and journalist Iryn Tushabe's EVERYTHING IS FINE HERE...
Room to thrive: Protecting appropriate habitat in adequate amounts is essential in providing connected landscapes that support biodiversity...
My last name, in English, means "let us pray." In Uganda, unlike in Canada, last names aren't family names. They are not passed down from father to child, from generation to generation. Every child gets their own, one that reflects the circumstances surrounding their birth.
river in an ocean: essays on translation: A powerful exploration of the complex and pressing issues facing translation now. With a deep commitment to interrogating the act of translation from the ground up, this volume tackles questions of translatability and resists regimes of monolingualism and borders. These politically charged essays offer a much-needed nourishing approach to translation, bringing acute attention to the processual in translation.
This much-anticipated, game-changing special edition of Canada's premier annual fiction anthology celebrates the country's best emerging Black writers.
Until she called me omufuruki – a migrant – I hadn’t thought of myself as one. I was only an international student who was having a hard time liking it here. The food tasted bland, the weather was punishing, my professors spoke rapid English; I could barely take intelligible notes.
Our house was far from the town centre. Though Kamwenge was small at the time, the choir would be exhausted by the time they got to us. We'd hear them from a distance, praising the newborn king of Israel in robust a cappella.
In December 2007, I walked out of the Regina airport for the first time. I took a deep breath — the coldest I'd ever taken — and the air I exhaled formed a patch of white against my black scarf. Magic! My own breath made visible, given weight. I said to myself, "Always remember this moment."