‘Our People. Scattered to your four winds … They land, but do they grow where they fall?” This “half-dreamy, half-sad” question, addressed by a Ghanaian father to his son Kwame, haunts Michael Donkor’s second novel. It casts doubt on the promised land of dream and opportunity that drives so many diasporic narratives: one where first-generation immigrants sweat and save, so that the second generation enjoys a better education and life.
Education is key here, as Kwame is an out gay English teacher in a London state school, helping students grapple with Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Mrs Dalloway. He has a good life – a stable job, supportive parents and colleagues, a flatshare with a posh white sommelier friend, Edwyn. As the son of working-class immigrants, Kwame is well versed in his parents’ pride and sacrifices; he has his ears tuned to racist microaggressions, while his heart is that of a caring teacher. On most fronts, he has landed on his feet. But there’s always something missing in anyone’s life, and in Kwame’s case, it’s men. His self-imposed Grindr ban has lasted eight months. Can he grow as a Black gay man without sex and intimacy? Why is he so uptight, and “a master at gracious refusal”?
