Sex

<p>Sometimes sex is a word, sometimes it’s not. Often it’s a question, an exchange, a protest, a dialogue. Often it’s a state of complexness. Sex is both body and soul, presented in visual and textual terms. In this issue, where we have succeeded in collecting mostly sex-themed writings, outlooks range from the vulgar to the pious, from the introspective to the blasphemous. And that’s because our reading of sexuality must necessarily transcend boundaries, whether visible or imagined.</p> <p>Especially because we make <em>Saraba</em> within a socio-cultural context of silence. This silence is the fact of anonymity, the fact of name-swap, as we see in Adah’s horrific tale. How can we resent this silence, this pursed lips? How can we begin to talk about sex in defiant terms? How can choice in sexuality be read? Macharia and Hartman extend this complexity, even Bwesigye. What even, they ask, is sexual difference? There are certainly more questions here.</p> <p>And what is a sexual body? What, in simpler terms, is a body? Kemi Akin-Nibosun jabs these considerations at us, presenting photos that utilizes the anaglyphic effects of 3D cinematography to create depth and form. When we commissioned her, it was with the knowledge that she is developing a way of seeing that tastefully intersects conceptual art, performance art and photography.</p> <p>Each new issue of <em>Saraba</em> is presented with the feverish hope that there’s a reader in a small corner of the world who will recognize the fact of life in the art we present. And if sex—and a conversation about sex—isn’t a fact of life, a temerarious and indisputable one, we have published this issue on a woeful premise.</p>