“You Americans often have difficulty with Shakespeare. He was, after all, a very English poet and one can easily misinterpret the universal by misunderstanding the particular” (Bohannan, 1966, p. 1), said a British friend to Laura Bohannan, a North American anthropologist on her way to the Tiv of West Africa for fieldwork. Bohannan protested, insisting that “human nature is pretty much the same the whole world over; at least the general plot and motivation of the greater tragedies would always be clear everywhere although some details of custom might have to be explained” (p. 1). Failing to agree, her British friend gave her a copy of Hamlet for the journey, hoping that with prolonged meditation in the “African bush,” Bohannan might “achieve the grace of correct interpretation” (p. 1), namely, the English one. Bohannan arrived at a season of heavy floods and hence spent most of her time reading Hamlet rather than doing anthropological fieldwork. As she writes, “before the end of the second month, grace descended on me. I was quite sure that Hamlet had one possible interpretation, and that one universally obvious” (p. 2).

When the Tiv invited Bohannan to tell them a story, it was Hamlet that she chose. Bohannan’s choice was intentional as she thought to herself, “here was my chance to prove Hamlet universally intelligible” (1966, p. 2). She found the opposite. The elders sitting and listening protested immediately about a dead king walking; for them, the word for scholar also meant a witch; a dead person could not walk, talk, or cast a shadow; Claudius’s marriage to Gertrude the widow of the late king was culturally approved right away; that Hamlet scolded his mother and sought to kill his stepfather was shocking and unacceptable behavior; and they were convinced that Hamlet’s madness could only be caused by witches who want to hurt him or creatures from the bush. Altogether, they stopped Bohannan nineteen times questioning, commenting, debating the story among themselves, disapproving, approving, and explaining the story the way it should go, according to their views, before they allowed Bohannan to continue with her narration. In the process the Tiv took Hamlet from Bohannan, retelling it, explaining it, and providing motivation behind the events in a fashion that took the story to a completely different direction. They were rewriting the story according to their worldviews and norms so much so that, as Bohannan notes, “Hamlet was again a good story to them, but it was no longer quite the same story to me” (p. 10). One of the key issues they wanted to know was whether the late king and Claudius were blood brothers. Bohannan soon realized that the story did not provide information about it. It was a gap.

When Bohannan became too upset with their numerous interruptions and decided to stop, they confidently urged her on, saying, “You tell the story well and we are listening. But it is clear that the elders of your country never told you what the story really means” (1966, p. 11). In so doing they, like Bohannan’s English friend, believed that they had the correct meaning of Hamlet. Indeed at the very end they underlined their claim to correct interpretation, saying, “You must tell us some more stories of your country. We, who are elders, will instruct you in their true meaning, so that when you return to your own land your elders will see that you have not been sitting in the bush, but among those who know things and have taught you wisdom” (p. 12). Bohannan, obviously, could no longer hold on to the idea that the meaning of a story can “be clear everywhere” since people are the same everywhere.

The Tiv’s extensive retelling (read rewriting) of the story was based, among other things, on two factors. First, they did not view a story and a storyteller (or author) as unchangeable authorities and entities. Rather, a storyteller provides data (or story) for an active communal participation in the co-telling of the story with the listeners. The moment of telling and hearing a narrative is also a moment of writing a new narrative with and through an old one. The African concept of active listeners can range from simply urging the storyteller to continue telling the story, to participants’ occasional commentary on certain aspects, to the extreme of the audience taking the story from the teller and beginning to retell it to a different direction (Dube, 1999, pp. 145–150; 2001, pp. 6–26; 2001, pp. 26–49). Hamlet clearly was subjugated to the latter.

Second, the Tiv retold Hamlet according to their worldviews, norms, and experiences. The fact that Hamlet was a story that embodied different cultural norms invited an intense retelling according to their cultural worldviews and experiences.

But the rewriting was on both sides. Bohannan, too, began to tinker with the story in the face of her new audience. First, she started narrating Hamlet not according to its written opening but in what she terms a “proper style” of the Tiv, saying “Not yesterday, not yesterday, but long ago a thing occurred” (1966, p. 3). With the numerous interruptions from the Tiv, who protested certain perspectives as unacceptable, Bohanan began rewriting the story in anticipation of their response. She admittedly skipped culturally controversial aspects and at times asserted some points, although she was admittedly not quite sure about it. The fact of the matter is that Bohannan was seated among a group of elders who were authorities on cultural interpretation in their own setting, and she knew she could not win the debate.

Interpretation and meaning-making is a power struggle. Bohannan highlights for us how readers are shaped by the communities of interpreters and power relations within their work setting. She also demonstrates how readers can inhabit conflicting positions within various authoritative communities of interpretation. Here the British and the Tiv elders had firmly asserted themselves as the holders of correct interpretation of Hamlet. Yet, by asserting their own meanings as true, they brought Bohannan’s claim for one self-evident universal meaning of a text to a rest.

Definitions of Reader-Oriented Criticism.

Reader-oriented-Criticism is a cluster of perspectives that study readers, reading processes, the impact of interpretative communities, and how meaning is produced (Tompkins, 1980, p. ix; Bible and Culture Collective, 1995, pp. 24–26; McKnight 2004, pp. 179). It is “a mode of literary criticism that prioritizes the role of the reader (rather than the author’s intentions or the text’s actual structure) in both establishing the meaning of the text and evaluating its critical worth” (Buchanan, 2010, p. 400). E. V. McKnight explains that, “this approach views literature in terms of its readers and their values, attitude, and responses, thus supplementing or displacing approaches to literature that focus on either the universe imitated in the work, the author, the original audience, or the works itself” (2004, p. 179).

In reader-response criticism, the identity of the reader is thus crucial in evaluating the meaning that is produced. Given that readers are not islands but are always located in particular contexts and social structures, reader-response criticism also studies the interpretative communities that define the parameters of legitimate interpretations and the social location of the reader (Segovia and Tolbert, 1995a, 1995b). Interpretative communities, a term that was developed by Stanley Fish “to explain how diverse readers consistently produce similar readings of certain types of texts” (Buchanan, 2010, p. 251), refers to the social or academic bodies that provide conventions of writing and reading texts. In biblical studies, interpretative communities, for example, include academic associations such as a Society of Biblical Literature, Society of New Testament Studies, and Society for Old Testament Studies. These academic associations provide acceptable standards of reading through the types of papers that are featured in their annual general meetings and published in their journals. Interpretative communities for biblical scholars also include faith-based institutions such as churches and synagogues. Yet for minority readers, such as women, black people, LGBT communities, and Two-Thirds World scholars, their interest-specific associations and movements constitute alternative interpretative communities. It follows that one reader can belong to several interpretative communities which are sometimes in conflict with each other on supposedly acceptable ways of reading and interpretation.

Theories of Reader Response in the Western Guild.

In the western guild, reader-oriented criticism rose in opposition to the formalist ways of reading that dismissed the readers’ role. In formalist theory, a literary text was supposedly self-contained and adequately equipped to communicate its meaning. The readers’ responsibility was to correctly interpret the literary text without imposing their own background, interest, or emotions. The essay that is most-famed for articulating this position is Wimsatt and Beardsley’s “The Affective Fallacy,” which defined those who confuse the poem with its results (Tompkins, 1980, p. ix).

Several scholars from various perspectives, such as psychology (Norman N. Holland), phenomenology (Wolfgang Iser), deconstruction (Jonathan Culler), and feminism (Judith Fetterly), began to theorise the reader back into action (see Tompkins, 1980). Stanley Fish, for example, began to describe the reading process, highlighting that it is temporary rather than a spatial activity. In his famed article, “Is There a Text in This Class?,” Fish began to take his theory of reading further, arguing that each reader is not limited by the text. He also coined the term “interpretative communities” to explain why different readers may end up with similar readings. Iser coined the idea of the implied reader, which is the reader a literary work appears to be written for (Buchanan, 2010, p. 246). Arguing that the reader encounters gaps that need to be filled to make sense of the text, Iser associated meaning with the active participation of both the reader and text.

In biblical studies, the above journey of the reader is also observable. Historical critical methods trained readers to be exegetes who bring out meaning from the text, instead of carrying out eisegesis, which is reading one’s perspectives into the text. The historical critical scholar was thus expected to be objective and neutral toward the text in order to allow the text to communicate its original or intended meaning. The role of the reader began to slowly be accepted with the rise of narrative and rhetorical criticism. The latter presupposes that the authors composed their texts to persuade the targeted reader, basically to provoke the emotional involvement of the reader. The reader, therefore, was not supposed to be disinterested and neutral. Narrative criticism with its model of communication regarded the real reader and the real author to be outside the communication model of the text. Within the text, however, there was an internally built implied reader and implied author, who represented the ideal reader—namely, one who would understand the text as author “intended.” Narrative and rhetorical criticism thus began to introduce the reader back into the picture. However, both methods held that meaning was in the text. The reader needed to master the devices of the text in order to understand the text correctly. These, in other words, were not much of a departure from historical criticism, since they were using different terms to search for the original or intended meaning in the text. The reader was still the servant of the text. Biblical scholars eventually accepted some of the above reader-response theories, but apparently only as historical critical readers in disguise (Moore, 1989, pp. 71–107; Bible and Culture Collective, 1995, pp. 20–37; Moore and Sherwood, 2011, pp. 99–114).

Questions of Reader-Response Criticism.

The major questions of reader-response criticism can roughly be broken into three:

  • • Who is the reader?
  • • What are the social structures and interpretative communities that inform the reader?
  • • Where is meaning located: within the text, within the reader, or somewhere between the two?

These questions offer a range of practices, answers, and perspectives. Reader-response criticism thus constitutes a range of practices, depending on the amount of power one wishes to give to the reader, the text, and the interpretative communities they subscribe to. Gender, and other social categories, such as race, ethnicity, class, sexuality, religiosity, etc., are central to reader-response criticism. Since gender is a culture- and time-specific social construction of men and women into socially prescribed roles (Tolbert, 2000, pp. 99–105), how readers respond to and interpret a text is affected by their gender, together with other social factors of their identity (Lozada, 2000, pp. 113–119). A black woman from a low-class, heterosexual orientation, for example, and a white man from a high-class homosexual orientation would give a different meaning to the same text, since they bring different experiences, questions, concerns, and communities of reading to it. Indeed, each reader is capable of generating different meanings of the same text, since the factors of their identities are multiple.

Given that each reader’s identity is complex and fluid, reader-response criticism births multiple meanings of the text. The various interpretations raise critical questions concerning the location of meaning: Is meaning in the text or in the reader or somewhere between the two? Where one locates meaning, more often than not, reflects one’s ideological views toward the text. The biblical text, in particular, is given authority as a scripture. It is thus affected by fierce interpretative communities and institutions who guard its authority through promoting certain ways of reading. Assigning meaning to readers, no doubt, seems to compromise its authority. Consequently, reader-response criticism has notably generated as many readers in biblical studies, reflecting the struggle between those who seek to locate meaning in the text and those who seek to locate it elsewhere. According to Stephen D. Moore:

"During this time the amazing reader had many aliases and roles, engaging the text or emerging from it in guises such as the Implied Reader, the Informed Reader, the Narratee, and the Model Reader. The carnival also featured the Reader in the Text and the Flesh-and-Blood Reader, the Competent Reader and the Literent, the Encoded or Inscribed Reader, the Subjective Reader, Superreader, the Newreaders, and the Wilful Misreader. (1989, p. 71)"

Moore lists other readers, such as the “Unfeeling Reader” and “The Repressed Reader.” These are academic biblical readers, who live in the shadow of the historical-critical reading conventions. The latter insist that the text should be honored far above the individual readers. Moore, who has closely analyzed reader-response critics in biblical studies, has consistently maintained that they are largely historical-critical scholars masquerading as reader-response critics (Moore, 1989, pp. 71–107; Moore and Sherwood, 2011, pp. 99–114).

Gender and Reader-Response Criticism.

Feminist, womanist, LGBT, and other minority readers are highly diverse groups in and within themselves, and their reading practices differ widely; any generalizations here are dictated by constraints of space. Gender constructions both of texts and also their interpretative communities are central to the reading practices of these groups. Beginning with Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s observation that the Bible is a male book, feminist and womanist readers come to the text with a hermeneutic of suspicion, treating the text as a site of crime (Schüssler Fiorenza, 1985, pp. 125–136). As a male book, the Bible excludes women’s stories and presents women characters from a patriarchal perspective; it has been written, interpreted, and translated by men for centuries. The biblical interpretative communities and conventions are, in other words, thoroughly patriarchal. Although one cannot generalize the political practices of feminist and womanist readers, for neither is allegiance to the biblical text a given; the so-called original or intended meaning of the biblical text is not benign, or even available, to these readers, nor are the subsequent interpretations. Given that for centuries biblical interpretation in the academy and faith institutions was dominated and controlled by males, feminist and womanist readers find the interpretative communities and their conventions unsettling, exclusive, oppressive, and misogynist.

Women of color have particularly underlined that in addition to gender oppression, race/ethnicity, and social class must be treated with equal seriousness. Reading the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar illustrates the point. Whereas early white feminists, who underlined patriarchal oppression, regarded both Sarah and Hagar as oppressed women, African American women have pointed out that Hagar is additionally oppressed because of her ethnicity as an Egyptian woman and because of her class as a slave. Moreover, Hagar is even oppressed by Sarah, a woman of higher class and privileged race (Williams, 1993, pp. 15–29).

Unless feminist readers pay attention to the link between gender, class, and race/ethnicity, their interpretations remain oppressive to women of color and hence only partially committed to justice. Similarly, a major contribution to the understanding of gender has been made by LGBT communities, who underline the social construction of sex and sexuality as well as promblematize heteronormativity (Hornsby and Stone, 2011; Moore, 2001). Just as women have highlighted that biblical books and their interpretative communities are male-centered, LGBT readers have highlighted that they are also heterosexually defined. Heterosexual readers construct other forms of sexuality as deviance, and LGBT readers thus problematize compulsory heterosexuality (Rich, 1986) as an ideology that legitimates the marginalization of people of other sexual orientations. Drawing upon their historical and contemporary experiences, women of color and LGBT communities have thus pushed the boundaries of feminist practice to consider gender, its intersectionality with race/ethnicity, class, sex, and sexuality, and constructions of these categories in biblical texts and the interpretative communities (Briggs, 1994, pp. 218–236; Spencer, 2004, pp. 264–273).

Cheryl Exum, writing from a feminist perspective, holds that:

"The starting point of feminist criticism of the Bible is not the biblical texts in their own right but the concerns of feminism as a worldview and as a political enterprise. Recognizing that in the history of civilization women have been marginalized by men and denied access to positions of authority and influence, feminist criticism seeks to expose the strategies by which men have justified their control over women. (1995, p. 65, emphasis added)"

The quote underlines that feminist and womanist readers assign priority to their own agenda rather than to the biblical text and its male-dominated interpretative communities. Feminism, as a worldview and a political movement that seeks to promote the empowerment of women, constitutes an interpretative community for feminist and womanist biblical readers. These readers are often in conflict with various other interpretative communities in biblical studies, who do not sympathize with the feminist movement and who seek to assign greater authority to the biblical text.

Feminist and womanist readers, therefore, do not have an easy relationship with biblical and other canonical texts. Neither do they have easy relations with traditional interpretative conventions and communities. By practice, feminist and womanist readers seek to resist the textual patriarchal constructions. They often seek to reread the available stories and to reimagine and re-member the excluded voices and histories of women, a process that gives the reader more freedom and power to re-create the text in attempt to include that which was left out. Although feminist and womanist readers are not identical, their reading agenda tends to swing toward the reader than the text in its creative reading.

Employing queer theory, which “seeks to disrupt modernist notions of fixed sexuality and gender” (Schneider, 2000 p. 206), LGBT readers “approach the Bible as a text to be interrogated for the ways in which it is read to support the heteronormative-regulating regime” (Kamionkowski, 2011, p. 132). LGBT reading of the biblical text seeks to highlight its queerness. These readings often demonstrate that while feminist readers are resisting readers, they are, more often than not, heteronormative. This is best illustrated in Averen Ipsen’s (2009) study on Sex Working and the Bible. Ispen employs, among other theories of reading, Marcella Althaus-Reid’s notion of decency-indecency to analyze feminist interpretations of biblical passages that feature sex workers. Consistently, feminist readers explain sex workers as either literary metaphors or patriarchal caricatures. In so doing feminist readers construct sex workers according to heterosexual norms of respectability rather than celebrate these varieties of sexual practices. Such readings silence the agency of sex workers and erase their historical presence from sacred texts. Applying queer theory, LGBT reader response seeks to highlight many queer places in the Bible, to problematize the masculinities and femininities prescribed by compulsory heterosexuality, and thus to chip away the claim of heterenormativity by highlighting that it is a social construction and not natural, divine, or unchangeable (Hornsby and Stone, 2011; Moore, 2001, pp. 1–18).

Oral Texts for Women and Marginalized Groups.

The above opening story of reading, featuring the Tiv, seemingly blurs boundaries between reading written and oral texts. There are close relations between women, minority readers of canonical texts, and orality. First, orality intimates the best reader-response criticism, because it resists maintaining the object–subject dichotomy between the reader and the text. Contemporary reader-response critics often wrongly assume that the first biblical reader had a written copy of the biblical passages for reading. Original “readers,” however, were not readers, but hearers of the biblical text. One copy of written gospel, epistle, or any part of what constitutes biblical literature was read aloud publicly to an audience, which listened to the reader. Moore (1989) thus points out that to carry out the minute analysis of the text-based Implied readers, Ideal readers, and Narratees, who are supposedly inherent within the written text, is to carry out an “analysis of a reading that in all probability never occurred” and “would seem the ultimate waste of time,” since in an oral setting, “spoken words are events….not things. They exist not in space but in time” (1989, p. 86). Yet given that reader response underlines reading as a temporal rather than spatial event, Moore holds that this interpretative method is nonetheless “more adequate to the oral-aural situations that would have formed the original” reading of the gospel than other most text-bound methods used in biblical studies (p. 88).

Because women and minority groups rarely participated in writing, choosing, interpreting, and translating canonical books, their experience, literature, and history remain largely oral. When women and minority groups are featured, their characterization reflects the perspective and prescriptions of those in power. A good example is Howard Thurman’s African American “non-literate” grandmother, who had the Bible read to her by her grandson but refused to hear the Pauline letters (save for 1 Cor 13). When asked about her distaste for Paul, she answered,

"“During the days of slavery,” she said, “the master’s minister would occasionally hold services for the slaves. Old man McGhee was so mean that he would not let a Negro minister preach to his slaves. Always the white minister used as his text something from Paul…‘Slaves be obedient to them that are your master…., as unto Christ.’ Then he would go on to show how it was God’s will that we were slaves and how, if we were good and happy slaves, God would bless us. I promised my Maker that if ever I learned to read and if freedom ever came, I would not read that part of the Bible.”" (cited in Weems, 1991, pp. 61–63)

Thurman’s grandmother used her experience as a former slave to respond to the biblical text critically, regarding issues of class and race. As an enslaved woman, who was fed with the master’s religion and text, Thurman’s grandmother realized that the Pauline text served the interests of her enslavers rather than her own. Although she chose to continue with the master’s book and follow his religion, she did so on her own terms: she did not have the Pauline texts read to her. Instead she chose to hear such books as the Gospels. Her strategy may somewhat capture the posture of womanist readers, who also remain critically faithful to the biblical text and its institutions.

Many canonical books and scriptures do not represent the interests of women and the marginalized. Women’s history and literature, therefore, tends to be oral, unrecorded. This state of affairs dictates particular styles of reading. A good illustration is Mark’s account of the crucifixion of Jesus:

"There were also women looking on from a distance, among them were Mary Magdelene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem. (15:40–41)"

Earlier in the Gospel, women have not been explicitly described as Jesus’s disciples faithfully following him and providing for him. When Jesus hangs on the cross, the male disciples having fled, the narrator reveals that there were women who “used to follow him when he was in Galilee,” and they “had come up with him to Jerusalem.” The verse immediately causes female readers to realize that what they read throughout the Gospel is not a complete story. It is a story that mostly tells the experiences of male followers of Jesus. Women’s history and experience thus remain in the periphery in oral form. Such verses force feminist and womanist readers to reread the Gospel to reclaim the suppressed stories of women and give voice to the silenced. They step back to reread the silences and reconstruct the unrecorded stories, experiences, and histories of women characters in the text. The verse also forces feminist and womanist readers to read the recorded stories with uneasy peace, treating the texts as a scene of crime, for both the violence of exclusion and the patriarchal prescription within the included stories (Exum, 1995; Capel Anderson, 1991, pp. 103–137). Moreover, it cements the feminist and womanist assumption that most canonized texts are male texts, which have also been read, interpreted, and translated within patriarchal perspectives that continue to marginalize women and minority groups.

The methodological practice of reading silences, giving voice to the voiceless, and rewriting texts and history indicates that womanist and feminist reading practices place more trust in the reader than in the text. Feminist and womanist reading processes are thus creative moments of rewriting the text to be more inclusive and justice loving. There are numerous examples to illustrate this practice. One is my reading of Ruth that focuses on the untold story of Orpah. She returns to her people and gods, as advised by Naomi, and the reader never hears what happened to her. The book tells us more about Ruth, the woman who forsook her land, gods, and people and followed Naomi, to become one of the key people in the genealogy of David. I chose to write “The Unpublished Letters of Orpah to Ruth” out of a postcolonial feminist agenda that celebrates one who returned to her gods and her land instead of embracing one who forsakes her own religion, culture, and lands (Dube, 1999, pp. 145–150; Donaldson, 1999, pp. 130–144). Similarly, in the article, “The Five Husbands at the Well of the Living Waters,” I continue with a postcolonial feminist agenda to read the silences. In John 4:1–42, Jesus says to the Samaritan woman, “You have had five husbands and the current one is not even yours.” There is no further explanation as to whether she was widowed or divorced four times or had a mixture of both experiences. It is a major interpretative gap that has invited interpretations from various readers. In my article I seek to elaborate the identity of the five husbands and what they did to her, again, with an explicit postcolonial feminist agenda (Dube, 2001, pp. 6–26).

To a large extent African, Asian, and Latin American reader-response practices are also orally inflected. In these contexts, the Bible has come to co-exist with other indigenous texts that are either written, oral, or both. Two-Thirds World reader-response criticism is thus framed within and between various other texts, their cultural frameworks, and the political concerns of their communities. The Bible in the Two-Thirds World is fraught with colonial history. Given this background, chances are much higher for Two-Thirds World reader-hearers to privilege the reader than to remain faithful to a colonizing text.

Many Two-Thirds World titles tell the story of biblical characters who are dressed in African, Asian, Indian, or Buddhist colors. Jesus himself has enjoyed the most attention, as attested by such book titles as The Many Faces of Jesus Christ, African Faces of Jesus, and Asian Faces of Jesus, as well as by art where, for example, Jesus dons a Buddhist garb and strikes a Buddhist pose. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Elizabeth Amoah’s article, “The Christ for African Women,” for example, employs not the male Jesus but a Ghanaian legendary woman as a Christ (1999, pp. 35–46), and Seratwa Ntloedibe-Kuswani’s (2000) article, “Jesus as a Ngaka,” reads Jesus as “witchdoctor,” (to evoke the colonial stereotype. What is left of the character of the biblical Jesus thus becomes an interesting subject of debate.

These are stories of reader-response in the margins of Western scholarship. They are, in my view, so radical they are often not recognized as reader-response criticism. Their reader-response practice may not necessarily be plotted in the Western story of “from formalism to postructualism.” Consequently they have been neatly quarantined as contextual, Asian, or African theology, while what passes as reader-response in mainstream biblical studies is, as Moore has said, “the Unfeeling” masquerading historical critic, who is mostly a white male. The trajectory of quarantining Two-Thirds World biblical readers is best represented by R. S. Sugirtharajah’s Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World, which was reprinted three times between 1991 and 2006. In the last edition Sugirtharajah wrote an introduction entitled, “Still at the Margins,” which was published as a separate book (2008). Why are Two-Thirds World biblical interpretations still at the margins? In my view, it is partly because their reader-response readings engage various other texts, norms, and philosophical frameworks that are outside the Western biblical thinking. As the opening story of the Tiv demonstrates, much reader response to classical texts is not necessarily driven by the popular Western theoretical giants such as Iser, Fish, and Culler. To their credit, The Bible and Culture Collective authors conclude their chapter on the state of reader-response criticism in biblical studies by applauding feminist, Two-Thirds World scholars, and deconstructionist readers (1992, pp. 60–67). This is reader response at the crossroad—in between boundaries and in resistance to various forms of oppression, including colonial domination.




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Musa W. Dube