The Measure Of A Man

There was something wrong about the men who came to seek her hand in marriage, Christie was convinced. It was not that some of them did not pass the superficial test of good looks, how many people would scale that anyway – especially now that pot bellies have gradually come to be regarded as sexier than ripped abs – nor was it that a good number of them were mere primary school graduates; people who had chosen to veer off the path of education in favour of their quest for the golden goose that laid eggs of diamond, gold and every other precious stone.

There was something else. Something deeply ingrained in them that troubled her. Something innate in a sense. Continue reading

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The Queerness That Is Africa

 

the queer Africa

I am African, but more brown than black–the kind my people like to call ‘chocolate’, even though those are traditionally of a darker shade. Perhaps we are colour blind, or maybe the word ‘chocolate’ just sounds very cool.

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