...WHO TAKES CARE OF THEM?

Ghosts Of Girlhood

by Akua Antiwiwaa

There is an old, hazy picture laying in front of me. In it I am dressed in all white, from the pearl beads fastened into my hair and tucked against my ears, to the ones that trail loosely around my tiny wrists. (...)

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artwork: “Cultura Negra” [Black Culture] by Astrid Milena González Quintero

Lines of work:

FOR

Chapter 4
Anti-Rights Actors

A complex and evolving network of anti-rights actors is exerting increasing influence in international spaces as well as domestic politics. Often backed by obscure funding, these actors build tactic alliances across issues, regions, and faiths to increase their impact.

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Even in times of climate crisis, governments continue to encourage large-scale agriculture industries to expand. These activities poison the land, threaten biodiversity, and destroy local food production and livelihoods. Meanwhile, while women produce the majority of our food in the world, they own almost none of the land.

What if we perceived land and Nature not as private property to exploit, but as a whole to live in, learn from, and harmoniously coexist with? What if we repaired our relationships with the land and embraced more sustainable alternatives that nurture both the planet and its communities?

Nous Sommes la Solution (We Are the Solution, NSS) is one of many women-led movements striving to do this. This is their story.

As these tweets show, it turns out that sexting like a feminist is sexy, funny – and horny. Yet, it never loses sight of its commitment to equity and justice.

About the authors

لويز ماليرب، مبرمجة أفلام وقيّمة معارض وناقدة أفلام مقيمة في برلين. عملت كمبرمجة أفلام لجمعية متروبوليس للسينما في بيروت. حاليا تنسق لويز مشروع ريل ستريمز الذي يهدف إلى دعم نشر السينما المستقلة في المنطقة العربية. هي رئيسة قسم البرمجة لمهرجان صورة السينمائي، وهو مهرجان أفلام كويرية يركز على منطقة جنوب غرب آسيا وشمال أفريقيا. تكتب لويز النقد السينمائيين لـ مانيفستو XXI، وقد بدأت مؤخرًا تنظيم الأفلام والمهرجانات لسينما عقيل.

If your group or organization receives funding, you might want to discuss with your funder already now if they are able to support your travel and participation to the Forum. Many institutions plan their budgets for next year early in 2023, so better not delay this conversation for next year.

On Wednesday a note arrives
with an address on the back.

    5 pm, tonight.

The handwriting on the invitation—
coily and brusque—
I’ve seen it five times in five years.

My body rouses,
feverish.

I need to fuck myself first.

The tide is high tonight and
I get 
off.

I want to slow everything down,
taste time and space, etch them 
into memory.

*

I’ve never been to this part of town before.
Unknown places excite me,
the way limbs and veins and bones
resist decay, 
their fate uncertain.

At the door, I think twice.
The hallway is pitch black 
and it makes me pause.

On the other side,
a portal of smell and color 
opens like a curse,  
into a sunny afternoon.

The breeze
makes my hair dance,
piques its curiosity,
compels it to move.

I hear the wheelchair whirring, 
shaping the shadows.
Then I see them:
a lynx face
and a body like mine
and I find myself desiring both
again.
 
The creature motions me closer.

Their gestures write a sentence;
as I move toward them,
I notice its details:

    wither, flesh, bliss

On their command, the vine that covers the hallway
hugging warm stones,
snakes up the wall.

It becomes a verb,
“to climb,”
and I’m reorientated when their claws point 
to the vine-bed in the center.

I hear the wheels behind me, 
then that sound. 
It reverberates
like no other.
Their long black wings
elevate toward the ceiling
then they lunge forward.

The feline vision scans every detail,
every change,
every longing.

Can desire liquefy your muscles? 

    Can it act sweeter than the strongest 
of tranquilizers?

A lynx sews the world
across our differences,
weaving lace around my knees.

Can desire crush the distance of the world, 
compressing the seconds?

They come closer still,
lynx eye meeting human eye,
sniffing the air,
turning body into
urgency.

They beat down their wings.
Stirred,
the vines tangle around my waist/waste.

Their tongue thins time,
shifting grounds,
soothes, with their magic,
what stirs beneath.

    I see the world in you, and the 
world is exhausted.

Then they plead:

    Let me feast on you. 
 

عودةٌ إلى ذواتنا

بالنسبة إليّ، هذه الأنواع من الدردشات كانت ضمن تعابير الحبّ التي أتاحت لي الحياة أن أستمتع بها حديثًا فقط. ما كنت أعرف أن هذه الأشكال الأخرى ممكنة – تلك التي توجَد خارج نطاق ورشات العمل، أو أماكن الناشطين أو غرف الصفّ أو أماكن العمل.

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