All Hail The Queers Photography Magazine

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.

⚧️ Contents
⚢
Founder’s greetings p4
Ed’s letter p5
⚧️ ⚣
Returning to self | Zawadi The Art Purple
SiTaboo / Mal Muga Blue
In essence \ Leboh Green
In spoken words ¦ Tinashe Wakapila Yellow
Dudoir Photography | Corné du Plessis Orange
Retrospective Reflection / Lwanda Mputa Red
Moving yet stuck: a visit to Cullinan \ Carbon Brown
Letters to my love ¦ Thandi Elinah Mazibuko P,W,B
Soul’s Rhapsody | 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!
⚢

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

Is it boy or a girl?
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 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!
.

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.

.
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.

.
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.

Facebook
Tinashe Wakapila
Links to follow
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