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Performing African Identities; Lessons From Florence

in Politics by

He looked at me from afar, and our eyes met yet again. I kept asking myself, who is he, what does he want and why is he smiling so intensely. It was a hot day in summery Firenze. Not the kind of heat you would want on you on a Wednesday.

He made his way and asked, “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Mozambique, in Southern Africa.”

“My sister!” He could have hugged me, but my mother was visible, “I am also from Africa! I’m from Libya!”

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