Sweet Heat

by Bolu Babalola

He had angular cheekbones, large slightly slanted eyes, a wide mouth and a forest-green beanie from which a few spirally dark coils spilled. He was wearing a gaping white T-shirt that slung like silk over his lithe body and several titanium rings on long fingers, which seemed like they could paint or sculpt (they couldn’t, but they could code). Black adinkra symbols – Greatness, Endurance, Something Africanly Affirming – climbed lazily up muscular forearms that looked as if they got their strength from hauling djembes to various spoken-word performances rather than going to the gym. His eyes were brown and bright enough to light up a place in me I thought would be forever dimmed. I didn’t recognise this then, though.