A French in America: The Black Trauma

Jackson was a mountain of muscle. He reminded me of an expression of my mother: “Big Arms.” This expression is common in Cameroon to describe young people embarking on the profession of security agents, after having completely transformed their bodies. They arouse both admiration and mockery, in a country where the physique is shaped by the difficulties of life and an abundance of manual work. Jackson was 23 years old. I met him a year before the pandemic. This young African American had just arrived in New York from Chicago. He was a go-go dancer. He lived in Harlem and hoped that the dynamism of New York and its vibrant nightlife would allow him to earn much more money than he had in Chicago. He was heterosexual, but performed mainly in gay bars. From a distance, he exuded a lot of confidence. Up close, things were different. <a href="https://medium.com/@lucolinga72/a-french-in-america-the-black-trauma-4ee44f73eb2a">Learn More</a>