Morning in Kampala

It's a cold day out. Very cold. So cold that my lover tells me he has never felt it so cold. I wanted to tell him we better go to bed then. Then I would be able to hold him close to my body, skin to skin. To banish the cold and make the warmth of the beddings a boon. To rub my nose against his, drink in his warm breath and his glowing body heat.

But he needs to go work. And so do I.

Un-seasonal cold in Kampala. The rain clouds do not seem to want to leave the skies. It is supposed to be the dry season. But day after day the sun is hidden behind clouds. It peeps out, like a brilliant smile from a loved one's face. Lighting up the world around like a torch beam on a moonless night. Bright, almost blinding in its whiteness. This is Europe weather, not Ugandan.

I have been railing against those who do not want me in this country. I love it so much that I feel chagrined at the thought of someone wanting to deny my birthright because I am what I am. No, it is my birthright. And if I need to push and shove for it, I will do my little best.

Its calm now in the papers. Not so much gay bashing. There is an interesting article in the Monitor. Someone is giving the scientific reasons for why I and others are different. Funny. It is only the opposition paper which can publish this. And this kind of impartial scientific opinion will make Nsaba Buturo more determined to shut it down. Because it is 'homo-loving'!

I choose love, over hate;
I choose love, banish indifference;
I choose love,
to suffer love's birthing pains-
than hate's corroding power,
or indifference's sterile desert.
I choose love!

Love's my choice, over hate;
Love's my choice, not indifference;
Love's my choice,
despite love's bursting heartache,
than hate's corrosive strength,
and the sterility of indifference's desert.
Love's my choice!

© Gug, 04/09/07