Egyptian-Sudanese-American novelist and poet Kola Boof has been an agent for Sudan’s SPLA and was the National Chairwoman of the U.S. Branch of the Sudanese Sensitization Peace Project. She has written for television and her many books include, “Flesh and the Devil,” “Long Train to the Redeeming Sin,” “Nile River Woman” and “Virgins In the Beehive.” She blogs at Kola Boof. com
As a Black person who comes from what I call the Satan Chair (Sudan, North Africa); a woman writer who has had Islamic Fatwa on her head and still receives death threats against my pre-teen children—I am here to remind you that after centuries of ‘an eye for an eye’—the whole world has gone blind.
Religious people disgust me. It’s the reason I grew up and rejected Islam and Christianity. Religious people think burning an inanimate object, a book, will make a worthwhile statement about love, healing and justice. They think there’s a Man-like God figure somewhere in the clouds who shares their impotent insecurity. Like fingers from Satan’s own hand, these ego-sniffing life-sized Chuckie Dolls believe that setting a book in flames is more powerful than simply removing it from one’s home.
I know all about religious fanatics and boy figures who like to burn things. I was born a Sunni Muslim in Omdurman, Sudan—orphaned at age eight due to my White Arab Muslim birth father publicly speaking out against the enslavement of ‘Charcoal Cushitic Africans’ in our country (Arabic Muslim culture in North Africa holds that ‘Allah’ despises the Blackest in color and prescribes enslavement and death for them)—then got adopted by Black Americans in Washington, D.C., United States; wonderful loving “Nana ‘nem collard greens eating Folk” who introduced me to the Holy Bible and White blue-eyed versions of Prophet Ciisa (Jesus Christ) and the naturalized White Supremacist Patriarchy that infuses the living deeds of what is called Christianity.
As a North African woman, I weep knowing this world.
It sucks when people alter nature and love based on superstition. And superstition is the genesis of all human thought.
My vagina is cut (infibulated) because of the woman-hating sub-acculturation that pervades North African Muslim Patriarchy. Nowhere in the Koran does it state that women must be ‘purified’ by cutting and reconfiguring our vaginas; yet the Men decided we need to be perpetually violated in order to be ‘pure.’ Just as real in the Arab Muslim world but less talked about is the ancient practice of turning some male children, so called “Runts at birth,” into eunuchs (removing their scrotum and making them into girl-like slaves)…again, for the whim of Arabic male supremacist sex culture.
I harbor the most intense justified rage towards the Arab Muslim World, but you won’t see Kola Boof piling and burning the inanimate object that these monsters hold in their hands. You won’t see me making death threats against them or their children. You won’t see me denying them food if they be hungry or water if they be thirsty. That’s not good for the heart.
I despise the idiot White Christian man, Terry Jones, who wants to burn the Koran on September 11th. And yes, I realize that because my ex-boyfriend is Osama Bin Laden, the one who supposedly claims to have blown up New York City—my commentary might be misconstrued by Christians as some secret endorsement of those evil bombings. In fact, I’ve spent my whole career having mostly White executives and newspaper reporters in Manhattan hold September 11th against me as though a whore on a bed could have any say-so with men like Osama and his band. But my defense of the Koran not being burned is not because of insufferable assholes like Somi B. Laden or the men who flew planes into the World Trade Center or the Mullahs who ordered my parents murder. My defense of the Koran is on behalf of my dead White Arab father, Harith Bin Farouk—a Muslim who gave his life fighting slavery and genocide of Black Africans.
My defense of the Koran not being burned is that it symbolizes, right or wrong, the hope, dreams and spirit of billions of innocent human beings who are no more delusional than the millions who practice Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism or whatever else human fear can conjure up.
A book that someone wrote is like a quilt they’ve sewn or a pair of panties that belongs only to them. Though we might judge the contents, we shouldn’t ever say that the book can’t exist. The Koran and all literature, whether that literature be Nobel prize winning Toni Morrison or the latest trash novel by Jackie Collins, should be protected not because we like or espouse it—but out of respect for our neighbor’s right to conjure up whatever they want to be enchanted by, believe what they believe and to legislate the fear of life in their own way.
From the moment we are born, the world bears a horrible destiny. Even the strongest sanest among us need some form of delusion to make life palatable. Without any delusion, you can’t dream or have imagination, you see.
As an adult, I started my own religion. I call it The Womb. My breasts uncovered, because the African breast represents the birth and grave of all that is human for all eternity, I raise my sons in water on that ancient Nilotic river ethic. But I do not consider myself a religious person. I am not sure that I believe in God as much as I believe in universal energy and empathy.
Nothing that takes a piss in the morning has a heaven or a hell…that it can put me in.
Religious people think God gives a shit about their insecurity. They believe gossiping someone into shame; stoning women alive; setting women on fire for not producing male children or threatening the lives of innocent little boys because their bitchy Black mother wrote books telling mad truth about the Islamic Arabic world is God or Allah’s work. Just as the clitoris spasms like a Tambourine; just as the penis erects involuntarily—the mortal human’s hunger for violence is insatiable and thoroughly regrettable. Humans are animals no better than Hyenas. We make excuses blaming God, using God, lying on God, making up God—but I bet my soul that God is sick to death of religions and whining and humans and especially…she’s sick to death of Men.
People often claim that I am crazy; that I am angry—but they are wrong. I have good damn sense and my frustration with most people being so insufferable is mistaken for anger. I am not an angry person. I’m just weary and impatient.
It’s not right to burn the Koran or any book that someone took the time to fashion. It disrespects and degrades all of us. It’s not right what Terry Jones plans to do and we all should be against it and say so loudly.
And by the way…I don’t like the Koran. Never did.
Kola Boof has a new novel out, “Virgins In the Beehive” (Atlantic Library), now available at Amazon.Com