Monday morning

[that was yesterday....]

Reading a poem. 'the Queens' by Stephen Tapscott.

Whimsical look at gay culture.

I identify with it. Despite the yawning differences in our cultures. There is something endearingly familiar with the emotion described, the posturing, the yearnings and fulfilments of a people together and apart at the same time.

Sometimes it is kind of a wonder how similar we can all be. And, how different. Surely we are more alike than we can ever think ourselves to be? As human beings.

Is Monday morning. And, I am recovering from the weekend.

Was interesting, to say the least. Life is a turbulent river, with twists and turns that may seem pretty ordinary. Or not.

Friday evening, we went to a bar. Saturday was, kind of solitary. Sunday afternoon, beach and eye candy ogling, then 'the' bar. I, we were already high. And the burden of Monday morning a shadow on more enjoyment.

I remember dancing, dancing, holding onto my mate. I remember wondering how out I, and we could be in Uganda. But, there was an alcoholic haze that kind of dulled the impressions. Loud music, the shadows deep. The guys who kind of flitted in and out of them. And, of course the conversations, and flirting.

Managed to leave early. With my mate. Thankfully, he didnt go overboard because some unlucky guy made a pass at moi [sigh, sigh, sigh...] Tapscott puts it like '-the practice/ the disco, the visual flick of desire,/ the shock of being wanted:'

And, indeed it is. Both exhilarating, and conforting, an affirmation that we are, a people, and desirable in others eyes. Even when the others are like us...! No, was not going to, but I say it, fellow pariahs.

But now I am working from behind a curtain. Filtered glass windows, hazy. I know am fine, and good. Water, that ubiquitous solution to a night of carousing, I have taken enough of it to neutralise some of the effects. The sleep I will have to make up for, later.

And, my mind, that ever restless agent of thought, made me realise that, yes, I do care deeply, passionately about these people.

We are a people. A subset of the whole. We are a minority, will never become a majority. No, we don't, and cant recruit. We fear, and loath ourselves, sometimes... we love and hurt ourselves, each other. But, we are a people, a community, an identity that differs and gels with the rest of the 'others'. And, for us, maudlin as it sounds, I will do much.

Not for a vague, ill defined us, but for the individuals. The guy with HIV on drugs, deeply closeted, and trying to hide the struggles. The kid who comes out and blossoms, finding life an unseemly feast of riches. And the lovers, the many lovers, who reward our senses.

Whew, I will never be a Whitman. Die trying????!!!!!

Hope your day is good, fellow human being.

gug

Un-African Human Rights.

Just read this article.

Concerns me, of course, and, I felt I needed to share it. I mean, at the moment, my country-mates are busy discussing a bill to become law. That bill would make all people of my sexual orientation prosecutable. And, the penalty they would give me is either life in prison. Or death.

Funny isnt it?

Comes from the concept that, people of my sexual orientation cannot be African. People of my race cannot have my sexual orientation. Anyway, I cannot deny being African. And, I cannot deny being gay. Bite me.

PS;
Frequently, I pick and choose and post articles from sites that seem to contradict my stand. What I am. I mean, I know the battle lines are clearly defined between gays, ex gays, anti-gays, etc, for example.
Me, I retain my bloody independence!

Well, I would not like to be shackled by any particular ideal.... I am free, for the time being. If that doesnt continue, so be it. But for now, I will accept no shackles. What I post, the words, they mean exactly what they mean. No imputation about the source....

Here is the article

Gay Debate: Human Rights Concept Not Un-African

Nations from all over the world—including the Mother Land—conceived and signed the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in 1948. They understood that all human beings have inherent worth and are deserving of protection by the governments of their respective nations. 

However, many Africans believe that some human beings should not be permitted certain inalienable rights. Perhaps foremost among such human beings are Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals and Trans-gendered persons (LGBTs). Indeed, many Africans maintain that homosexuality is un-African, and therefore, not to be tolerated in African societies.

This raises the question: Does a supposedly static African culture and tradition take precedence over mutually-agreed-upon and universally recognized basic human rights? Put another way: is it acceptable that human rights be sacrificed on the altars of culture, tradition and religion?

Essentialism is always problematic. Do all Africans think alike? More importantly, would that constitute real thinking? A wise man once said, “where everyone thinks alike, no one thinks very much.” What person or group decides which thoughts and practices are authentically African? More importantly, if a practice is deemed un-African, does that mean the law should prohibit it and punish those that embrace it?

Most people do not engage in sexual relations with members of the same sex. However, homosexuality is not only African, but it is human. Further still, according to the June 16, 2009 issue of Trends in Ecology and Evolution, a yearlong study finished at the University of California at Riverside found that same-sex behavior occurs in practically all animal species.

Still, there are those that argue that such behavior is alien to Africa. However, Leo Igwe of the Center for Inquiry/Nigeria wrote an excellent article titled “Tradition of same gender marriage in Igboland” in the June 19, 2009 issue of the Nigerian Tribune (http://www.tribune.com.ng/19062009/opinion.html). Igwe wrote of married women living together and raising families, a practice dating before the Christian era. Certainly, regardless of what one thinks of such an arrangement, no one could argue that these women were brainwashed by the cultural imperialists of the West. Love it or hate it, if Africans have been doing it for centuries, is it not African?

It has been said that “tradition is the dead hand of human progress.” While this is not always the case, it all too often is. Why are so many Africans reluctant to change? Today Blacks are just as likely to engage in kinds of “unnatural,” “perverted,” and “un-African” acts as are Whites. And who’s trying to stop them?

continued....


Does raise questions, doesnt it? Time to think, countrymates, those of my race who are so damned ready to lynch me for what I am.

I am gay. I am Ugandan. I am African


gug

It is a Beautiful Day

What makes a day beautiful?

I don’t know. But it is something that comes from the inside of me, that sees what I see as beautiful.

Woke up late. Saturday night, but we did not stay up too late. This morning, could not leave bed, because my lover was wrapped up around me, and it was warm in bed, and there was a drizzle of rain outside.

No longer the morning now. Afternoon. But it is still drizzly. The sun is not seen, a blue grey curtain of cloud covers the heavens. And only the bright light makes it through. And it is cold.

No, not snow cold. Just a tingly, refreshing, invigorating cold which makes me look out of and say, oh, what a beautiful day. I will not mind the water and the rain, the mud and the lack of sun. It is bright, without the sun being out. A day, and a time that one can feel oneself dancing in the mind.

Maybe it is what is in my mind that makes the day beautiful. My perception of it.

That would mean that I can find beauty where others would not. If I see beauty, I can see it even when others would not, and would still love what I see.

Poetry. It is a lasting fascination with me. Cant say what it is doing to me. Good things, but great good things. When I hold my lover in my hands, I feel that the words which I cannot say can now be written. They will flow off the finger tips, though my toungue is heavy and stuttering. Great thing that my lover can read my face and my touch and my hugs. Funny that he is not so much into reading as I am. Sometimes I want to shake him and tell him, read my blog, it will tell you how much I love you. But maybe he understands. Maybe. A little.

There is a kuchu function. One of groups here is holding a drag show. You know, real, live drag. Should be interesting.

Of a sudden, there is a blossom of confidence within the kuchu community. People are getting proud of what they are. They understand what they are. And they are affirming it. Last Sunday, we were told that a Transgender support group had been formed. There are a considerable number of transgenders amongst us. Yet, before, they were not identifying. Now, they are, and we are taking it in stride. Of course Victor being a transgender has a lot to do with it! Plucky woman, or, er, man. We are still developing our identities, but for me, being in the middle of it, it is fascinating. Wish I could pull myself away and look, without participating.

Kuchus, all of us gay Ugandans, we are no longer the self effacing, down trodden, invisible, pride-less individuals that we were. Now people are out. Out and about.

It makes me happy. It makes me feel that something is happening. Now I can say that I understand the meaning of Gay Pride. Because these kuchus are manifesting a pride in what they are which is a huge contrast to usual slinking off, tail between the legs.

Me too. The other day, one of my workmates made allusions to my sexuality. Inquisitive, trying to make me say something either way. Oh, she has heard the rumours, is the one who informed me, obliquely, that my name was in the tabloid.

I was amused. I did not out myself, but I did not step back with the usual subterfuges. I am not denying what I am. No longer.

Gosh, I, and other Kuchus, we are growing up. Mature! Never thought this would ever be. But it is.

I cannot attend the drag show. Other commitments. My lover is going there. With a friend of ours.

A day of beauty indeed. A time of hope, a river of possibilities, of a sudden, in a desert of thorns.

GayUganda

I Resist!

Its interesting. At the beginning, when one looks at the things that stand between us and a realisation of gay rights in Uganda, it seems that the problem is insurmountable. When I first entered the gay community in Uganda, Kuchus one and all seemed to think that they are a cursed lot that will remain cursed.

Yet in a few years, a change has occurred. Most of the reaction to the Red Pepper outing was at first a despair. Despair and a cringing fear of what is going to happen, what our hostile world is going to dish out to us because now they know we are gay. That was Sunday, and Monday. People had switched off their phones. Others were planning to go into hiding.

Wednesday, and it seems the consensus has changed again. Come up swinging. Fight back. Resist. Anger has come up at last, a definite pride at being Kuchu and also being human and why should we be 'named and shamed'?. Explore the legal issues. And how else can we fight back?

An email campaign. Letters to the Red Pepper, challenging the outing of presumed gay people. It worked before. It can work again. The Red Pepper is not immune to this kind of thing also. Oh, and don't buy it. Just do not buy that rug!

Yet it is invigorating. The desire to stand up and be counted, to get out of the rut of always presenting your pass with a bowed head, being down trodden. The point when I raise my head and start fighting back. That is a turning point that is remarkable. A David and Goliath moment. When the 3% steps out before the incredulous gaze of the 97% and demand to be recognised. That we are also human.

One of my sisters dared to imply that it was shameful that I was being open about my sexuality. That I should go somewhere and hide. I told her no way. I am as good a human being as her.

That felt good. No longer acting the victim. Standing up and being counted.

The literal translation of Nsaba Buturo’s name is ‘I am requesting for refuge’. I don’t know why his parents so named him. But he feels that I should leave my country because I am gay. Me whose genealogy stretches back more than ten generations in this country, according to what my father tried strenuously to drum into my poor head. I don't remember my ancestors to the nth degree. I know my dad does, he still sings that song. But I remembered that when I heard Nsaba Buturo assert we should leave the country. Because we are homosexual. Being gay makes us less than human, undesirables that should leave pure, clean Uganda.

It feels good standing up to be myself. That is what they mean by Gay Pride I guess. It really feels good!

Kuchus, all. We shall overcome, someday. We shall because reason is on our side.

GayUganda