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My Queer Kenyan Homecoming

I hadn’t been back in ten years. I had spent the entirety of my twenties in America, and now here I was—a queer Kenyan girl with a foreign accent, a girl trying to remember how to properly roll her rs—going home for a few weeks. Would I fit in there? Did I still belong in the land of my mother and father? Flying 36,000 feet over northern Africa, I told myself that I was returning to the place that birthed and bruised me, the place that had made me into a young woman who could traverse oceans and make a new life for herself in America.
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