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Queer Africa
Gabeba Baderoon said...
Queer Africa is a collection of charged, tangled, tender, unapologetic, funny, bruising and brilliant stories about the many ways in which we love one another on the continent. The collection includes exquisitely written work by some of the great African writers of this century – K. Sello Duiker, Monica Arac de Nyeko, Beatrice Lamwaka and Richard de Nooy – as well as new voices that map out a haunting, intricate, complex Africa. Phrases like Wamuwi Mbao’s ‘She looks like you, when nobody’s watching her’ and Sello Duiker’s narrator’s ‘gentle sadness that doesn’t take you all at once’ share with us not only the aftermath of sex, but moments where the world opens itself.
In these unafraid stories of intimacy, sweat, betrayal and restless confidences, we accompany characters into cafes, tattoo salons, the barest of bedrooms, the coldly glinting spaces into which the rich withdraw, unlit streets, and their own deepest interiors. We learn much in these gloriously achieved stories about love and sex, but perhaps more about why we hurt and need one another.
Queer Africa is a collection of charged, tangled, tender, unapologetic, funny, bruising and brilliant stories about the many ways in which we love one another on the continent. The collection includes exquisitely written work by some of the great African writers of this century – K. Sello Duiker, Monica Arac de Nyeko, Beatrice Lamwaka and Richard de Nooy – as well as new voices that map out a haunting, intricate, complex Africa. Phrases like Wamuwi Mbao’s ‘She looks like you, when nobody’s watching her’ and Sello Duiker’s narrator’s ‘gentle sadness that doesn’t take you all at once’ share with us not only the aftermath of sex, but moments where the world opens itself.
In these unafraid stories of intimacy, sweat, betrayal and restless confidences, we accompany characters into cafes, tattoo salons, the barest of bedrooms, the coldly glinting spaces into which the rich withdraw, unlit streets, and their own deepest interiors. We learn much in these gloriously achieved stories about love and sex, but perhaps more about why we hurt and need one another.
214 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 55 reviews
December 26, 2019
3.5 stars
This is a collection of short stories; a compilation from two previous volumes. There are stories here from Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, Sierra Leone, Zimbabwe and Uganda amongst others. There are none from north of the Sahara, which is perhaps a weakness. One of the strengths is discovering a whole host of writers previously unknown to look out for in future. There are twenty-two stories here. In the introduction Chike Frankie Edozien makes some important points:
"African books - by Africans, for Africans - have broken through the walls of major markets in international publishing, reclaiming our narratives for generations to come. Many exciting new voices have emerged to pick up the mantle for the next several decades.
But while this was happening, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex Africans found themselves under sustained, ferocious and often brutal attacks by the state. Religious fervour, often stoked by US evangelical Christians has led to countries ratcheting up anti-gay sentiments…This sparkling collection...means people all over the world will now have access to writing from across the continent that shows us as we really are, multidimensional and full of complexity."
The stories cover a whole range of emotion and experience. Jambula Tree by Monica Arac De Nyeko was particularly good. There was one story which was out of place and with which I was very uncomfortable. My Dad forgot my Name by Victor Lewis is about a father and son who accidentally meet at a spa where men go to have sex. The meeting is uncomfortable, but leads at a later time with the father seducing and having sex with the son. I don’t think incest has any place in this sort of collection and sends the wrong sort of message. Or am I being too delicate?
There is a general emphasis on youth and discovery of sexuality, as you might expect and they cover a range of emotions and problems as you would expect. Many of the stories come from places where being queer is challenging and this adds to their strength. Despite some mixed feelings this collection is well worth reading.
This is a collection of short stories; a compilation from two previous volumes. There are stories here from Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, Sierra Leone, Zimbabwe and Uganda amongst others. There are none from north of the Sahara, which is perhaps a weakness. One of the strengths is discovering a whole host of writers previously unknown to look out for in future. There are twenty-two stories here. In the introduction Chike Frankie Edozien makes some important points:
"African books - by Africans, for Africans - have broken through the walls of major markets in international publishing, reclaiming our narratives for generations to come. Many exciting new voices have emerged to pick up the mantle for the next several decades.
But while this was happening, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex Africans found themselves under sustained, ferocious and often brutal attacks by the state. Religious fervour, often stoked by US evangelical Christians has led to countries ratcheting up anti-gay sentiments…This sparkling collection...means people all over the world will now have access to writing from across the continent that shows us as we really are, multidimensional and full of complexity."
The stories cover a whole range of emotion and experience. Jambula Tree by Monica Arac De Nyeko was particularly good. There was one story which was out of place and with which I was very uncomfortable. My Dad forgot my Name by Victor Lewis is about a father and son who accidentally meet at a spa where men go to have sex. The meeting is uncomfortable, but leads at a later time with the father seducing and having sex with the son. I don’t think incest has any place in this sort of collection and sends the wrong sort of message. Or am I being too delicate?
There is a general emphasis on youth and discovery of sexuality, as you might expect and they cover a range of emotions and problems as you would expect. Many of the stories come from places where being queer is challenging and this adds to their strength. Despite some mixed feelings this collection is well worth reading.
February 10, 2023
As with many anthologies, some selections resonate more than others. Do you rate based on your favourites or the pieces you skipped?
I enjoyed the mostly African settings, because it is a treat to read these voices. Many pieces have a strong current of magic realism or a deconstructed narrative— both seem fairly typical in African storytelling. Other pieces are social realism— also typical of African narratives. To state the obvious: Africa contains multitudes.
I enjoyed the mostly African settings, because it is a treat to read these voices. Many pieces have a strong current of magic realism or a deconstructed narrative— both seem fairly typical in African storytelling. Other pieces are social realism— also typical of African narratives. To state the obvious: Africa contains multitudes.
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September 23, 2013A Dog-Eared Ode
“Queer Africa is a collection of charged, tangled, tender, unapologetic, funny, bruising and brilliant stories about the many ways in which we love each other on the continent,” writes Gabeba Baderoon in her foreword to this anthology edited by Karen Martin and Makhosazana Xaba. Having dog-eared this fascinating collection of stories I strolled back to collect my markers and celebrate that love with excerpts from each story.
“That’s the idea. Let it sound bush. I sing for the people. If I sound bush, the people will think they are better than me. If they’re better than me, they will pity me; they will want to help me; they will want to save me. With their money.”
(From Davina Owombre’s Pelican Driver)
“Hell, said Dominee Boonzaier, would have so many skelms from the bank that there wouldn’t be room for the Tswana and the English, and the godless people from Johannesburg.”
(From Emil Rorke’s Poisoned Grief)
“I kissed you on the mouth three days after we met. You said it was a complication you could do without, and then you smiled.”
(From Wamuwi Mbao’s The Bath)
“I get into bed but sleep doesn’t come easily. I stare at the ceiling and try not to think much. Too much thinking is bad for you. Look at all the grownups I know. They’re all fucked in the head. They should be smoking zol.”
(From K. Sello Duiker’s Chapter Thirteen)
“The pencil outline seemed unable to contain their charcoal filling. All their faces were detailed but smudged grotesquely. She said she was trying to capture truth, but it seemed to me too obscure a concept to understand. Not truth, but her trying to capture it.”
(From TO Molefe’s Lower Main)
“Siya intoxicated me. His approach and attitude to life were so different to mine. Once, I got home soaked and feeling like a drowned rat, caught in a downpour on my cycle back from work. I thought he’d see me as a cold, wet, miserable thing to be dispatched to the bathroom, but it was as if he didn’t notice anything different. I was home, safe, and we were together. That was all that mattered to him.”
(From Roger Diamond’s Impepho)
“I try hiding my nervous excitement and seek solace in the bathroom. I close the door to gather my thoughts. My knees are shaking and my breasts have tightened. I stare in the mirror and randomly blabber to myself, Fuck! What do I do? I can’t remember ever feeling so lustful over someone I hardly know.”
(From Dolar Vasani’s All Covered Up)
“Engulfed in the warmth of his down-feather duvet, smothered by the comforting quiet of the night, James dreams of his own death.”
(From Rahiem Whisgary’s The Filth of Freedom)
“That woman’s mouth worked at words like ants on a cob of maize. Ai! Everyone knows her quack-quack-quack mouth. But people are still left wordless by just how much she can shoot at and wreck things with her machinegun mouth.”
(From Monica Arac de Nyeko’s Jambula Tree)
“I touched the skin on the top of her hand with one finger. ‘You’re soft, like a dove.’
‘You’ve never touched a dove.’ She was laughing at me.
‘But still. I know. Your cells are finer than other people’s.’”
(From Annie Holmes’s Leaving Civvy Street)
“Julia’s body felt twisted and cramped, sore from lying in one position, sore from the weight of his elbow digging into her, sore and red and bruised from the needle. But she felt elated. The tattoo was really beautiful, striking and effective. She knew Cath would like it.”
(From Natasha Distiller’s Asking For It)
“She was like the wily jackal that gathers wool in its mouth and then backs slowly into the river until all the fleas have fled into the fluff. Then it drops the wool and takes off like a flash, outwitting the fleas. You were the wool, Princess, floating on the river, the memories like vermin on your skin. Your entire body itched.”
(From Richard de Nooy’s The Big Stick)
“Tied to the front gate of her in-laws’ home, a triangular white cloth had waved in the breeze, announcing that there would a wedding and everyone was welcome. By the verandah, little girls sang, ‘Monyadi wa rona. O tshwana le naledi.’ Our bride looks as lovely as a star. As Sethunya approached the house, men and women rushed to claim her, and she was swept into the throng of swirling skirts and stomping feet.”
(From Wame Molefhe’s Sethunya Likes Girls Better)
“Too many women, the boy thinks. They smell like flowers, wet flowers; flowers that have had their day in the sun, petals soaked with sweat, used and pressed and hardened.”
(From Barbara Adair’s A Boy is a Boy is a …)
“Some people said Regina had no morals and soon she would make a man of you. Others said you only had a penis, but that wasn’t enough to make you a man. I never understood what that meant. I still question what that means.”
(From Beatrice Lamwaka’s Chief of the Home)
“And that was what made Pinch so addictive: they knew each other so well that it was almost impossible to succeed. They could feel each other, the one when the other came close; they knew each other’s needs, each before the other knew his own; they saw the world together, each through the eyes of the other.”
(From Martin Hatchuel’s Pinch)
“She was not meant to walk on land, Ms J thought. Standing head and shoulders above everybody in the crowds milling about the corridor lockers, the girl lumbered awkwardly down the corridor, with her broad shoulders and back. Ms J followed at an inconspicuous distance. She was almost certain she walked alone.”
(From Mercy Minah’s In the Way She Glides)
“As a teenager I came to be convince myself that it was not intentional ill-feeling on the dog’s part, just hunger that could not be ignored. I could relate to that. There had been moments in my life when I, too, had been so hungry I had fantasised about eating the same dog. I guess the dog got to what was on both our minds before I did, and I thought that was fair.”
(From Lindiwe Nkutha’s Rock)
“Queer Africa is a collection of charged, tangled, tender, unapologetic, funny, bruising and brilliant stories about the many ways in which we love each other on the continent,” writes Gabeba Baderoon in her foreword to this anthology edited by Karen Martin and Makhosazana Xaba. Having dog-eared this fascinating collection of stories I strolled back to collect my markers and celebrate that love with excerpts from each story.
“That’s the idea. Let it sound bush. I sing for the people. If I sound bush, the people will think they are better than me. If they’re better than me, they will pity me; they will want to help me; they will want to save me. With their money.”
(From Davina Owombre’s Pelican Driver)
“Hell, said Dominee Boonzaier, would have so many skelms from the bank that there wouldn’t be room for the Tswana and the English, and the godless people from Johannesburg.”
(From Emil Rorke’s Poisoned Grief)
“I kissed you on the mouth three days after we met. You said it was a complication you could do without, and then you smiled.”
(From Wamuwi Mbao’s The Bath)
“I get into bed but sleep doesn’t come easily. I stare at the ceiling and try not to think much. Too much thinking is bad for you. Look at all the grownups I know. They’re all fucked in the head. They should be smoking zol.”
(From K. Sello Duiker’s Chapter Thirteen)
“The pencil outline seemed unable to contain their charcoal filling. All their faces were detailed but smudged grotesquely. She said she was trying to capture truth, but it seemed to me too obscure a concept to understand. Not truth, but her trying to capture it.”
(From TO Molefe’s Lower Main)
“Siya intoxicated me. His approach and attitude to life were so different to mine. Once, I got home soaked and feeling like a drowned rat, caught in a downpour on my cycle back from work. I thought he’d see me as a cold, wet, miserable thing to be dispatched to the bathroom, but it was as if he didn’t notice anything different. I was home, safe, and we were together. That was all that mattered to him.”
(From Roger Diamond’s Impepho)
“I try hiding my nervous excitement and seek solace in the bathroom. I close the door to gather my thoughts. My knees are shaking and my breasts have tightened. I stare in the mirror and randomly blabber to myself, Fuck! What do I do? I can’t remember ever feeling so lustful over someone I hardly know.”
(From Dolar Vasani’s All Covered Up)
“Engulfed in the warmth of his down-feather duvet, smothered by the comforting quiet of the night, James dreams of his own death.”
(From Rahiem Whisgary’s The Filth of Freedom)
“That woman’s mouth worked at words like ants on a cob of maize. Ai! Everyone knows her quack-quack-quack mouth. But people are still left wordless by just how much she can shoot at and wreck things with her machinegun mouth.”
(From Monica Arac de Nyeko’s Jambula Tree)
“I touched the skin on the top of her hand with one finger. ‘You’re soft, like a dove.’
‘You’ve never touched a dove.’ She was laughing at me.
‘But still. I know. Your cells are finer than other people’s.’”
(From Annie Holmes’s Leaving Civvy Street)
“Julia’s body felt twisted and cramped, sore from lying in one position, sore from the weight of his elbow digging into her, sore and red and bruised from the needle. But she felt elated. The tattoo was really beautiful, striking and effective. She knew Cath would like it.”
(From Natasha Distiller’s Asking For It)
“She was like the wily jackal that gathers wool in its mouth and then backs slowly into the river until all the fleas have fled into the fluff. Then it drops the wool and takes off like a flash, outwitting the fleas. You were the wool, Princess, floating on the river, the memories like vermin on your skin. Your entire body itched.”
(From Richard de Nooy’s The Big Stick)
“Tied to the front gate of her in-laws’ home, a triangular white cloth had waved in the breeze, announcing that there would a wedding and everyone was welcome. By the verandah, little girls sang, ‘Monyadi wa rona. O tshwana le naledi.’ Our bride looks as lovely as a star. As Sethunya approached the house, men and women rushed to claim her, and she was swept into the throng of swirling skirts and stomping feet.”
(From Wame Molefhe’s Sethunya Likes Girls Better)
“Too many women, the boy thinks. They smell like flowers, wet flowers; flowers that have had their day in the sun, petals soaked with sweat, used and pressed and hardened.”
(From Barbara Adair’s A Boy is a Boy is a …)
“Some people said Regina had no morals and soon she would make a man of you. Others said you only had a penis, but that wasn’t enough to make you a man. I never understood what that meant. I still question what that means.”
(From Beatrice Lamwaka’s Chief of the Home)
“And that was what made Pinch so addictive: they knew each other so well that it was almost impossible to succeed. They could feel each other, the one when the other came close; they knew each other’s needs, each before the other knew his own; they saw the world together, each through the eyes of the other.”
(From Martin Hatchuel’s Pinch)
“She was not meant to walk on land, Ms J thought. Standing head and shoulders above everybody in the crowds milling about the corridor lockers, the girl lumbered awkwardly down the corridor, with her broad shoulders and back. Ms J followed at an inconspicuous distance. She was almost certain she walked alone.”
(From Mercy Minah’s In the Way She Glides)
“As a teenager I came to be convince myself that it was not intentional ill-feeling on the dog’s part, just hunger that could not be ignored. I could relate to that. There had been moments in my life when I, too, had been so hungry I had fantasised about eating the same dog. I guess the dog got to what was on both our minds before I did, and I thought that was fair.”
(From Lindiwe Nkutha’s Rock)
April 20, 2019
Me ha parecido una recopilación muy desigual y por eso la baja puntuación
En general hay una tristeza o melancolía que empapa todos ellos en mayor o menor medida.
Hay variedad de autores y paises. Se entreve cuales son más permisivos y cuales más restrictivos pero ese aire de desazón los impregna a todos.
Hay cuentos bellísimos, bien escritos, con situaciones más explicitas o más sugeridas
Pero han habido cuatro o cinco que han hecho que por poco dejase de leerlo. Sórdidos, brutales, desagradables...
En general hay una tristeza o melancolía que empapa todos ellos en mayor o menor medida.
Hay variedad de autores y paises. Se entreve cuales son más permisivos y cuales más restrictivos pero ese aire de desazón los impregna a todos.
Hay cuentos bellísimos, bien escritos, con situaciones más explicitas o más sugeridas
Pero han habido cuatro o cinco que han hecho que por poco dejase de leerlo. Sórdidos, brutales, desagradables...
June 23, 2019
Originally two separate volumes, Queer Africa and Queer Africa 2, this book contains 22 stories celebrating queer writers from across the continent, including Botswana, Uganda and South Africa.
In his introduction, Chike Frankie Edozien writes:
As always, there's a variety of stories within here, so I've rated them individually and the overall rating is an average:
Nine Pieces of Desire - 3 stars
Pampers - 4 stars
Sethunya Likes Girls Best - 4 stars
Pelican Driver - 3.5 stars
Jambula Tree - 4 stars
Going Home - 4 stars
Staying Afloat - 3 stars
Maimuna Doesn't Know - 4 stars
Iyawo - 4 stars
Chief of the Home - 4 stars
Leaving Civvy Street - 3 stars
Pyrrhic Victory - 3 stars
Pub 360 - 3.5 stars
Rock - 3 stars
This Tomorrow Was Christmas - 2.5 stars
The Day He Came - 2 stars
Chapter Thirteen - 3 stars
Awure Iferan - 3 stars
The Bath - 4 stars
My Dad Forgot My Name? - COULD NOT RATE...see below!
Chebor's Light - 2 stars
All Covered Up - 4.5 stars
In his introduction, Chike Frankie Edozien writes:
"African books - by Africans, for Africans - have broken through the walls of major markets in international publishing, reclaiming our narratives for generations to come...But while this was happening, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex Africans found themselves under sustained, ferocious and often brutal attacks y the state...This sparkling collection...means people all over the world will now have access to writing from across the continent that shows us as we really are, multidimensional and full of complexity."
As always, there's a variety of stories within here, so I've rated them individually and the overall rating is an average:
Nine Pieces of Desire - 3 stars
Pampers - 4 stars
Sethunya Likes Girls Best - 4 stars
Pelican Driver - 3.5 stars
Jambula Tree - 4 stars
Going Home - 4 stars
Staying Afloat - 3 stars
Maimuna Doesn't Know - 4 stars
Iyawo - 4 stars
Chief of the Home - 4 stars
Leaving Civvy Street - 3 stars
Pyrrhic Victory - 3 stars
Pub 360 - 3.5 stars
Rock - 3 stars
This Tomorrow Was Christmas - 2.5 stars
The Day He Came - 2 stars
Chapter Thirteen - 3 stars
Awure Iferan - 3 stars
The Bath - 4 stars
My Dad Forgot My Name? - COULD NOT RATE...see below!
Chebor's Light - 2 stars
All Covered Up - 4.5 stars
September 29, 2024
A good collection of stories! Short story anthologies are a tough sell for me since not all authors/stories will resonate with all readers but there were a few authors I have added to my list to keep an eye out for. A worthy endeavour and I look forward to more queer African stories and authors getting the attention they deserve.
June 14, 2020
I liked some of the stories, but a lot of them were forgettable. I noticed that a lot of the authors were South African, and most of the stories featured white Africans as the main character. The queer representation could have been more diverse. Looking forward to reading the 2nd book, hopefully that one is better.
For more reviews, check out my blog, https://thelitafrican.com :)
For more reviews, check out my blog, https://thelitafrican.com :)
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May 26, 2013Life has been incredibly hectic lately, perfect time to read a collection of shorts. No need to follow a plot, just read each story as I have time. And what a lovely collection it is. Not one 'clunker' in the lot. There was a bit of a concern that the project's desire to get a wide range of stories would mean a sacrifice in quality to achieve their objective. But no such sacrifices were made.
Wonderful book. Karen Martin, Makhosazana Xaba and all of the contributing writers should be proud of a job well done.
Wonderful book. Karen Martin, Makhosazana Xaba and all of the contributing writers should be proud of a job well done.
May 3, 2015
Connected, engaged, alive - strong sense of both the struggle and the joy of being queer in Africa. I loved the fine detailed observation, the fun ... This book makes gay and lesbian people, and anybody who identifies as gender queer, at home in Africa. I wish all of us in Africa can welcome this dimension of our diversity.
September 5, 2015
Loved Annie Holmes' story (my main reason for reading the book)! Also enjoyed most of the others. A real variety of stories, so many different experiences and styles. I have given at least three copies of the book to friends.
April 21, 2025
Una antología de relatos de temática queer escritos por autores africanes. Si en toda recopilación el nivel varía de un cuento a otro, en este caso es aún más patente ya que de 18 relatos solo ha habido cinco que me hayan gustado. De hecho me han gustado MUCHO, pero el resto me han parecido llenos de lugares comunes sobre las identidades no heteronormativas. Esos cinco relatos son:
- El pellizco, de Martin Hatchuel, es muy, muy potente. Dos soldados adolescentes en la Segunda Guerra Bóer y cualquier cosa adicional que diga es despellejar este cuento tan duro y tan hermoso.
- Capítulo trece, de K. Sello Duiker. Me interesan mucho las ficciones que exploran las dinámicas que se dan en los encuentros sexuales esporádicos entre hombres. Este cuento aporta una capa de extra de interés al ser uno de ellos un hombre negro pobre y el otro hombre un blanco rico en la Sudáfrica actual. Muy, muy bien.
- El señor de la casa, de Beatrice Lamwaka. Un cuento breve sencillo y muy dulce sobre un joven que intenta huir a su modo de los estereotipos de género en Uganda durante la guerra. Parece un poco metido con calzador en esta antología ya que es más sobre la ruptura de los estereotipos de género que sobre las identidades sexuales, pero la verdad es que me ha dejado buen sabor de boca, a pesar del final tan triste.
- Todo al descubierto, de Dolar Vasani. Una mujer de visita en Tanzania por motivos laborales siente una fuerte atracción sexual por una compañera que lleva hijab. Podría haber caído en estereotipos (de hecho, a lo mejor lo hace, pero no conozco tanto el contexto como para identificarlos), pero el resultado es una carta de amor y pasión a las diferencias culturales. Además es el único relato de la antología en que no se presenta ningún tipo de determinismo trágico de las personas homosexuales, lo cual se agradece muchísimo.
- Un muchacho es un muchacho, de Barbara Adair. Un cuento cortito sobre un joven que hace un viaje en tren. No es un relato agradable de leer debido a unos cuantos TW bastante jodidos. Y sin embargo, el final supone cierto empoderamiento durísimo del personaje protagonista a pesar de lo sucedido. Me ha gustado mucho y no sé qué opinar de que me haya gustado tanto.
Otra pega que le encuentro al libro es que solo hay gays y lesbianas, el resto de las siglas LGBTQIA+ ni están ni se las espera. Pero de verdad que estos cinco relatos que digo son muy, muy buenos. Ah, y si por el motivo que sea os interesa leer ficción queer de autores africanes, corred también a por La muerte de Vivek Oji, de Akwaeke Emezi.
- El pellizco, de Martin Hatchuel, es muy, muy potente. Dos soldados adolescentes en la Segunda Guerra Bóer y cualquier cosa adicional que diga es despellejar este cuento tan duro y tan hermoso.
- Capítulo trece, de K. Sello Duiker. Me interesan mucho las ficciones que exploran las dinámicas que se dan en los encuentros sexuales esporádicos entre hombres. Este cuento aporta una capa de extra de interés al ser uno de ellos un hombre negro pobre y el otro hombre un blanco rico en la Sudáfrica actual. Muy, muy bien.
- El señor de la casa, de Beatrice Lamwaka. Un cuento breve sencillo y muy dulce sobre un joven que intenta huir a su modo de los estereotipos de género en Uganda durante la guerra. Parece un poco metido con calzador en esta antología ya que es más sobre la ruptura de los estereotipos de género que sobre las identidades sexuales, pero la verdad es que me ha dejado buen sabor de boca, a pesar del final tan triste.
- Todo al descubierto, de Dolar Vasani. Una mujer de visita en Tanzania por motivos laborales siente una fuerte atracción sexual por una compañera que lleva hijab. Podría haber caído en estereotipos (de hecho, a lo mejor lo hace, pero no conozco tanto el contexto como para identificarlos), pero el resultado es una carta de amor y pasión a las diferencias culturales. Además es el único relato de la antología en que no se presenta ningún tipo de determinismo trágico de las personas homosexuales, lo cual se agradece muchísimo.
- Un muchacho es un muchacho, de Barbara Adair. Un cuento cortito sobre un joven que hace un viaje en tren. No es un relato agradable de leer debido a unos cuantos TW bastante jodidos. Y sin embargo, el final supone cierto empoderamiento durísimo del personaje protagonista a pesar de lo sucedido. Me ha gustado mucho y no sé qué opinar de que me haya gustado tanto.
Otra pega que le encuentro al libro es que solo hay gays y lesbianas, el resto de las siglas LGBTQIA+ ni están ni se las espera. Pero de verdad que estos cinco relatos que digo son muy, muy buenos. Ah, y si por el motivo que sea os interesa leer ficción queer de autores africanes, corred también a por La muerte de Vivek Oji, de Akwaeke Emezi.
September 26, 2018
Son 18 relatos, y todos cuentan un amor que desgarra, de alguna forma u otra. Todos cuentan la perspectiva de ser negro, negra y ser homosexual. Vivir la pasión desde la perspectiva que todo esta prohibido para alcanzar la libertad. Destacan en ellos su fuerza narrativa y voces que no son del todo conocidas por estas latitudes y que vuelven a demostrar que estamos sumergidos en una realidad que nos hace opacos y, a veces, indiferentes. Cada uno de ellos cuenta desde la autobiografía, la ficción absoluta o la vivencia catártica que es vivir en el continente africano; bajo el yugo de la opresión del miedo al otro, al diferente, a quién tiene la piel más oscura y con ello, como suma negativa, el tener el deseo por un igual. Son narraciones que nos llevan a pensar, a desear, a excitarnos y exorcizar la nube que siempre acompañan nuestros pensamientos cuando te acostumbras al privilegio de sentirte único o única. Es una lectura maravillosa para abrir la mente y sus posibilidades. (...)"Si ganar tanto dinero te obliga a esto, a estar vigilado todo el tiempo, entonces que se lo queden todo para ellos. Vivir así es una maldición." "Aquel silencio repentino apestaba a soledad." "¿No crees que la hipocresía hace avanzar al mundo?" "Las leyes del universo, despóticas e incuestionables, le aseguran que el sol se levantará una vez más, trayendo consigo todos los problemas del mundo de los que tan solo desea huir." (...)
July 27, 2020
Leído para la iniciativa #BlackHistoryJuly.
2,5.
Me apena un poco tener que ponerle una nota tan baja a este libro porque es muy necesario contar historias desde el margen y sobre el margen, y hacernos ver nuevas perspectivas. Pero es que muy pocos relatos me han gustado de verdad, y otros tantos me han dejado absolutamente indiferente. Creo que muchos de ellos fallaban en el final, que era muy abrupto e inconcluso en algunos casos. Para colmo, la mayoría de los relatos se centraban en historias de gays y de lesbianas, parece ser que la B y la T del colectivo no existen: había dos relatos sobre personas trans, creo recordar, y ni uno solo sobre personas bisexuales; este es un detalle que también me ha chirriado bastante.
En definitiva, es una recopilación con la que no he conectado casi nada pero aun así reconozco su valía y su necesidad.
2,5.
Me apena un poco tener que ponerle una nota tan baja a este libro porque es muy necesario contar historias desde el margen y sobre el margen, y hacernos ver nuevas perspectivas. Pero es que muy pocos relatos me han gustado de verdad, y otros tantos me han dejado absolutamente indiferente. Creo que muchos de ellos fallaban en el final, que era muy abrupto e inconcluso en algunos casos. Para colmo, la mayoría de los relatos se centraban en historias de gays y de lesbianas, parece ser que la B y la T del colectivo no existen: había dos relatos sobre personas trans, creo recordar, y ni uno solo sobre personas bisexuales; este es un detalle que también me ha chirriado bastante.
En definitiva, es una recopilación con la que no he conectado casi nada pero aun así reconozco su valía y su necesidad.
July 30, 2025
"No me gustan las mujeres", piensa el chico..."
Una Antología de cuentos africanos irregulares. Algunos son muy buenos y otros no tanto. Hablan sobre lo que significa ser gay o lesbiana en África, uno de los continentes en los que existe una gran homofobia, respaldada por las leyes.
Hay historias de amor adolescente pero también de amor maduro, de autodescubrimiento y de las consecuencias de la homofobia.
Lo recomiendo para quienes deseen ampliar su visión del mundo y apreciar los avances que ha habido en Occidente respecto a los derechos y la aceptación de la comunidad LGBT.
Una Antología de cuentos africanos irregulares. Algunos son muy buenos y otros no tanto. Hablan sobre lo que significa ser gay o lesbiana en África, uno de los continentes en los que existe una gran homofobia, respaldada por las leyes.
Hay historias de amor adolescente pero también de amor maduro, de autodescubrimiento y de las consecuencias de la homofobia.
Lo recomiendo para quienes deseen ampliar su visión del mundo y apreciar los avances que ha habido en Occidente respecto a los derechos y la aceptación de la comunidad LGBT.
January 23, 2023
Had it not been for the 17th story, specially, this would've been a 4.7 aka 5 star read for me. I loved the variety of voices and the various representations of relationships in this collection.
August 22, 2025
These stories were varying in quality. Some were beautifully written but others were not so good and quite clunky and cringey. However, the good stories were in the majority and the few really brilliant ones make this four stars overall!
January 26, 2020
Yes, most of these stories are sad, and yes, they are definitely unequal. But this is not the point. This collection constitutes one of the rare windows over the diversity of the LGBTQ life in Africa, and as biased as the outcome might be (most of the stories remain centred over gay life in South Africa), it offers a new perspective on the different mentalities towards homosexuality on the continent; and in that process, it helps us gain a better grasp on what constitutes our true humanity.
So, yes, it is a frail book; but a necessary one as well.
So, yes, it is a frail book; but a necessary one as well.
September 18, 2018
Queer Africa es una colección importante de historias sobre la condición humana y la vulnerabilidad de la comunidad queer. Si bien es un tanto predecible que muchas historias aquí sean tristes (porque esa es la realidad), también hay historias de recuperación agentiva. Somos dueños de nuestras historias y aunque otros a veces quieran robarlas, nuestras voces se escuchan.
En otro plano, el texto me acercó a un conjunto de tradiciones que suelen ignorarse en México. No toda la literatura lgbt debe venir de nuestro país o de Estados Unidos. Y dentro de esta colección, también se aprecia que no haya un enfoque excesivo en la porción masculina de la comunidad. Muchas historias aquí son sobre mujeres y también hay dos sobre la comunidad transgénero. Mi única crítica sería que muchas de las historias son de Sudáfrica y sería bueno que hubiera de más países para que el título de la antología sea adecuado, porque ahorita diría que es Mostly Queer South Africa.
En otro plano, el texto me acercó a un conjunto de tradiciones que suelen ignorarse en México. No toda la literatura lgbt debe venir de nuestro país o de Estados Unidos. Y dentro de esta colección, también se aprecia que no haya un enfoque excesivo en la porción masculina de la comunidad. Muchas historias aquí son sobre mujeres y también hay dos sobre la comunidad transgénero. Mi única crítica sería que muchas de las historias son de Sudáfrica y sería bueno que hubiera de más países para que el título de la antología sea adecuado, porque ahorita diría que es Mostly Queer South Africa.
January 2, 2018
With homosexuality outlawed in 34 out of 55 African countries, an anthology such as this one plays an incredibly important role in giving a voice to the voiceless. What I particularly liked about the diverse stories collected here is that they are not strident, grandstanding, or interested in making sweeping political statements. Many are quite oblique, and focus on the quotidian details that make up lived gay experience in Africa. The people represented here live and breathe, love and act in anger and out of fear. They dream and hope, and also often just give up. Any gay person in Africa reading this will recognise a facet of their own lives here. This makes the book a powerful revolutionary statement in and of itself.
January 29, 2015
I love that this book exists- like I love that Fairytales for Lost Children exists. Queer and African, to some the two don't go together but this book collects some stories from around the continent that are about love, adventure, trials, discovery and all the shades of humanness on the continent. I loved that the stories were set in different time periods as well. Heavy on the South African stories but that is understandable being as the book was published in SA. I enjoyed most of the stories.
July 18, 2019
I was torn on my rating for this, but settled on 4/5 because 95% of this anthology is great and interesting. Each story has its distinct feel and it's really refreshing to read non-western queer stories. However the second to last story, "My Dad Forgot My Name?" by Victor Lewis, was very uncomfortable as it depicted an incestuous relationship between a son and his father. I feel like that story should come with a warning as it could be quite triggering for some people.
November 15, 2015
I really wanted to like this book. South Africa is way less accepting of LGBT people than Europe and (at least at the school I went to there) their existence is ignored/forbidden. So, this is definitely an important book. And I did really like some of the stories. But many of them were boring, easily forgettable or not so well written.
October 22, 2019
Last week, in a move which divided many viewers, American opera singer Jamie Barton decided to wave a rainbow flag during her performance of Rule, Britannia! at the BBC Proms. While Barton viewed the gesture as one of pride, attempting to increase queer visibility at an event which has for so long been the domain of white heterosexual men, her decision did not sit well with all. Given the colonialist theme of Rule, Britannia!, and the direct link between British imperialism and the punitive sodomy laws in so many formerly colonised countries, many non-white members of the LGBT community were quick to point out the flawed nature of Barton’s proud “protest”. While she may have felt that her brandishing of a rainbow flag represented a step forward for LGBTQ+ visibility, it was, like many such protests, exclusively reserved for white members of the community, who do not have to reckon with the complex interplay between race, sexuality and colonialism.
It was with these thoughts in mind that I turned to Queer Africa, a collection of short stories by LGBTQ+ authors from Africa. Collected and edited by Makhosazana Xaba and Karen Martin, the stories aim to address the relative paucity of African LGBTQ+ narratives. Despite all broadly falling under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, Queer Africa‘s contributors are drawn from countries all over the continent, like Uganda, Nigeria and Kenya to name but a few, as well as from the diaspora. What links these authors is their desire to fearlessly highlight problems faced by African LGBTQ+ individuals, from familial and state persecution, to the difficulty of finding a former crush on Facebook. Indeed, it would be a mistake to assume that these stories are all tragic or focus only on the stigmatisation of LGBTQ+ Africans. Queer Africa provides a welcome salve to both the predominantly Eurocentric LGBTQ+ narratives which dominate queer literature, and to the supposedly unproblematic and overarching assumption that being LGBTQ+ in Africa can only mean suffering. These stories are as multifaceted as they are important, by turns humorous, poignant and heartrending.
It would be impossible to discuss every story in Queer Africa in this short post and still do the collection justice. It must be read in its entirety for its true beauty to be appreciated. These stories refract and echo off one another, sometimes melodiously and sometimes discordantly. Nonetheless, they all feel part of a single grand narrative which underlies the collection. The beauty of Queer Africa comes in its depiction of love and tenderness within difficult circumstances, as it demonstrates that amidst draconian measures designed to quash them, and render them invisible, LGBTQ+ Africans persist, exist and love nonetheless. That isn’t to say however, that there aren’t standout stories. Certain gems within this treasure trove are more lustrous than others. Olakunle Ologunro’s ‘Pampers’ pinpoints acutely and unflinchingly the deep-rooted consequences adolescent homophobia and a lack of queer sex education can have on the romantic development of a young gay man. In Yvonne Onakeme Etaghene’s ‘Iyawo’ a relationship between two queer African women becomes a rebellion against ‘men in the other room who expect us to bear them babies, bare our bodies to them…shut up and laugh at their jokes.’ As Etaghene so wonderfully puts it ‘Obligation is slavery. But this moment is freedom.’ Wamuwi Mbao’s ‘The Bath’ is a masterclass in how to write a short story as within a four-page narrative he wrestles with the most complex questions of memorialisation, shame and love – can one truly honour the memory of a departed lover when your relationship is not considered legitimate, by your government, by the law or by your families?
Perhaps the most compelling story within Queer Africa comes at the close of the collection. In ‘Chebor’s Light’ Nancy Lindah Ilamwenya recounts the tale of Chebor, who cannot bear her husband children and must, according to her tribe’s traditions, marry a recent widow and help her to raise her children. This causes a rift between the younger members of the village, who view this marriage between two women as ‘un-African’ and against the Bible, and the village elders, who speak of African traditions older than the Bible which refused to condemn queer individuals for something they could not change. By ending the collection with ‘Chebor’s Light’ Makhosazana and Martin close Queer Africa with a subversion of our usual expectations about LGBTQ+ narratives. Here it is the older generation who are tolerant to queer expressions of sexuality, while the younger generation cannot comprehend them. This summarises in many ways the overall vision of this gorgeous collection of short stories – as time and time again any preconceptions we may have had upon initially reading the words ‘Queer’ and ‘Africa’ are dissected, subverted and returned to us, repackaged in the most unexpected of ways.
Queer Africa does intentionally and triumphantly, what Jamie Barton did inadvertently, beautifully highlighting the complex relationship between race and sexuality, and the ways this manifests itself in the intrinsically human pursuit of love and companionship. It is a pleasure from beginning to end, and should be read and appreciated by all.
https://biggaysummer.wordpress.com/20...
It was with these thoughts in mind that I turned to Queer Africa, a collection of short stories by LGBTQ+ authors from Africa. Collected and edited by Makhosazana Xaba and Karen Martin, the stories aim to address the relative paucity of African LGBTQ+ narratives. Despite all broadly falling under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, Queer Africa‘s contributors are drawn from countries all over the continent, like Uganda, Nigeria and Kenya to name but a few, as well as from the diaspora. What links these authors is their desire to fearlessly highlight problems faced by African LGBTQ+ individuals, from familial and state persecution, to the difficulty of finding a former crush on Facebook. Indeed, it would be a mistake to assume that these stories are all tragic or focus only on the stigmatisation of LGBTQ+ Africans. Queer Africa provides a welcome salve to both the predominantly Eurocentric LGBTQ+ narratives which dominate queer literature, and to the supposedly unproblematic and overarching assumption that being LGBTQ+ in Africa can only mean suffering. These stories are as multifaceted as they are important, by turns humorous, poignant and heartrending.
It would be impossible to discuss every story in Queer Africa in this short post and still do the collection justice. It must be read in its entirety for its true beauty to be appreciated. These stories refract and echo off one another, sometimes melodiously and sometimes discordantly. Nonetheless, they all feel part of a single grand narrative which underlies the collection. The beauty of Queer Africa comes in its depiction of love and tenderness within difficult circumstances, as it demonstrates that amidst draconian measures designed to quash them, and render them invisible, LGBTQ+ Africans persist, exist and love nonetheless. That isn’t to say however, that there aren’t standout stories. Certain gems within this treasure trove are more lustrous than others. Olakunle Ologunro’s ‘Pampers’ pinpoints acutely and unflinchingly the deep-rooted consequences adolescent homophobia and a lack of queer sex education can have on the romantic development of a young gay man. In Yvonne Onakeme Etaghene’s ‘Iyawo’ a relationship between two queer African women becomes a rebellion against ‘men in the other room who expect us to bear them babies, bare our bodies to them…shut up and laugh at their jokes.’ As Etaghene so wonderfully puts it ‘Obligation is slavery. But this moment is freedom.’ Wamuwi Mbao’s ‘The Bath’ is a masterclass in how to write a short story as within a four-page narrative he wrestles with the most complex questions of memorialisation, shame and love – can one truly honour the memory of a departed lover when your relationship is not considered legitimate, by your government, by the law or by your families?
Perhaps the most compelling story within Queer Africa comes at the close of the collection. In ‘Chebor’s Light’ Nancy Lindah Ilamwenya recounts the tale of Chebor, who cannot bear her husband children and must, according to her tribe’s traditions, marry a recent widow and help her to raise her children. This causes a rift between the younger members of the village, who view this marriage between two women as ‘un-African’ and against the Bible, and the village elders, who speak of African traditions older than the Bible which refused to condemn queer individuals for something they could not change. By ending the collection with ‘Chebor’s Light’ Makhosazana and Martin close Queer Africa with a subversion of our usual expectations about LGBTQ+ narratives. Here it is the older generation who are tolerant to queer expressions of sexuality, while the younger generation cannot comprehend them. This summarises in many ways the overall vision of this gorgeous collection of short stories – as time and time again any preconceptions we may have had upon initially reading the words ‘Queer’ and ‘Africa’ are dissected, subverted and returned to us, repackaged in the most unexpected of ways.
Queer Africa does intentionally and triumphantly, what Jamie Barton did inadvertently, beautifully highlighting the complex relationship between race and sexuality, and the ways this manifests itself in the intrinsically human pursuit of love and companionship. It is a pleasure from beginning to end, and should be read and appreciated by all.
https://biggaysummer.wordpress.com/20...
January 16, 2020
More really good reads than not so good , thoroughly enjoyed this compilation of stories ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
May 12, 2023
really liked some stories and didn’t care for others, glad this book exists though
December 31, 2020
Colección de preciosos relatos sobre diferentes experiencias en torno a la sexualidad enmarcados en el sur de África. Si bien la mayoría de las historias provienen de Sudáfrica, se aborda la temática desde distintos puntos de vista, la mayoría melancólicos, agridulces o francamente acongojantes. Me han parecido particularmente interesantes aquellos que exploran la dinámica con el (post-)colonialismo, la diferencia de clases o el racismo, así como aquellos que ofrecen una perspectiva histórica o un engarce en los modos de vida étnicos tradicionales. Algunos cuentos resultan muy sensibles, casi etéreos, y transmiten la multiplicidad de sentimientos que han de afrontar las personas LGBTIQ+ en esta región. Otros me han resultado particularmente crudos en cuanto a su descripción de las relaciones sexuales, poco acostumbrado a que sean tan explícitas. Esta edición es única, pero quizás se podría recomendar en conjunto con "¡Esto no es africano!" de Marc Serena Casalaldiga y "La bastarda" de Trifonia Melibea Obono.
April 3, 2023
It’s a collection of queer stories by African authors and most of them identify as queer themselves. Most authors are South African but there are also representation from Uganda, Botswana and a few more countries.
The stories by Ugandan authors Dolar Vasani & Monica Arac de Nyeko are both about Lesbian love and they of course touch my heart especially considering what has been in the news about Uganda these past few weeks. It’s heartbreaking to know about the situation of LGBTQIA+ people in Uganda but also hopeful to read about how passion & love exist despite all persecution.
The story that touched my heart the most was actually “Sethunya Likes Girls Better” by Botswanan author Wame Molefhe. And another one that will stay in my thoughts for a long time is “A Boy is a Boy is a…” by Barbara Adair.
Queer people in Africa exist and we should listen to these voices! I’m so glad my local library agreed to buy this book and I’m hoping more people will find it and read it. These stories should be heard!
September 9, 2023
No esperaba encontrármelo en la FIL Lima y, cuando lo vi, me lo llevé cual necesidad. Valió la pena. Los relatos abordan la temática LGBT de diversas maneras, desde aquellas que denuncian la homofobia en el contexto africano hasta otras que hablan de la perversión de algunas relaciones homosexuales. Hay de todo, y la mayoría narrada con una fibra sensible que añade una dimensión emocional a narraciones o directas o tangenciales. Mi favorito es «El pellizco», de Martin Hatchuel, la historia de dos soldados que, alejados de su tropa, viven momentos de amistad e intimidad y una gran tensión sexual, una pausa a todo el horror que les rodea; qué cuentazo.
May 21, 2020
Malo hasta decir basta. La traducción es infumable, frases traducidas literalmente del inglés sin sentido, jerga absurda que no funciona en absoluto en castellano... Aparte de eso, más que narraciones contra la homofobia son narraciones sobre homofobia, la myoría bastantre tristes y muchas sin sustancia alguna. Una gran decepción.
November 24, 2022
In some ways this is a diverse compilation. The stories certainly moved me in a range of directions--some fun, some heartbreaking, some harrowing. Some with a clear queer voice and some that felt (though I had trouble confirming) more about queer people than by queer people. I wish the compilation had drawn on a broader range of countries.
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