Reading Queer Africa

A man on the bus reaches across to turn the book I’m reading on it’s front, you know, the way someone does when they want to see what book you’re reading? Yes.

Oh.

Okay.

A dis ease.

(dis ease, disease – a question: where lies the real ailment?)

 

20 minutes of a bus ride endure shifts, shiftings and questioning eyes.

 

*

A conversation

“why are you reading that book?”

“because it’s interesting?”

“well are you?”

“am I what?”

“queer?”

“does it matter?”

“no”

“then why are you asking?”

 

A dis ease

(dis ease, disease – a question: where lies the ailment?)

 

*

The smoke in the bar is parted by elevated voices. The bible, one drunk man states, does not allow it *hiccup* it is a sin! Another, more reasonably, asks why I’d want anyone to do that to me. This, he sees, is the real problem – I don’t fully grasp what it is I’m talking about.

Their friend is in the car, he will not wait for me.

A dis ease

(dis ease, disease – a question: where lies the real ill ailment?)

*

An existence erased.

 

An erasure existed.

 

A dis ease

 

“no longer at ease, things fall apart”

– Chinua Achebe

 

How many fractures will it take to break her bones?

 

A disease

A question

A fraction

An erasure

A book.

(but mainly its cover)

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