To hear some talk, to Christians, religious people, others; because I am gay, a homosexual, I am a sinner beyond and above all other human beings.
Thus they call me ‘homosexual’; a slur on their tongues, a curse, a horror of a label. Not like I say it, homosexual, a fact of being, but homosexual, a perversion of life. They cannot call me gay, as I call myself. Because that would take away the horns and tail that I have. Because that would break down the walls in their minds to understanding what I am, apart from being homosexual. Because, to them, being homosexual is the very essence of my being. It defines me; totally, completely, absolutely. To them I am nothing but a homosexual.
And more, I am a homosexual activist. The worst kind of homosexual. A sinner, so deeply mirred in my sin that I am proud of it. One who lifts it up on a standard, and parades it brazenly, unashamed, before the whole world.
Because I am that, a homosexual, and an activist, I am less than a human being, in their eyes. It is worth it, and correct, to them, and in their eyes, to wish me dead. To threaten my very life. To strip me of my birth right as an African, a Ugandan. To cut off my head, to deny myself, as I am, a human being. To throw me out of family, and clan, and country. To deny me the facilities that are open to any other country mate of mine, a fellow Ugandan, and any other African. The whisper of my dreaded sexuality is enough to stir up a crowd in righteous anger, to condemn me and stone me to death. Because I am.
Yet, I am.
I cannot deny it, though I can hide in lies. I can deceive myself, pray to all the deities, seek to be healed, torture myself in prayer and self hate and self deception. I can seek to try and rid myself of all that this part of me means in this world. Yes, I can do that.
But I will not.
I am what I am. A human being.
I have a dark skin, rich with melanin, living, breathing, alive. I have a fairly shaped head, a jaw that juts out to challenge life. And I am also a homosexual.
I am gay. A human being who, through a lot, has come to accept what I am. Myself.
It is not the whole of my identity. It is not the whole of me. It is a part of me.
Its true, many others may use this as a characteristic to hunt me down and hurt me. A cure for all their ills in removing this stain on their being, their community. Like the crowds in
Doesn’t stop me from being what I am. A human being.
Doesn’t stop me from affirming what I am. A gay human being.
Doesn’t stop me from loving others, from falling in love, hating like others.
Doesn’t stop me from lifting my head up, though they would proudly stretch my neck in a noose.
I am a human being. A gay human being.