how isn't it? it doesn't just exist unto itself. in with the crypto-christian biz again mate.
jungle was political. not in the sense of organised left wing politics but as a reflection of the black atlantic, of creole languages, of paranoia, psychosis etc. all these things are political. that was what Fanon was getting at with his decolonial politics. not merely take to streets but take to the streets with technique. refound the world through going back into our psyche.
Similarly with Tayeb Salih's season of migration to the north, we are presented with the most damning indictment of education as a collectors method in serialised fiction form. and how this can interact with the most atrocious patriarchal exploitation, but also, conversely, that we are talking about non-dualist forms of being and that we are not fully dissecting of our past.
"I want to take my rightful share of life by force, I want to give lavishly; I want love to flow from my heart, to ripen and bear fruit. There are many horizons that must be visited, fruit that must be plucked, books read, and white pages in the scrolls of life to be inscribed with vivid sentences in a bold hand. I looked at the river --- its waters had begun to take on a cloudy look with the alluvial mud brought down by the rains that must have poured in torrents on the hills of Ethiopia --- and at the men with their bodies learning against the ploughs or bent over their hoes, and my eyes take in fields flat as the palm of a hand, right up to the edge of the desert where the houses stand. I hear a bird sing or a dog bark or the sound of an axe on wood --- and I feel a sense of stability; I feel that I am important, that I am continuous and integral. No, I am not a stone thrown into the water but seed sown in a field. I go to my grandfather and he talks to me of life forty years ago, fifty years ago, even eighty; and my feeling of security is strengthened. I loved my grandfather and it seems that he was fond of me. Perhaps one of the reasons for my friendship with him was that ever since I was small stories of the past used to intrigue me, and my grandfather loved to reminisce. Whenever I went away I was afraid he would die in my absence. When overcome by yearning for my family I would see him in my dreams; I told him this and he laughed and said, 'When I was a young man a fortune-teller told me that if I were to pass the age when the Prophet died --- that's to say sixty --- I'd reach a hundred.' We worked out his age, he and I, and found he had about twelve more years to go."
It's not about coarseness or smoothness but that precise wetness and slipperiness of existence. i can't see this as anything but political.