Fragile life

Life is fragile. Very. Especially in Africa.

Not the crazy riots in Nigeria, or Kenya last year, the current famine in Eastern Africa… Seems as if the continent is catching fire. In a way. Why is the news never good?

Because life, as beautiful as it is, is never simple, or easy. And no where is this more true than on this beautiful, tough continent.

Pensive mood has been stirred by a tragic story. Friend of mine… Cyber friend. Met sometime ago, years. Orokie, the painter.

I insist on calling him that. He is an artist. Gay and proud. Studied in Africa. Went off to complete studies in Europe. We met in cyberworld, built up a friendship. Virtual, real and unreal.
We were in contact for some time, then he dropped out of cyber. Couldn’t contact him for some time, then he popped back onto the net. He had a terrible story to tell.

After studying, he had taken off time to come home. And that journey turned into a life time nightmare. His story is here.

It is tough. Very tough.

Life is so fragile that it is pleasure to know that we are still living… The appreciation of how fragile and beautiful it is will make every drop of life worth savouring. Orokie is a young man that has been maimed and cruelly crippled in the bloom of his youth. An artist who is going blind, eyesight lost, that vision and perception of his world now turned in. Hopefully, with the resiliency of a human being, he will find someway to bless us with his gift.

Life is that unpredictable. And that beautiful.

Friend Orokie, my thoughts are with you on your journey back home, and may you still find joy in life as you did before.


gug

Orokie

Once upon a time, some while ago, I met a man.

It is a while ago that I met him. And we never met, though we did meet. I met a fascinating mind in the cyber world.

We talked, and chatted. I was fascinated. He was fascinated, by what I am not sure. We communicated, and, (seemed like impossible then), but we fell in love. Least I thought that of me, and his communication was of passion.

Then we fell out of touch, and we found each other, for a while. Then we fell out of touch again.

It is a long while since, and I was not even aware that he lived still. I was once concerned because I was told that he had disappeared on the way to my place. I asked questions, and came up against blank walls. I despaired, and had no where to ask, no where to turn. Later I learnt that he lived, was in seclusion, and later that he was in contact with some.

Imagine my surprise when someone leaves a message on the blog, inviting me to another blog, about him.

I went, of course. I saw. Maybe he is back, maybe he is not, but he is around, a spirit unmistakable in the cyber world of ours.

He is Ugandan. And gay. So of course I claim him a gay Ugandan.

He is a rare soul, an artist.

And rarer still, an African artist whose themes are unashamedly homoerotic. He taught me not to fear myself. And I was sad when we did not meet.

But now he is, then why not share him with you?

He is not mine, yet he is mine. He sketched the ‘Me when I am me’ and it is from his quaint phraseology that that I picked that up.

We met when I first had the fall in with poetry. When I picked a book at random in Aristoc Bookshop and the page opened randomly to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. That was when I was hooked, a few years ago.

But this is the guy I wrote my first love poetry to.

Love. There is nothing as ticklish to muse as love.

I must say I must have been a terrible poet at that time. But he called me his poet. And he told others, and they know me by that name. Orokie’s Poet.

I was very deep in the closet. I dared not tell anyone about him. Don’t think I told anyone about him. And was very happy to find that he had the confidence to name me his poet.

Orokie is back. Don’t frown. Yeah, I know I am hooked, to another. He is an old flame that I am not ashamed to share with all and sundry (except my boyfriend who is extremely jealousy!)

He is a great artist, says I, who knows nothing about art. I have problems drawing a straight line. But he does not fear his sexuality. And he is not ashamed of it. And he glories in it.

These are his words, this is what he thinks of words and art. A good debate that, I never won. I am not sure that he won.

The source of all wonder is the

boundless energy and beauty

of Africa,

and

Art is

a spiritual language

depicting ideas

and feelings

in a way words cannot.

This site is an ode to the absolute beauty

of the African male body

Here is his blog. And the wordpress reflection.

But more important, here is his gallery and home page. If you have a squeamish mind, just do not go there. If you like art for art’s sake, here is art. Pablo Picasso’s nudes do little for me. They are of women. Here is a man who can draw the male form.

If you are gay, and you appreciate art, and the male form. Here is Eden revisited. Enjoy yourself.

And to Orokie, welcome back, muse’s tickle.

GayUganda