THE LONG READ
We were with the female friend,
waiting for a taxi. We had gone along to
keep her company. I told the man with
the gun that, as far as I knew, the Presi-
dent also hadn’t signed any document
that we were to be persecuted. His reply:
‘Get in, I said. Into the car, lesbians. Who
told you you had permission to speak?’
The man in civilian clothes made us
get into the car. He was well armed. We
were sent straight to a cell. Four days
passed before we could make a statement.
‘If you don’t tell the truth, we’ll take
you to a public jail; then to the courts;
then to Black Beach.’ My heart was pound-
ing so hard, it felt like it would fly out of
my mouth. That’s what the commander
ordered. ‘We were looking for you.’
The military man who arrested us
said that we had committed two crimes:
sucking the tit of a girl on the sidewalk
and going out onto the street as lesbi-
ans. According to his declaration, I was
the one sucking the breast of a girl. He
referred to my cousin. Her husband came
to the jail, told them his wife was not
a lesbian. He paid the fine and took her
away. After ages, it was decided that the
issue would be brought to the court, but
first they tried us in private, my friend
and me. It was the decision of the com-
mander, who looked at us strangely. They
asked me if I was a lesbian. I answered,
yes, but in my youth, that I’d given it up;
same for my friend.
The next day they tortured me. The
person who arrested us came to the cell
again; they told us: ‘Get up.’ There I was,
sitting in a room full of darkness. The
commander explained that our case was
serious for two reasons: disobedience to
the Chief of State because we practised
habits that were not approved of by him,
and public scandal. In Guinea it was not
permitted, they informed us, to express
affection in public spaces. ‘Not kisses or
caresses or anything, and even less for
deviants.’
My family decided they weren’t going
to pay the fine, 50,000 francs for each of
us. My family brought the child and a
suitcase of clothes for me and the baby.
My grandmother put both the suitcase of
clothes for my child and my child on top
of the commander’s table. She said she
was too old to take care of the babies of
mothers who were in jail for witchcraft
and evil lesbian spirits. Then my family
was asked to leave the room.
They cut my hair with scissors, a pair of
scissors they’d grabbed from I don’t know
where. ‘Lesbians are men. What are you
doing with your hair? Learn to be a man,’
they taunted me, as they cut my hair.
They brought me into a dark room.
Each beating felt like two. They decided
to give me 50 on my rear. After 14 I no
longer cried. I began to piss and shit
myself. After the beating, they dragged
me across the floor, from the torture
room to the entrance of the gendarme-
rie. They threw me out into the street,
right in front of my family. The suitcase
of clothes for my child broke. All the
clothes, mine and my child’s, scattered
across the ground.
I couldn’t sit down for a week. I had
to lie down all the time. I pissed and shit
myself. I am not going to die of shame
now; I got out of that alive...
My family, while I was in prison, sent
me messages. They wanted me to stay in
prison for a long time so my lesbianism
could be beaten out of me. In prison, Ilearned they arrested homosexual girls
and brought them directly to jail, without
question.
Any policeman who sees you in Bata
looking like a man can lock you up for
lesbianism. They say that it is the Presi-
dent of the Republic who orders them to
put an end to this delinquency. What girl
in Bata would think of wearing trousers
and sneakers? Acammanam, ‘civil protec-
tion’, the night guards who patrol Bata go
hunting for us in particular. I don’t know
if there is a lesbian who looks masculine
in the entire city of Bata who hasn’t been
jailed. Every one. Now we disguise our-
selves with long hair. No trousers. Dresses,
the longer the better. If someone calls you
on the phone, you don’t know if it’s the
police. Be careful: don’t respond casually.
I want to work. If they hadn’t saddled
me with this baby, today I’d be in the
military. My son is growing up. His father
isn’t around. The boys who get us lesbians
pregnant, if they discover we’re lesbians,
they abandon us. I didn’t want a child. I
didn’t depend on anyone. I worked at my
jobs until they forced me to be a mother.
I don’t have a lot of education, but I’ve
got an excess of strength. I feel sorry for
my child. Born to a mother in my situa-
tion. I’m afraid that they’ll make fun of
him in the street.
When he was born, I started to love
him little by little. In the hospital, I didn’t
even want to look at him. What a tiny
thing. What a disgusting bawler. My plan
was to abandon him and get out of there.
Leave the hospital and this world. Send
money from time to time. I didn’t want
him. Now I have him here, I don’t know,
like this... all he does is poop and pee.
Now I understand the girls who are
like me. Suddenly, you’d see them preg-
nant. Now it was my turn.
Here families cast curses. They told
me that if I didn’t get pregnant, they’d
put a curse on me. The woman who was
with me in prison had been threatened:
either she got pregnant or they’d kick
her out into the street. She escaped to
Malabo, but she was in jail for two more
weeks because she couldn’t pay the fine.
Other lesbians raised the money and she
got out.
Families in Guinea think that if
we lesbians get pregnant we’ll stop70 NEW INTERNATIONALIST
I live with my family like
an animal in the jungle.
Sometimes they buy the child
milk. They ignore me. I found
out that they thought that if I
gave birth, it would take away
my lesbianism