Homosexuality is Foreign

Duh,

I thought we had settled this contentious point. I mean, WildeY can blame his caucasian ancestors. (though they tend to make a very, very cute mix..., eh WildeY?). But me, and my lover, we cannot blame any foreign make up.

Why do people think that 'homosexuality' is foreign?

I will not say un-African, because even the Russian government is hell bent on keeping this 'foreign' culture out of general recognition. Of course Akinola and Orombi believe that they have the monopoly on the homophobic rhetoric. But seems they only need to be a little aware of history. Most cultures seem to consider homosexuality to be foreign.

Ok, I will accept it. I came from Mars. My partner came from Pluto. And we met on earth and fell in love. We are so so enamoured of each other that we do not dare go back to our home planets because they will think we are bringing a foreign, 'Earthly' vice to them. So, we are stranded for good here!

Jokes aside, it is the old story. Unite by dividing. Xenophobia. We are different, so, highlight the difference, say it is foreign, and, voila, the populace will be together to condemn this folly. Choose a leper community, a recognised, or invisible minority. Turn the populace against it. And lead the charge against the infidels.

It has worked, time and time again. Why not now?

Maybe because, though I have nothing to lose, what I have to lose is more than what Orombi has to lose.

No, Mr President. Homosexuality is not foreign. You see, me and my lover, we are Ugandans, however much you as president will insist we are not. Strange, you took umbrage when MP Betty Kamya implied that you are a 'foreigner'. Ironic that you are playing that particular card against us!
---

Its tending to noon.

I must admit that I am woolly headed sometimes. My lover, (loverman) is particularly incesed when I seem not to have a clue on 'responsible behaviour'! But he still loves me. So, maybe my wooly headedness is cute.

Woke up late. Should have been earlier, but Saturday morning, and he in bed with me...

Too much temptation.
But I had to leave the house, which I did after a lot of running around.

Beautiful day. A very beautiful day.

No, I will not stop talking about the beauty of this tropical paradise. It is home, and it is beautiful.
Bright early morning sunlight. But a hint of rain in the air.

Was in town, by about nine, and impulsively decided to walk back.

Maybe you saw me. Bag in hand, head in the air, sampling, sampling.

Kampala Road, Bombo Road, Makerere, Nakulabye...
The city in the early morning is beautiful.

Colour. We love colour.

The city is awash in the bright colours of sunshine. The deep green of the grass, and the trees. The red rust of the slum houses Bat Valley. The new super modern ship house on Bombo Road. The billboards. The bright yellows, deep blues, clashing, complementing each other everywhere. Blue sky.

And the people!

Once, I was on a street in London. It was late winter, and I stopped stunned. I was missing the bright colours of home. I noticed that all the people seemed to be muffled up and anonymous. All in varying shades of the same colour. Grey! Even the very street was grey.
It was eerie... Scene from a movie. And the anonymous closed faces, hurrying somewhere all the time.

On the streets here, the faces are open. Beautiful. [I love the eye candy.]. Yes, they may be doing nothing, or hurrying somewhere. They may be walking into town- with petrol so expensive and the taxi fares rising, many are. So, they walk into town. I was walking out. So, my chance to be walking against the stream of people.
Men, young men.

Ok. I perved.

But there was also something in the air, a magic that seemed to be everywhere. I swear I have walked that same path a number of times, but there is always something new to see, to watch, to notice. A poetic air that defies description, defies translation.

I walked, all eyes. The world is poetry.
Noticed the changes in the skies, darkening, overcast, a rain front rushing in from the lake. I knew it would not rain. Something in my bones, the knowledge of the native. And, I did walk home.

Beautiful day? Yes, it is. A very beautiful day.
Sorry, I am not able to translate it all into words. I have just tried, couldn't not try.

Have a great day.



GayUganda