I was born in colonised Christian Fiji when homosexuality was a crime. The words homosexual, gay and trans did not feature in our vocabulary, but people used derogatory terms such as “chakka” and “gandu” to describe queer identities. Others knew I was queer before I did. I was so feminine for a boy, it verged on rebellion.
I wasn’t a boy and I was not heterosexual either. The elders in my village took it upon themselves to “cure me” of my queerness: praying, encouraging me to snap myself with a rubber band and, at the height of it, beating. None of it ever changed me, but the religious leaders instigated enough fear inside of
