We’ve listened to your hate, now we pen our love
Copyright © 2021 Zawadi The Art All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording or photocopying without written permission from the founder and the co-creators.
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Contents
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Founder’s greetings p4 Ed’s letter p5
⚧️ Returning to self SiTaboo In essence
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Zawadi The Art
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Mal Muga
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Leboh
Purple Blue Green
In spoken words
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Tinashe Wakapila
Yellow
Dudoir Photography
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Corné du Plessis
Orange
Lwanda Mputa
Red
Retrospective Reflection /
Moving yet stuck: a visit to Cullinan Letters to my love Soul’s Rhapsody
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Carbon
Brown
Thandi Elinah Mazibuko P,W,B |
Jesse Barlow
P,W,B
Founder’s Greetings T H O B E L A I greet you with warmth and a clear heart of acceptance. As I mapped the foundations of this creation, I was confronted with the different approaches of building this craft; pain and suffering are smeared on our existence but that all there is to us? Are we the remnants of our struggles? OF COURSE NOT. We are shimmering lights, we are stars bouncing poignantly on this earth and our magic cannot be contained in any straight line or box! We are the Queer Republic, the land beyond boarders and heteronormative perceptions. The truth has just put on a drag show and this is not your average one-day show, this is not a show for your entertainment- this is our lives layered in colour, this is queerness in all its glory, these are living and breathing Gods. Everyone, All Hail The Queers!
Ed’s Letter It was an absolute privilege to have been one of the first people to have read and experienced this beautifully executed work of art. This is a colourfully captivating read about identity; living; proudly existing and the art of love in all its forms. My hope is that every single person who reads this, is entranced by the art of it all and that you discover something that resonates with you. A massive thank you to all the contributors for letting us a peak into your prolific minds. To all our readers, welcome to the family and All Hail The Queers. -Zureal Malebaco
Zawadi The Art Returning to self
Ke nna Mpho Vinolia Mashego Ke morwedi wa Maki le Siphoso Mashego Ke motau. Ke motho wago bua kuwa shakwaneng, shakwaneng ya kgomo le motho go phalang, go phala motho asa jeweng. Kgomo ke mallela teng, gageshu rea tibela, re tibela pela letlateng. Ke motho wa legola tlhogo mmele ke lekanele, Ke maputlaganya a mmaphuthi, mashia tau ka lebelo!
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I rented my mouth to a language that is obsessed with papers I twist my tongue to accommodate its sharp edges It is constantly demanding flexibility, banging on my vocal cords for perfect tightening and stretching my throat to create more space. More space to convert my brain cells into currencies My eyes to induce its ability to see more white than black, brown or any other colour My ears to distinctly listen to bass tones and deafen the high-pitched tones My feet to march towards a skin that does not resemble mine It has infiltrated my entire system destroying threads of the rich melanin that is inherent in me. My name is spelled from the papers I have scraped for, each has a detailed portion of respect that should be passed my way I cling to the remnants of myself that isn't scattered papers I cling on, although I know that practice leads to fluency Eventually I will become monolingual, articulate and excelling at being flakey, weightless, disposable piece of paper.
Africa is bleeding, our leaders are the new owners of the colonial missiles and rifles that have been pointing and firing at us. Who else do we need to summon to end these genocides and femicides? Which book should we open that doesn’t have our blood inked on its pages? Which ancestors should we call that won’t demand girls and womxn as sacrifices? Which neighbor should we turn to who won’t call us foreigners in our own continent? We have been exposed to flames for so long that we are pouring gasoline onto ourselves. How do we breathe when we are collectively inhaling these fumes? Which part of ourselves do we start to heal? Should it be the internalized hatred first? Or the salivation over being the white man's prized possession? Or the generational massacre of womxn in the name of a man? Or should it be the diligent slave mentality that carries orders from colonial forces to kill homosexuals? Who do we hold when we’ve declared war on each other? Who else are we going to speak to that will understand our tongues? Do we even know where our tongues are? Do we remember our mothers? Do we remember that we were birthed by the soil and the sun? Do we remember ourselves? Do we remember ourselves
I was always here I never left, you were too focused on other factors outside of yourself that you forgot what home meant and felt. I am here. I’ve been here. For you. Thank you for coming home. - Your soul
The girls that look like boys, the boys that have breasts, the boy that walks like a girl, the man with a beard in a dress, Is it boy or a girl? Is she or he breathing? Is she or he human? Will it stop you from loving them?
When you handed us the mirror You took our healers away from us, and forced us to praise paper. My people cannot speak to the sun anymore they forgot how to summon clouds. You exploited our bodies, dug and sucked the spirits of these lands then you drowned us at sea. You drowned us in your image and we excelled at performing your scriptures But the ocean is rumbling now The mummies are awakening now The ones you gave the mirror to, They can see now!
An artist’s growl “There is no future in the arts” “dreams will not put food on the table” “being an artist is not a real job” As if hearts are not renowned drummers of every lifetime. As if the flute to my breath can be ignored and discarded. These veins are wombs to the dead nations that seek to be revived. This mouth will awaken snoring giants in your bloodline. Art is birthed here. Life is scripted and scraped, tumbled and fumbled, adored and despised. Life is at my fingertips, Now place yourself unto my canvas and watch me spill you away!
In Truth Confess your desires and you will be granted pleasure in multitudes Surrender to your truth and you will live a life of clarity and bliss Honor your being. Trust in your name. Rejoice in your pronouns and LIVE.
Dearest Rainbow Community Dear Lesbian, Dear Gay, Dear Bisexual, Dear Transgender/Transsexual Dear Queer, Dear Intersex, Dear Asexual, Dear Pansexual, Dear Rainbow community, You are not at fault. You're not a sin to be constantly punished. You deserve to breathe. You deserve to walk this earth with pride flowing with your every step. There’s a sky full of gifts to bestow upon you. There are wells overflowing with warmth to dip and immerse yourself in. You are merged with magic in your being. Thank you for breathing. Thank you for living your truth. Thank you for YOU.
Zawadi, the rebirth of Mpho I am unfolding poetry, making sense till it becomes senseless. My life is a clutter of speeches, at times I tiptoe around my voicefeeling its fragility but trusting in my core to stand with every word. I am a lesbian I am a multi-spirited being I am a renegade and most importantly, I am a gift. I am on a journey to home; home to the people that birthed me. Home to the memories that built me. Home to the hands that held me in warmth. Home to a community that frees my spirit. Home to myself, home to my art, to my core and home to my life. I have come far yet I have just arrived. I am Zawadi I am the rebirth of Mpho Vinolia Mashego We are The Art!
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Links to follow zawadimash@gmail.com Intagram: https://www.instagram.com/zawadi.art/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/artzawadi?lang=en Linkedin: Zawadi Mashego WhatsApp: +27 78 2833219
SiTaboo
Mal Muga
There is something about being queer, gay in particular, that we have been taught to feel dirty about. Despite the slow but increasing acceptance of queerness across the continent we are still told to keep it behind closed doors. Our sexuality is only to be practiced in the darkness. We have been relegated to the darkest corners of expression and existence in more ways than this.
We as queer people have been left feeling alone and it has had immense consequences on our relationships, our ability to bond and to express ourselves sexually and emotionally leaving us fundamentally lonely. One of the things that scares me the most is the high probability that I may be alone forever. It scares me that I have internalized all the shame that has surrounded me my whole life and that I may have an inability to move past it and to connect to a partner truly and completely.
In this photography series SiTaboo, I have chosen to focus on the darkness represented by the black background. In not just the darkness as an entity but in its relation to how it provides the perfect environment to find light in connection in the vibrancy, colour and beauty that comes as a result of black queer love, connection and sex. The name SiTaboo uses the Swahili prefix ‘Si’ that means ‘it is not’ therefore SiTaboo is not taboo.
Our attraction is Magic Our connection is essential Our love is worthy Our desire is Sacred Our sex is pure SiTaboo.
Links to follow https://www.behance.net/malmuga https://www.instagram.com/malnoblesse /
Leboh
In essence
How I express myself, whether it is in makeup, fashion and art- is important to me. It’s political. It’s always noting the power dynamics that surround me and how I challenge them.
Friends are the base of my personality, I don’t know what I would be without friends. In a world where queer folk find themselves lonely, I am privileged to say that I’ve always had a friend near me. I love my friends, somehow more than myself. The discovery of thyself is so much more bearable when you have friends by your side. My friendships are where my happiness is.
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When I am in nature, it is where I feel most human.
Links to follow Twitter: https://twitter.com/Leboh_?ref_src=tw src%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ct wgr%5Eauthor Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/leboh_/?hl =en
In Spoken Words
Tinashe Wakapila
A silenced voice that carries certain humanity aspects or proof is an injustice served to the future generations. A historical evolution in mankind on gender and sexuality identity undocumented is yet another chance for hate crime perpetrators to be birthed and live to execute their hate. What is not written, is not there. Then why silence this lovely history?
The mystical beauty of mankind is that there is a deep explanation that can never be unveiled by nobody, we can have a few of those humanity wisdoms we may throw to give an understanding of us but the epitome of life is known by only where our lives come from, not those who gave birth to us or offered their semen for our existence but the real place of creation.
Beauty is not subjected to what is the right path that has been written by another person, beauty is the courage of wearing who you are proudly, and turning every unbearable moment of being into life lessons and hopes, not minding how hopeless it is but believing how hopeful it could be.
Love has no gender or expectations of how one must be. It has to be a journey of who is capable, and what they are capable of. Then the compatibility of humanity complex is aligned to individuals who choose to unify. It takes different time frames but only time again tells how much it was worth. Do not despise the humble beginnings of anything. Getting to know each other is work in progress.
The pain of realizing that your worth is valued in the community with affordability and righteousness that has been aligned by the toxic Heteronormativity Behaviors of the world brings a lot of harm to the extent that the family dynamics are shaken and love is left behind.
The patriarchal and misogynistic behaviour of some mankind are the rocks I splash unto and the little acceptance from those who have took time to know me being a water body laid before me that I splash into and merge with the rest of the world, still my landing to this thing called life has never had a clear navigation.
Where it will hit when I land is where it will be understood as I explain, so is my emotions and feelings about my being womxn right now, they them. Born in a time where there is an evolving direction towards the world I embrace harnessing the knowledge of what has been taught to me. Pushed in the edges of success or failure. Life is but a cycle.
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Like a waterfall, water trickling down, and the water molecule intertwined together. directed by the way the wind blowing it, unsettled and splashy they seem while they are still midair, from the edge as the water out pours there is a straight formation somehow naturally orchestrated, in a pattern or order to the way the water flows down, yet not knowing, whether it will splash on the stones when it hits down or splash in the water body laid for it down.
God does not make mistakes also comes as a supporting statement to the reason behind why people have to not be Homosexual because God created Adam and Eve. With mind and statement in thought it raises questionable doubt the issue of mankind creation must be used to condemn Homosexuality. Everything built in basis of love is love and wins.
Peace is an articulator verb that’s expressed through realities and patience one lets out. Your voice is a tool of building and destruction. Choose ye today what is better.
Links to follow Facebook Tinashe Wakapila Facebook Pages : https://web.facebook.com/pg/beinglesblackimmig/photos/ https://web.facebook.com/QueerBeingAwoken/?_rdc=1&_rdr Instagram https://www.instagram.com/wakapilatinashe/?hl=en Twitter https://twitter.com/tinashewakapila?lang=en Tiktok @wakapilatinashe Tumblr
https://wakapilatinashe.tumblr.com/
DUDOIR PHOTOGRAPHY Corné du Plessis
DUDOIR photography is an exciting challenge for men to release their inhibitions and reveal or redefine their true self: who you are, who you can be, and who you want to be. The term DUDOIR PHOTOGRAPHY is derived from the female version BOUDOIR PHOTOGRAPHY. It is a photographic style featuring intimate, romantic, and sometimes erotic images of men in a bedroom or private dressing room environment, primarily intended for his or his romantic partner’s private enjoyment. It is distinct from glamour photography in that it is usually more suggestive rather than explicit in its approach to nudity and sexuality. It features men who do not regularly model and they often request art nudes. It is common for men to have DUDOIR photographs of themselves made as a gift to a partner, conventionally for Valentine’s Day, on the occasion of their engagement, marriage, or before an enforced extended separation due to work. DUDOIR photography is also sometimes given as a gift with the intention of re-affirming and encouraging the romance and sensuality between partners in a long-term relationship. Increasingly, DUDOIR photography is seen as something that a person might do purely for their own enjoyment, for the pleasure and affirmation of seeing themselves as attractive, daring, sensual, and sexuallydesirable. This is often the case to celebrate reaching a physical goal that could be anything from losing weight or recovery after an operation or physical trauma. Sexy is not a physical attribute. It's self-confidence. It's a moment when you're comfortable enough with yourself to open-up to others. Love yourself now. After a DUDOIR photo session, men often comment on how liberated the experience made them feel.
Links to follow Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dudoir.ma Website: www.dudoir.co.za MANSCAPES is a fine art photo coffee table book featuring male nude bodyscapes. In this book the photographer uses light to sculpt the male physique. Purchase book: https://www.blurb.com/b/10815841-manscapes
Retrospective Reflection
Lwanda Mputa
Usually when someone reflects on their life they tend to look back with their past self and see how far they have come as a person. Well, I want to do it in the opposite manner which is look at the now and work my way to still see parts of me then, in the me of now.
Today, I am a person who does not have everything figured out, plans I had for the future seem to change without my permission and some changes come unexpectedly; I feel like I have disappointed myself in some shape or form. In all my self-doubt there is always a layer of optimism that I peel away towards and focus on the upside. My eyes are always set on the light because that is all I need to push through.
I have always thought highly of myself because as I’ve said “If I don’t think highly of myself, then who will?” It’s a statement I have thought to myself as although we surround ourselves with individuals who could have nothing but the best respect and intentions towards oneself, self-respect and admiration comes from oneself before obtaining it from others.
It took some time for me to be able to accept myself for who I was not just inside but also out. That has been the main reason why I don’t take pictures of myself that often so I really had to dig to find them for this magazine and looking back at them is the reason why I chose this sort of theme as I reflect on the different ways in which I captioned myself overtime. With images being more serious and darker more recently from being more playful and candid in the past- it’s a representation of me growing into my own, seeing what works for me and slowly coming into terms with being and how I represent myself best.
The me of today is a person that is constantly maturing, constantly looking within themselves for answers for behaviours I perpetuate that deem unfavorable and consistently pushing myself to raise the stakes higher even when I’m not ready. Even with all that, I still see myself from yesterday as someone who is carefree, meets almost everything with optimism and invites it all with a heart-warming smile.
Links to follow Instagram: @Lwanda_mputa Twitter: https://twitter.com/lwandamputa1?lang= en
Moving yet stuck: a visit to Cullinan
Carbon
In January 2021 I visited the small town of Cullinan, just outside of Pretoria, South Africa. This small town is best known of the Cullinan Diamond, the biggest uncut diamond ever mined; a diamond stolen by the British monarchy under the lie of a gift.
These images capture the stillness in time faced by the town, a diamond taken from it but never returned. The town feels weighed down by an unspoken silence, another sleepy mining town once bustling with moving miners, black miners, who
never saw the riches of their toiling labour under colonialism and Apartheid. In many ways, mining industry in South Africa is still the same - black people mine in daily dangerous situations to make some capitalist rich.
We are moving yet stuck in our past. How do we move on from it without any justice being served?
Links to follow Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carbonated art/?hl=en https://vimeo.com/carbonatedart
Letters to my love Thandi Elinah Mazibuko
Kutloano, moratuoa, lerato laka. I will, one day, write you a letter on a piece of paper, with a pen, and post it to you. Perhaps that day, I will not have to post it, you will be near. Arm’s length. Arms reach. Hearts reach. One day, people will ask, “When did you know?” I will tell them, you had me at, “Hi Avo lover.” And I knew. I know. I do not know how I know. I just know that I know. My body knows. My muscles remember. My bones attest. You are like a dormant memory, deep within the grooves of my soul, suddenly triggered. This is knowledge, not feelings. Feelings fluctuate. Knowledge is consistent. Steady. Secure. I do not know how everything is going to unfold. But I know you are my memory. My knowledge. I think about you. I think about what I know of you. I think, oh this human. This shockingly wonderful human. Your voice sounds like the first note of a string quartet. Your laughter like the first rays of sunrise. Warm and bright. Your words. How you put them together. I am out of words. I give thanks for your existence. Grateful for your creation. Say something, send me a text. Tell me what you think. I want to see your name pop up on my screen. I want to hear your voice. I want to see you. I see you. I know you.
Every time I have said that I liked you.
You know what I just realized. I have never been alone. Even if I had in the past convinced myself that I was. You have always been here. With me. Always. You have prayed for me. You have hoped that I was okay. When you were sad you have hoped that my life experience was better. You have hoped that I was smiling. That I have eaten. That I have rested, and that I was healthy. All without having met me yet. You have searched for me in people’s eyes. Because you knew, even if we have shed our bodies through the ages, the look in our eyes never changes. I am sorry I took what felt like a long time to see you. My eyes were not ready yet. My vision was still blurry. Now. I see you. Vivid. Clear. I see you like I see myself. You are my mind’s eye. Now that I have seen you, it feels like we have never been apart. You were always here. Always. By my side. You are me. I am you. I and I.
Hey Avo Lover. “Hello, Wonderful Human. Where have you been?” “Mercury.” “Take me with you when you leave.” “I am not leaving, this is home. You are home.” In the beginning there was nothing. At the start we were nothing. Out of nothing, we became. The heavens opened. Rain came pouring down. We rolled in the mud. Quickly becoming a body. A single body at first. Through moments in time we served the soil, for it allowed us to be seen. It gave us our body. As the sun rose, and set. Our body wore out. Grew tired. We knew that, soon we would have to shed our skin. Back to the soil. A sacrifice not in vain. For whatever the soil gives, so it shall once again claim, and, give once more. Even though our bones grew weary, we wanted to see of the Earth still. Thus, before sleep, we cried out to the heavens. Making a prayer, “As we launch into momentary slumber. Let us be born again as two. With a mate. To travel and see the Earth with.” What point is wonder, when you have no one to see it with? And so it became that when the sun rose, we were two. Separated. Fashioned out of the same soul. The heavens opened. Rain came pouring down. We played in the mud, and two bodies we became. The Earth flooded. Between us grew rivers and oceans. Before long, amnesia took center stage. The memory of your face disappeared within the cracks of time. Then on the seventh day of the eighth month. Lifetimes later. Our paths crossed again, and I remembered you instantly. It’s the look in your eyes. It has never changed. I see you.
Hello wonderful human. We cuddled on the small little couch, in the terrible apartment we had booked for the night. High. I held her in my arms, and I knew that I never wanted to let go. I must have dozed off. When I woke up you were not there, and for the first few moments heartbreak. Thinking that it was all a dream. I tried making out my surroundings. Where was I? I looked over the bed and saw your body lying there. I smiled, I couldn’t help. I felt my heart grow inches thicker. You are real, my wildest dream come through. I climbed next to you, and drifted to sleep once again. In the morning, I was awoken by your gentle caress on my back. When I turned over, I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
Links to follow Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thandi _fela/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/thandielinah https://web.facebook.com/thandi.el inah.714?_rdc=1&_rdr
Soul’s Rhapsody
Jesse barlow
Links to follow Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/papithepoet/?hl=en
