Sunday Morning, and, a letter to the Monitor

Sunday morning.

I notice when I get down to write on Sunday morning, that is what I tend to first write. A line in the soil around.

Saturday eve, I danced the day away in a bar.

Got to a point when the alcohol fueling the dance dullened perception. And, I chose to stand and appreciate the beauty of humans around me. Of course, it was not the females in their bright, scanty attires that drew my eye. Rather, the males, the men, in every guise and shape, some bright and shouting, some not so much, retiring into the shadows to look and gaze- some somewhere inbetween,  not so out happy, not so down dull. Somewhere in between.

Reminded me of Walt Whitman, ‘City of orgies, walks and joys…’

Poetry. Where would I have been without it?

It’s a sink for thought, a treasure, a guide to thought. The best is always good, but even the worst has that nugget of blessing to confer to my soul.

Back home late, it was bed for me. I embraced my love, and we made love, deeply, fevertly, completely. Good to always come home to a man, my love. Great to know that he is with me… It’s a completeness that cannot be replicated.

After a fulsome rest in the night, we were back at it…. So help me god, but we are young and eager. What better time to indulge all our senses?

And afterwards, tiring of bed, I grabbed the book of poetry, and went to welcome the morning.

It rained yesterday.

And, in the early morning, the slanting sun rays, the gleams of sparkling dew on the green turgid grass. Kampala is never as beautiful to me as after rain, the days afterwards are always cooler, better, brighter, the air clearer of fog and smog.

Read a poem. Wrote a few. Watched men, boys, life streaming by the road.

It is beautiful. Of course it is, very beautiful.

Yet, there is work to do, and, that is what calls now, a siren call. The beauty of the day, its appreciation, it has for now to take a back seat, in the background, as I seek to know what more is in the world for me.

Sunday morning. I hope Ssempa is not showing hard core gay porn in his church today. No, I will not be bothered to go watch.

It is a very beautiful Sunday morning.

----

Now, for laughs. Remember when I told you that I had sent a cheeky letter to the Monitor about Ssempa's Porn Show in church?

Well, I did. I gayuganda. And, the Monitor has published it. I kid you not. Here is the e-paper link.

PORNO MATERIAL

I am a Ugandan who has been keenly follow- ing the debate about the Anti-Homosexuality Bill. I respect sane arguments for and against the Bill, but as an adult Ugandan, I am ap- palled that the debate has descended to the point that pornographic materials are being shown in churches by Pastor Martin Ssempa.

I know his intention is to show that gay sex is so bad that it should be banned.

But, porn is porn, whether shown in the film halls (bibanda) or at places of worship- churches and mosques.Pastor Ssempa has shown these porno- graphic materials at press conferences, at the Uganda National Theatre, and other public places. It is deeply disturbing that children are being exposed to this. It is disturbing that even though this is against the law, the Police and the Minister of Integrity and Ethics have turned blind eyes to it.

It is also shaming to the country when headlines like `Uganda Pastor shows Gay Porn in Church' appear in the international media, like it is on AFP as I write.

Concerned citizen

Yes, you have noticed it. My identity was too inflammatory. I identified myself as a gay Ugandan. The gay didnt skip the censors scissors. And, gug, gayuganda was also slashed out. Instead, I am a magnificent Concerned Citizen.


Have a great day!


from Concerned Citizen, gug. 

Thoughtful, gay, Ugandan

One way that we as gay people manage to fight on is being what we are.

And also marshalling our passions, our talents, to the fight for equality. We are not fighting for any 'rights'. That is a misnomer, which our enemies- and, many are truly that, enemies- many of them use the term 'rights' to say we are asking for something more.

We fight, we petition, we agitate for one thing only. To be equal to other human beings.

We ask the state and states to consider what we are, to be on par with others as human beings. We demand that, in matters of state, we are equal, not a minority that is persecuted where the others are given advantages over us in all realms of life and living. We know we are different. We assert that, though different, we are equal. Human beings.

It is better than Iran, at the moment. There, 346 Iranians were executed for being gay in 2008 alone. Better than Iran, which many Ugandans see as a bad thing. We also want to kill our homos. Period. And, we dont want the world to interfere with us in this holy cause. The Gospel according to Hate. Increadibly, David Bahati, who is a born again Christian, believes that this is not a hate bill. These are the scenes that he is looking forwards to. Below, in the run up to a Homosexuality free Uganda. Images from Kaos Blogspot

This argument is harder to advance with religion.
Because, even the most enlightened of human beings, the most intelligent, are very willing to hide behind religion. The Bible says, so it is. The Quaran says, so it is. And, in most of those texts, the interpretation is that we are worth of death.
I have been following an assertion by a Moslem chaplain for death to homosexuals. Because Islam says so, and, he cannot think past it. Similarly, Bahati argues like so. In defence of the 'traditional family'.

I cannot, and will not argue that gay people should have no faith. That is a personal decision. And, it is suprising how deeply spiritual most gay people are. It is part of what we are. And it shall continue like so. I think it is in our 'gay genes'!
It is a personal decision. Each of us has a right, and it is a right, to faith. Or its rejection. Sadly, our religions see it as mandatory, and deeply religious to reject us. You think I am lying? Ask the religious leaders in Uganda. Catholics, Moslems, Pentecostals, Anglicans. Ask them, and listen to their words, their thoughts.

But, it is in the logic of thought that we can bring out the hate, fear, ignorance that characterises some of our fellow men.

David Bahati says “Homosexuality has become a huge issue in this country we know that it is not our values, it” not Ugandan, it’s a threat to our traditional family and the children of Uganda…”

But, I am Ugandan. Yes I am. And, because, by my very presence I challenge his assertion of what I am, he wants me in prison for life. Or, dead, by hanging.
And, the state of fear which threatens many activists, and is pushing them into hiding like Pepe Julian here is justified, according to Bahati. I listened to him wondering how David Kato had been able to go to the Ministry of Foreign affairs here. Stronger laws are necessary to make sure that David is arrested. Not because he is a Ugandan. No. Because he is gay, and affirms his sexuality.

What can we do in face of this kind of hate? Overwhelming, malignant, willing to take us as a class, a level apart because we are different?
Hitler and Nazi Germany took it to the logical conclusion. Cleansing the Master Race of the impurities, which at that time meant homosexuality too. So does Bahati, writing a genocidal bill. For the homosexual Ugandan, there are only two things envisaged by the legislator from Ndorwa West. Death by hanging, and life imprisonment. That is what a homosexual Ugandan deserves.

So, what can we do?
We, as gay Ugandans, have no option but to fight. And to fight with all our whiles. Sadly, many of us dont even realise that we are at war. And that we are the pawns in this war, the foot soldiers, cannon fodder. And, true, we shall fall victim, prey, casualty to this unrelenting war. It is to the death, for many of us.

We ask for help.
And many people, inside and outside Uganda have responded magnificently. And, we still realise that the fight is far from over. Because it is not. Even our friends realise the vagaries, the flimsiness of the worlds attention. And, we do know how we have to do the fighting ourselves. They will help, but it is us who will have to do the actual, in the trench, lifting and pushing. And us who will die. The Leader Post puts it so-

The disaster in Haiti is essentially uncomplicated--a natural disaster has stripped people of basic needs, and money, food, and water are easy enough to supply. Coming to the aid of someone whose basic humanity is being attacked is much more complex. You cannot simply donate $10 to stop a gay Ugandan from being executed for his or her lifestyle, and Reese Witherspoon will not be waiting on the other end of a helpline to congratulate you for doing so. These complex issues are just as deserving of media and international attention, even if the solution is far more elusive.

 Even the help we receive is demonised.
They want to kill us. With HIV, with ignorance, with lack of information. We cannot defend ourselves in the country. We cannot go out and say that they are telling lies. But, the lies continue, unabated.

Ssempa held a second press conference to discuss an element of the bill which for him is key, the criminalization of alleged homosexual recruitment and propaganda. He introduced two speakers, self-proclaimed former homosexuals, who were there to testify against the Dutch-funded gay and lesbian recruitment they both experienced. Paul Kagaba, who claimed he was a former "spokesperson" for SMUG, noted how he and his organization used to recruit and seduce people using money, cameras and laptops. Sandra Baggotte, until just recently an admitted lesbian, now has a one-month old baby and confirmed Kagaba's lurid tales. European-funded homosexuals live in swanky pads in Ntinda where their day-to-day life involves waking up and then immediately "drinking and messing yourself up". There is no work because the Europeans fund their decadent lifestyles. If you want to go on a date, these shadowy groups will give you up to sh500,000 in order to "recruit" others to homosexuality. Spurious conferences on reproductive health are actually just covert recruitment opportunities where lesbians will encourage you to take hormonal injections to reduce breast size and deepen their voices.

 And, of course we cannot be believed, us gays, because we are gay. [Wry shake of the head]
Paul Kagaba says he was once spokesperson for GayUganda... Lie, lie, lie. Seems he did read that on this blog. Now, he is spokesperson for SMUG? Am glad Pepe could laugh that off.

Oh, Kagaba also claims as 'proof' of his conversion and healing from homosexuality, his ex-gay credentials the fact that he has a child. A son. Like Sandra above.
Has anyone dared to ask Kagaba, and Sandra whether we homosexuals are sterile? Seems like that is such a 'fact' that .... Myths, myths, propagated by people who know that they are telling lies. And, I know for a fact that Paul Kagaba, at least for the time that I knew of him in the kuchu community, his behaviour was bisexual. I doubt he advertises that!

But, what is more ridiculous is the gullible lies told in the name of our 'funding'. Remember the 20 Million USD that Nsaba Buturo told the monitor I am supposed to be sharing? I am afraid that the bank says it is not there. Maybe the accounts transfer was held up somehow or other. 500,000 UGX for conferences? Only the ruling party has that kind of clout. Ha, of course also the recruiting homosexuals. Paid by recruiters from America and Europe, of course.

In an interview with The Independent, Pepe Julian Onziema Programme coordinator for Sexual Minorities Uganda (SMUG) refuted Kagaba's claims that he was ever a spokesperson for her organization nor had she even heard of Sandra. She explained that SMUG was formed in 2004 to advocate for gay rights especially in the health sector, where HIV/AIDS counseling was nonexistent. Problems like "corrective rape" and police apathy and even downright hostility towards homosexuals, led Onziema and others to form a group to specifically address the rights issues plaguing the gay and lesbian population in Uganda. She admits that SMUG's funding does come in part from American and European human rights organizations, the same funders who provide funds for government projects; but notes that the amount is miniscule as SMUG is not a registered charity. She notes wryly that the amount it would cost for the hormonal therapy Kagaba claimed was being forced on many a young woman for just one person is equivalent to about two years worth of SMUG's funding. In response to Sandra's allegation that Onziema herself handed out sums of up to sh500,000 for recruitment dates, her denial was unequivocal, "I'm shocked because first of all my rent is hanging over my head. So why wouldn't I take care of myself first, before I take care of other people, people I don't even know. It's purely false."

Indeed, we are, and will continue to be Fugitives in our own Country. For, bottom line we are Ugandans. And so we shall remain. Whether they condemn us and put us to death, or not. We are Ugandans. A fact that irks them a lot. Prison, life imprisonment, or death. Or, some 'conversion therapy.'

Other friends are disturbed by overt and covert support by their countries for Bahati anti-homosexuality bill. Like South Africa.
You know why we gay people continue to know and understand one another despite the great differences in our different cultures? Why gay Americans will come out to support gay Iranians, and gay Spaniards be disenchated with what is happening in Malawi? Because we know what it is to be gay. We know, first hand, the deep hostility, the shame heaped on us. The naked hate that our country people justify everywhere in the name of 'family', or nation, or anything. As long as it is something against gay people.

The South Africans are up in arms. South African gay people. Because their government is sending an envoy who is a known homophobe to Uganda as ambassador. The issue is not only a Ugandan one. It is concerns us all, they state.

Yes indeed. Thought is an important process.

And, writing things down helps to clarify the thought.

Last night, I was wild on the town. But, I did need, and I am listening, and I know that I am not invulnerable to the hate that is out touching me.

gug

Contrast in Uganda

Uganda is beautiful country.

Very, very beautiful. So beautiful that it is very easy to forget that it can also be ugly. Very ugly.

Yesterday I was out dancing, having fun, in a bar with other people.

I had fun. The music was good, the mind was easy, and I was wild with relief that I am alive. I was happy, I felt it, and did show it.

Yet, I am immersed in the middle of a battle for my life. My very life, me and my partner’s. And of all Ugandans that are like me.

Now I am seated in a corner of our compound, typing away, thinking of the contrasts, the extremes that my life is.

And, there  are deadly caveats to the beauty, ugliness that I have to ignore most of the time. Because I can go mad if I obsess about some of those things.

How can I be a gay Ugandan and be happy, living in Uganda?

I have to shut my eyes to some of the things that happen.

Yesterday, I did have a conversation with a couple of people who are questioning their sexuality.

I am gay, and I know it. But sometimes I forget that the confidence in my sexuality that I now take for granted, it is something that used to torture me. The self knowledge has come at a price. Many others are still paying it. Many are questioning, many are wondering, they are praying, and self doubting, seeking for answers in the worst sort of persecution that can go on in the country. In any country.

There is one lady in Gulu who was burnt to death by someone, a colleague.

Her reported crime was making a pass at another woman. This woman was so incensed that she took fire to the lady’s home. There were two children in the house at the time. Am informed that they are both dead. So is the woman, the one who made a pass that was not appreciated.

Sigh... I believe the 'defence' is the so called 'gay panic'. You, a profoundly heterosexual person, find a homosexual advance so increadibly offensive that in a panic, you kill the 'offender'.

Another guy is being blackmailed by former lovers.

He is well off, and these guys see a chance to make money. So, for what were consensual sex acts, they report to the police as the injured party.

There is no justice in Uganda for the gay person. These former lovers, they first steal from the man, and then go to the police to report that he is gay. So, he is caught in a lurch. To report that they have stolen from him, and then he finds this other case that they have reported him as gay.

And, in Uganda, the ‘victim’ has all the advantage.

Remember the case of Pastor Kayanja? Mega church, multibillion shilling man. But, some guys want to say he is gay. He might be, or he might not be. But, it did take him more than half the year to fight the allegations. And, his accusers, fellow pastors jealous of his ministry, (including dear Pastor Ssempa and Pastor Male), stand accused of trying to tarnish his name.

Incredibly, it is these guys who are behind the Anti-Homosexuality bill.

And, to cover themselves, they have two categories of people. The ‘offender’, who has no rights, once reported. And, the ‘victim’, who is protected by the law once he reports, or she reports.

You don’t believe it? Read the text of the bill, here.

I am picking out some of the proposed law, word for word.

5. Protection, assistance and payment of compensation to victims of homosexuality.

(1 ) A victim of homosexuality shall not be penalized for any crime commuted as a direct result of his or her involvement in homosexuality.

(2) A victim of homosexuality shall be assisted to enable his or her views and concerns to be presented and considered at the appropriate stages of the criminal proceedings.

(3) Where a person is convicted of homosexuality or aggravated homosexuality under sections 2 and 3 of this Act, the court may, in addition to any sentence imposed on the offender, order that the victim of the offence be paid compensation by the offender for any physical, sexual or psychological harm caused to the victim by the offence.

(4) The amount of compensation shall be determined by the court and the court shall take into account the extent of harm suffered by the victim of the offence. the degree of force used by the offender and medical and other expenses incurred by the victim as a result of the offence.

6. Confidentiality.

(1) At any stage of the Investigation or trial of an offence under this Act, law enforcement officers, prosecutors, judicial officers and medical practitioners, as well as parties to the case, shall recognize the right to privacy of the victim.

It is simply tailor made for blackmail, extortion. And all that is okay, since it is homosexuals that are being persecuted. As Minister Nsaba-Buturo said, ‘Homosexuals should forget about human rights.’ We are simply not worth the protection of the law. It is a very clearly visible, clearly sane thing in the eyes of most Ugandans.

Yet the grass is still green.

The sun rises bright, and it is going to be a great hot day. Maybe highs of 30s. The avocado pear tree behind my house has flowers, and young fruits on it. The pawpaw tree has some fruits on it too. And, below them, the ducks are panting in the heat. Maybe I should give them some water.

No. I cant forget about the beauty of my world, of my country.

I simply cant ignore it. I must open my eyes, my hands and sing and dance and be happy. And, I must at the same time remember that some of my very countrymates believe, with a passion and conviction that is utterly appaling, that I cannot share with them this beauty.

They want to rid the country of those like me.

And, they are deadly serious.

Have a thoughtful day.

gug

I do it for me.

I have been reading the Fenway Guide to LGBT Health. Hey, I am a well read dude. Not really a nerd. Life’s reality is too frighteningly rough to allow for all my nerdy characteristics to come out.

But, since I can read the English, I do seek to understand myself, and others.

I was reading about ‘coming out theories’. Gosh, the things that human beings decide to study! Anyway, someone studied these things. And, they then went ahead and put them down in a book to read.

Fenway Guides are medical texts actually. Don’t ask me how I got it. Just know that I did. And, once you get over the strange technical language that medical English is, it is not too hard to read. And, it is amazing.

Which brings me to the question. If medics do know this much about gay people, why the hell isn’t the medical profession in Uganda, the Uganda Medical Association, the Ministry of Health up in arms against the Anti-Homosexuality bill in Uganda? Here is its text.

But, I know the answer to that. The medics in Uganda are NOT knowledgeable about homosexuality. Many of them don’t know anything about it. They don’t know that it has been studied, scientifically. They know next to naught about human sexuality. And, they are firmly in the belief that it is ‘un-natural and un-African’. They are as firmly homophobic and prejudiced as the rest of society.

Ok, since I am throwing around some pretty serious allegations, it is time that I did substantiate them.

Once I was watching a programme on NTV. The discussant was I believe the Chairman of the Parliament Committee on health matters, and the topic was the Anti-Homosexuality Bill. The man in question is a Medical Doctor.

He was asked about it. And, his response was steeped in the misery of ignorance, prejudice, and a sheer lack of research, despite him being a doctor. He said, unequivocally, that homosexuality is un-African, and un-Ugandan.

Pity. Really a pity. For a medic to be so ignorant.

Another case in point. 2007 I think it was that some of us went to Makerere Medical School to talk about homosexuality. What occurred was suprising, and unsurprising. The auditorium was full. Tempers were raised. Those of us who were there to enlighten the medics and students found that the tempers, the sheer hostility was overwhelming.

No. This seat of learning in Uganda, the famed Makerere didn’t rely on medical texts to bash gay Ugandans. No, there was not a mention of them being ethically bound to listen to gay Ugandans. They brought out Qurans. And the Bible.

Know what we did? We had to flee out of the place. The signs of imminent violence were too clear to ignore.

So, Uganda’s medics are not in the know. Oh, tell them that I know they are not in the know. There is one guy who is a medic and does read this blog… A medic and a Christian who doesn’t agree with the gay bashing. I bet I am suprising you with what I do know, yes? Ha ha ha! The needs that a gay Ugandan has to go to to educate oneself about being gay. To the point when I know more than those who should know more than me…!

Anyway, comes back to the question. Why do I do the things that I do? Why am I into knowing about myself, seeking for self knowledge, getting to know who I am, what I am, why I am different, but still human?

Self knowledge. Self acceptance. Self respect.

It is because of myself that I fight this war. It is because of what I add onto myself.

Not for money, not for anything else. It is because of me.

Hope your day is good. Just wanted to share with you some insight I have had reading a book that is way out there ‘promoting homosexuality’. There is a penalty in the Bahati bill for reading such a book in Uganda. Because it is material that will be ‘promoting homosexuality’. 3, or 7 years in prison?

I don’t know.

But, do you think I will stop reading this material to appease Bahati or Ssempa? You joke.

gug

Boy meets Boy 3

[Hey, you thought I was done? No...!]

Nine years?!

When I tell people that we have been together, me and my man for nine good years, I always hear the exclamation mark, the disbelief when they first hear it.

How? That, usually, is the incredulous next question.

Truth is I don’t know how. I just know that it is fact. We have been together nine good years.

A gay relationship in Uganda. Almost impossible to believe, but, it has all the luck stacked up against it.

We are African men. Brought up to be what we are, in our distinctly African society. Different tribes, or ethnic groups. With living family and relations. Clans that expect of us what they expect African men. Marriage, children, family, relations. The pressure to have children is intense.

In Uganda?

Yes, of course it is very, very homophobic. Has gotten worse the last couple of years.

We walk together, most of the time. We are careful not to touch, not to hold hands, not to kiss, of course. Never in public. Constant vigilance. Constantly looking over our shoulders.

To the frequent curiosity about our friendship? A shrug, a smile, and a distinct shake of the head not to pry. Friends we are, it is taken. More than friends? Well, figure it out.

Family-

they got to know. Gradually. They know now. For some, we told. I remember the time that he went to tell his mom. And, the day that my dad came to tell me that the police were looking for me, for us. But, with most of those, we never talk about it. They know. That, for most, is enough. We are African men, with the arrogance that suggests in our communities. They may talk, in private. No confronting of us.

How did it happen?

I am half of the couple. And, I am truthful when I say I don’t know. It happened day by day, minute by minute. I don’t know what I have contributed to the partnership. I am less idealistic, more pragmatic. I wanted a relationship, but, I was never, ever sure it would last. Over the years, it is I who has been more likely to stray, to want out, to want more ‘freedom’. I am an African male. Tiger Woods/Els episodes are kind of part of life. And, I have been responsible for my fair share.

He is idealistic.

Meant it when he said we were married. I was skeptical.

He took me to his home, to meet the parents. The in-laws. It was an occasion for him. For I? I went to please him. Matter of fact.

Then, he decided to come out to his mum. Just like that. He went to the village, told her. And, that was that. She has even come to visit us at our home, my mom-in-law.

To him the trappings of social life matter a lot. The anniversaries, the big days, Valentines, birthdays. And of course, the Anniversary.

Oh? He is extremely jealous.

Legendary in fact. Sometimes, people ask, cautiously, how I manage to bear that level of possessiveness? I shrug. He is what he is, I say. What I don’t say is that jealousy in a relationship is kind of a sop. Reminds one that, the other does care.

I do mind when he throws a fit because I have talked to someone in a bar, someone he does not approve. But, my kind of uncaring attitude would have been the death blow to the relationship long ago, if he didn’t have enough jealousy for both of us. And, it keeps off the pesky flies!

He is practical, I am a dreamer.

He cares about his in-laws. Is incensed at the smallest slight, real or imagined. I shrug them off. Cool him down.

When my brothers, my sisters will not visit, he is mad at them. I don’t care. When it is necessary, I will, and do assert my self. He says not enough, I am sure of myself.

Religion?

He is Catholic. A staunch Catholic when I met him.

I believe in nothing. Had given up on belief, and was actually extremely bitter when we met. I have worked out some of that bile off on this blog, posting, crying, whinging. It has been good.

My steady non belief has eroded his beliefs. And, the challenge to the authority figures of the church that I present has put questions in his mind. But, he is still a confessing Catholic. No, religion would have driven us apart. We decided early on that it was one of the things we never discussed. Because we were more likely to butt our heads on unyielding walls of our own prejudices.

The activism has helped.

I started it as a joke. At first, I was in fear of what I am. Gay.

With the days, months, years, my self confidence, my pride in my humanity has actually grown. At first I wanted to reach out and help other gay people in Uganda. Life is extremely, absolutely challenging. Somehow, we do try to get through it, because we are human.

But, there are always casualties. Always. Those who drop on the wayside, those who cannot make it. Those who, ultimately, have to succumb to the harsh realities of our existence. Some like Brian Pande, arrested, jailed, dead on leaving jail. His partner with a court case pending for ‘un-natural’ relations. Others, like a former boyfriend of mine, who died, committed suicide. He reportedly had HIV.

Prison, jail, extortion, murders, blackmail. Social ostracism and ridicule. The harsh consequences of being outed, forced into marriage, forced into unwanted relationships. Or, the ever present possibility of being caught making love, arrested, beaten up, mob justice. It is funny, when I do articulate all those things, I do wonder how it has been possible to stick together this long.

But, we have.

It has also helped that a nascent gay community is growing. Even in our circumstances.  We are kuchus. We are in the closet, hiding, hidden, unaccepted, pariahs. Many of us don’t even dare to come out. But, those of us who can, rejoice in meeting, now and again. In knowing those who are like us, those who will rejoice, with us, when we celebrate a day like our anniversary.

My lover was not ready at first to go into activism.

He thought it led to unacceptable levels of exposure. Why tell more people than necessary that we are gay? It multiplies the danger. It brings you to the attention of the government. Then people like Ssempa want to out you, prominently, in the papers, on radios. They want to embarrass, shame you. They want to harm you.

Thing is, when I have a bee in the bonnet… I did have my way. And, he joined me. After some time. Nowadays, I think he is more fierce than I am. More apt to challenge, very eloquently, those who deny his humanity because he is, we are, gay.

It helps that he is more street wise than I am.

How was it possible?

I don’t know, yet I have lived the nine years.

He knows. He loves sitting and counseling others, couples. He is the ‘senga’ of kuchu relationships in Uganda, I joke. Marital counselor. They go to him when they are having relationship difficulties. Both the boys, and the girls. Yes I know, we are all in the same boat. It is a matter of fact that human beings seek companionship. Free sex is good. Great. But, most, if not all of us, have that dream of finding that perfect other that will synch, and live happily thereafter. A very human dream.

And, of course there is love.

It was the single, most concrete cement at the beginning of our relationship. We were both young, exploring. We did learn of each other. We compromised, we searched, we explored. Not only with sex. We have had our hard times, and lush times. We have gone through sickness, and health. We are together, and we have been a team….

Maybe that IS the trick.

I am not sure. But, of this I am sure. Nine years it has been. Nine years, and counting.

gug

Love

A parent’s unconditional love.

Something that all us humans can imagine. Seeing a small, helpless little person in your arms. Looking at them, holding out your arms to them, holding them, literally, knowing that on you they depend, body, mind, soul.

They are lots and lots of labour.

But, few people will shirk this labour of love. That is a fact.

Of course, some do, as a choice. And, there are those who abuse children. A crime if there was ever one. Universally ugly. Very ugly.

We gay people, we are also human being. We also love to have children, to have that unconditional love given and taken. It is tough, we know it. But, we move heaven and earth to do something as simple as getting children. And, loving them.

No, we are not pedophiles. We are not evil. We are just simple human beings, with the same needs for love, understanding, same desires to see ourselves in another, a child, our own. Maybe adopted, maybe not.

Of course we do know that we cannot have children with gay sex. And, some accuse us, and devile us because of that. It is ‘sterile’ they say, forgetting that we are not sterile. And that no fertility tests are done before marriage. Heterosexual marriage.

They forget that making love is not about sex. Especially the love that dares not speak its name (uh, Wildey, did America swallow you up? Where are you?!) It has to be bigger, deeper, stronger. Because it doesn’t have social supports.

But, they (as in those who think us evil), they believe we should also not have children. We shouldn’t adopt too.

Ugly, ugly, ugly.

And know the real reason we will always win? The real dark agenda that is the homosexual’s secret? It is actually very simple.

We, we gay people, homosexuals, we are also human.

And, those who hate us will always fail to prove our inhumanity. Because we are also human.

Hang in there everyone. Be well and keep up the fight.

If you are gay, remember that thing that you have. You are a human being. Only you can take that conviction, that self knowledge away from you. And yes, you can do it. So don’t. Do NOT hurt yourself. Don’t think of yourself as less than human. That is the whole trick, that is the whole secret. That is why the Ssempa’s of this world try to convince your world that you are not HUMAN.

But, we are also human. With the gifts and faults that means.

Have a great day.

gug

Boy Meets Boy 2

No, it was not ‘love at first sight’. Nor was it lust at first touch.

Those things, which I have experienced, are sometimes too shallow. The waters of a pond, reflective, calm on the surface. Treacherously shallow beneath.

The day we met, and he agreed that we spend the night together, we took a ‘taxi’, the 14 seaters minibuses, to his rental room. He was renting in Bukoto.

I don’t remember much of the night. Except that he gave me water to bathe, and changed the sheets on his bed, and then, we slept, together, in each others arms for the first time.

A wonderful experience. Maybe I had fallen in love by the next morning?

I don’t know.

But, imagine this. Wake up early morning, new bed, new mate. At first a disorientation. But then, he moves so familiarly into my hands, my arms that, I grasp him closer, sink in deeper, hold him tighter.

Got out of bed at last, and I took stoke of where we were.

A single room. Bed-seater, with all his worlds possessions crammed in. Hey, he was in the city to work. Building is done in the village. On the city, we rent single rooms, to eat and sleep, and remember home.

We dressed, and went out.

Neighbors on the doorstep. Morning greetings. No suprises, two guys getting out of the same house, the same room. Mind your own bloody business, if you do wonder.

Different ethnic groups we are, but, we were both relatively proficient in the most commonly used language. Luganda.

He prepares breakfast.

We talk, he tells me about his neighbours, the goings on of a small, tight community. Strangers pushed together by physical proximity. There were many houses, all rental rooms, grouped around a small courtyard which they shared. We took breakfast, companionably. He offered to show me around the neighbourhood. Good for me. Didn’t know the Bukoto suburb. Kampala is big, 2-3 million people, all living mainly in the suburbs. Of which Bukoto is one densely populated one.

Later, getting tired of the sights, I invited him home. To my home.

I don’t remember much of the journey. Just made sure he got a royal welcome. To my humble abode.

Now, I must admit I was slovenly. Just imagine, bachelor boy, with a younger brother, (I had taken the trouble to explain to him the realities of my sexuality, and offered that he could live with his dad…!).

I was slovenly. Dirty dishes in the kitchen, unkempt living room, sheets on the bed that had not seen water for some time.

I am lucky I didn’t read his thoughts. Did I see anything of his expression when he saw my bed? I remember I offered to immediately buy a pair of new sheets. Which we went off to town to buy, on the same day.

We spent the day together. Bought the sheets, brought them home.

Then, he takes on himself the task of cleaning the house, unasked. I helped.

That night, we spent it together, at my place.

And the next, for the next few weeks, we were either at my place, or at his place. Just happened to be at the one which was most confortable.

I can safely say that by the second week, I did know that I was hooked. I was in love.

No. A one night stand does not lead to the love of life. The chemistry is more subtle, more distant.

To date I joke that it was a one night stand that has lasted the nine years. And, in a way it is true. What do I know of love?

I cannot counsel lovers. Because, despite the experience, to me it has been a day at a time. That is how they have come, that is how they were taken.

People ask us, what was the trick behind all this?

I don’t know.

Maybe I was ready, and he was ready. A trick, a coincidence of the times.

Remember this was Uganda in 2001. The only gay community I knew at that time was the bar scene which I had thought inappropriate. I didn’t want to take him there. I didn’t, not at that time. It was a honey moon that we had announced to no one. Not even ourselves.

We were always together, moving in the city. He would come  to my place of work, we would talk endlessly. Working nights, I would ring and talk for hours on end…! It was like we couldn’t have enough of each other.

The world outside us?

I don’t know, it just seemed to disappear. We were aware that our world was, is homophobic. That our people saw us as two guys who were friends. The rest was detail. Of course the brother who lived with me knew. I just talked to him again, told him this guy was my partner, and, I offered that he could go stay with his dad. He demurred.

We were in love, and the world didn’t matter. Not at all.

Whether they saw us, whether they noticed, in our delirium, seeing one another, being together, talking, chatting, spending the night in each others arms,- the world simply didn’t matter. It existed, but outside the cocoon of our existence, our love.

Our love, our partnership was un-acknowledged. That didn’t matter. Not a naught. We were into each other, and that is all that mattered.

Gradually, we found that we were spending most nights at my home. And, he started moving in, bit by small bit.

It was no longer ‘at whose place?’, we both knew it was at ‘our’ place now. And, we would only go to Bukoto to pick up something else that he needed.

Our work schedules dovetailed. We started moving around schedules to accommodate one another. Life, living was fun.

We so didn’t want anyone to budge into our world, that I found myself neglecting my brother. Well, he was eating, he was drinking, he was going to school. His big bro was in love, and, he shamelessly became an afterthought. Of course, I was to pay for that later, but, during those heady first months, I was oblivious of my neglect.

They were days of love, exploration, talk, thinking. They were days of accommodation, months of getting to know one another.

Don’t know when I took him home, to see my mom. But, I did.

And, he took me to his home, to see his parents. And where he lived. Yes, we did.

But, we didn’t say that we were partners. Just wanted one another to know where we came from.

Of course we quarreled. Always happens.

Apologies and making up can lead to great bonding. I can swear to that. No quarrels were serious. And, since our world had ceased to exist around us, I don’t even remember anything except the fact that we were, together.

Yes, of course we were hiding our love. But, that didn’t seem to matter at all. As long as I knew he loved me, and I knew I loved him. The differences didn’t matter.

He would go to church, I would wait for him. Outside. No, he didn’t tempt me inside. Couldn’t. But, we were together, even then.

By the second, third month, I knew definitely that I had found the guy that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

I told him that, and, he was of the same mind.

So, we made it official. My home was our home. And, we were always, unfailingly together. But, we were pragmatic. No rings exchanged, no relatives, friends informed. We were two guys living, sleeping together. In Uganda, in Kampala.

We did keep his room around, rented, for something like the next couple of years. Yes we did, but, well, life continued with us together.

And, now it is nine years since that first day…!

gug

Boy meets Boy (1)

That was nine years ago.

I will not give you the exact date, simply because it is not safe as yet… I am not yet fully out, though I know I am out. And, I plan to be celebrating the day for years to come. Our anniversary.

Nine years ago.

Seems like such a short time past. It was the beginning of the year, again. The old year had been eventful. 2000.

New year, a new millennium. It had turned out to be mundane, and also different. I had decided to come out, and go wild on the scene. The kuchu scene in Kampala.

For that year, I had partied and met kuchus. I had had a few brief relationships, and lots of casual encounters. Young, newly liberated as I saw myself, my world had become a new experience. Out as a gay man in Uganda. As out as I could be.

But, I had also discovered that, in opening myself to what I wanted, I also wanted more. I am human. I had been reluctant to form any long lasting relationships with women. Now that I was out and happy as I found myself, I wanted something more. I wanted a deep, abiding relationship. I wanted a long time relationship with another guy, another man. I wanted to set up house as I hadn’t done before. I wanted to find the man of my dreams, and set up house, our home, in Uganda.

My needs were not met in the free sex. Nor in the casual encounters. I do remember, one very promiscuous friend of mine telling me derisively, ‘kuchus don’t make relationships.’ He was incredulous, he was contemptuous. He was young and into sex with every man that walked. I was sticking out for the ring and the walk!

I remember that remark because I kind of thought about it for long.

I decided to pull back. To go slow. Yes, I was getting the companionship I needed. But, I could clearly see that I wanted more than what was on offer. A meat market with plenty of humongous beef on display. But, not the commitment, not the depth that I wanted, was ready to offer, was ready to demand.

This was Uganda in 2000. In 1999, just the year before, the President had famously ordered the police to go out and arrest homos. Homosexuals like us. It was not that people, kuchus didn’t want relationships. It was too difficult.

For a few months, I drew back.

Over the Christmas hols, well, I did have fun. And, had a bit of down with malaria over the New Year’s day. Its like a flu. You suffer it something like once or twice a year. And, it was not a heavy bout.

I remember I was recovering at home, the juices stirring, the mind starting to remember the love and lust that I had missed over the New Years hols. Actually, I was on the sofa, in the living room.

Ping of a message on my phone.

An sms. Someone wishing me a ‘Happy New Year’, and hoping that we would be friends.

Looked at the number. Didn’t know it. Curious, I sent back a text too. Thanks, but, you didn’t sign it.

I almost forgot about it.

I mean, for reasons that are very understandable, many other kuchus did have my number. It is a precious commodity, the mobile phone, for clandestine connections. I was used to anonymous messages leading to liaisons.

But, I got a call within the next few minutes.

Very polite. I was impressed. No ‘beeping’ or flashing for him. He greeted me, told me I didn’t know him, that he had got my number from a friend, and wished that we would be friends in the new year.

I played the game. Thanked him. Wished him the best of 2001.

And, one thing led to another, and I found that we had made an appointment to meet. Hey, told you I was action starved, and recovering from malaria. I needed some! And, despite everything else, there were good indications. What? His voice was nice on the phone.

We chose a neutral ground. No meeting at one’s home on the first date. No way…! Safety first.

Chose Wandegeya. A busy suburb very near the city centre, Kampala.

The university, (Makerere) is within stone’s throw, so is Mulago hospital and the rest of the city.  One can come from anywhere, and disappear into anywhere. Safety first. And, far as I knew, it was two strangers meeting.

Came near time, I was shocked.

He rang to confirm the meeting. No one does that!!! At least, in my experience. I confirmed that I would be there.

I was going to use a ‘taxi’, one of our fourteen seater minibuses which do the bulk of public transport. I did, but, I had badly misjudged the timing.

I was not used to the traffic around Wandegeya. It was (still is) horrible.

Those were the days when there was a roundabout there. And, it used to choke with gridlocked traffic around evening. Appointment at six? I arrived after seven, after dusk. I had to jump out of the ‘taxi’ to walk the brief distance to my destination. And, the guy was ringing me to confirm that I was on the way.

I remember the place.

Dusk, light fast disappearing. Traffic heavy, sludgy on the roads. It is a very busy junction, at any time of the day. Early evening is hell. And, people, walking home or wheresoever.

Noise, of traffic, shouting, taxi touts on Kamwokya stage. The street lights were coming on, dirt, dust, noise, darkness strengthening. Chaos, as only Wandegeya can be. Comfortable, camouflaging chaos.

I saw him, immediately. He was standing in the space just before Kamwokya stage towards downtown, phone to ear.

I took the chance to check out my blind date.

About my height. Slim, nervous confidence. Standing while the rest of the populace moved past him in all directions. In the failing light, I knew that I didn’t know him. He had his phone out, was ringing me. Mine was in the pocket, ringing. But, he couldn’t hear it in the general fracas of a Wandegeya evening.

I decided that we could meet. (Hey, ever had that blind a date? Have had several. You don’t decide until the last moment…!)

I took out my phone, answered, told him where I was. Behind him. I had walked past, with the flow of the people. Of course he hadn’t recognized me, since he didn’t know me from Adam.

We met. Gay eyes quickly sizing up one another, weighing, assessing.

A little conversation. The decision to look for a less noisy, and more private place. We both didn’t know Wandegeya that well… Neutral ground, remember? But, we followed Bombo road a bit, going towards Bwaise. Got into a bar that I had entered once, twice.

It was called something like ‘College Inn’. Surveyed the inside, decided that it was too near the noise of the road. But, we spied a gate to the back, and decided to investigate.

A back garden. Chairs and tables.

We sat down to drink and chat.

Yeah, boy meets boy, so what happens?

I declined his offer of a beer. But I was impressed. I was usually the beer buyer. Different person indeed. I begged off, recovering from malaria, was my excuse. Fact is, I wanted to take it slow. He took a Bell Lager. Still does.

We started talking. He was talking my head off.

I listened, and listened. He was beating around the bush, going round and round the important issues. Verbose without being overly informative. I liked the game, listened, and asked him whether he was a lawyer. I asked for a Nile Special, my usual beer. And, we ordered some snacks. Chips I believe. And we talked.

He had ‘got’ my phone number from someone I was supposed to know. Actually, later I discovered that I had sent someone a new year’s message, and, that guy had not been tech savvy enough to know that he had a message. This guy had helpfully helped to reveal that important fact to him, and incidentally crammed the number…! Talk about being snitchy!

But, all I got from him on the first day was a description of the friend, that he was an acquaintance. After one beer, I was ready to cut through the bull shit.

‘Are you gay?’ I asked, directly, looking into his eyes for the reaction.

Shock. A sudden loss of words. And, looking around. I do remember that furtive look.

No one was near enough to have heard the question. Or to hear the answer, if affirmative.

It was totally dark now. Some bushes with overhanging branches over us gave more illusion of privacy. Only lights were at the open bar, and the kitchen. A soft, confortable darkness. The waiter was not disturbing us, and, the few other clientele were busy doing their own stuff.

He looked back at me, the light full on his angular face.

He nodded his head. Yes, he did.

Couldn’t verbalize it. Not at that moment.

Unsurprisingly, that admission made both of us easier in mind.

No laugh from me. Hell, I am gay, and Ugandan. And, he wasn’t bad looking…! It was my turn to tease and talk and laugh. And, we did have a good time.

Don’t remember how long we spent. Another hour, I think.

We finished when we were both happy, a little drunk, less inhibited, and well, into each other. We walked back onto the street in company, still chatting. No of course not. We hadn’t yet touched the gross subject of sex…!

Walking back, the Wandegeya junction traffic chaos had eased a bit, but not much. Walked to the place where we had met a few hours earlier. There were less people around, but they were many. Still walking home, in all directions. The traffic was less heavy, not less noisy. And, we were still together.

There, almost on the spot where we met, he gave me his hand to say goodbye.

I took it, looked into his eyes, then away, then took the plunge-

‘Your place or mine?’

Again I could see the shock in his eyes. Hey, I am blunt, no beating round the bush, especially when I don’t want to. Not with something as serious as sex. And, I couldn’t remember my new year’s resolution to go slow, and all the bullshit about a relationship…

Ultimately, he shrugged his shoulders. Giving in, ‘Me, I don’t mind. Can come to your place, or you can come to mine.’

A brief hesitation from me, and, I decided ‘Your place it will be’.

We spent the night together. And, have been more or less a couple ever since.

Boy meets boy, nine years ago. I joke that it was a one night stand which has continued for the last nine years. He agrees. He had decided that we wouldn’t meet again. I, well, I am not sure whether I would have rung him if we had parted then. We came that close. But, we didn’t.

So, how did a one night stand turn into a nine year romance?

[Grin]

Keep tuned.

gug

The Magic of Music

My feelings                             

Yesterday. The 1^st of the year, the first of the decade.

We Ugandans are a party going people. And, it is traditional that the first of the year is spent in a style that celebrates the passing of a year, and the coming of a new year. We don’t celebrate an old year until it is gone. Superstition. If you congratulate one before the stroke of midnight, it might be taken as a wish of bad luck. But, once the clock strikes midnight, then the pent up energy overflows.

Fireworks over the city. Airwaves jammed, both the virtual ones of the phones, all and sundry trying to reach someone dear with new year greetings. And the air, with joy, laughter, crying, hugging. The music crescendos. And the parties go on till the break of day, people strangling home in the early morning, red eyed, boozed up, sleepy, and roaringly happy.

That is what happened yesterday.

But, I am a married man. My man insisted on an early night, and I didn’t join into the festivities. Came break of day, and we welcomed the new year as only a couple can. Well, and truly. It is great to be in love.

My love had prepared new year dinner for some friends. Kuchus. They came, hangover from the New Year Eve excesses. Blessed our house with their presence as the first visitors of the year. We spent the day together.

It was wet, windy, rainy outside. Rain is a blessing, it is said. And, I love that weather, it is home.

Evening, and we went out.

By a trick of magic, my voice was supposed to be on the airwaves. The BBC. From Bush House, London- and, the voice was discussing whether gay marriage is a right too far, for us gay people.

Curious question. Curious topic.

I am fighting for our lives and freedom in my country, Uganda. Why inflame the debate with the sceptre of my desire for marriage? For competition with the ‘traditional family’? that the Rt. Honourable Bahati wrote this genocidal bill to defend against the likes of me, putting me in prison and to death for any of my infringements on it?

Some time past, I would never have done that.

What convinced me was this gay wedding ceremony, in Uganda. And, the one in Malawi.

We, as in we kuchus, homosexuals, we are human beings. We are a diverse, different and separate people. Even as we lust for life, love and the pleasures of sex, we also are deeply in need of self knowledge. Self acceptance. Self realisation.

Strategically, I might say we are not ready for gay marriage in Uganda.

But, others of my mates, kuchus, disagree. They feel the stirrings of love. They want to celebrate their love. They want to celebrate their commitment. They want their love acknowledged by the community that they live in.

And, more importantly, one is only young once. Time goes on. We are not going to reverse time when we can. We can only be happy NOW. Today, not in a blissful, hoped for future.

No. There is no ‘gay agenda’. We are simply human beings that seek to get the small things in life that are.

So, we want to celebrate our union. Not in secret, not in rumours. We go out and get married. Even when we risk life in prison, as will be the case in Uganda. Or, even when one gets 14 years in jail for Gross Indecency line in Malawi. How can an act of love like that be so desperately punished? Why, cant homosexuals be human, like the rest of humanity?

So, gayuganda’s voice did appear on the ‘Have your Say’ programme of BBC. Or, in bits and fits, the voice tried to bounce off the waves in Uganda, Britain, the world. The technology was not that good. [rueful grin].

Hey, I thought I was supposed to be anonymous?

There is a point when hiding and fighting in the shadows is no longer feasible. One may believe that it is logical to reveal the enemy who hides. Yes, maybe. But be careful what you wish for.

Afterwards, we went to our favourite bar on Friday.

True, this was a very special day. The first of the year, 2010.

The crowd was sparse. Everyone is getting over the excesses of New Year’s eve. Even the waiters were bleary eyed.

I was fresh, energised. I felt like dancing. And, that is exactly what I did. Get up and dance. After a few drops of fortifying drink.

The music flowed. The air pulsed, and, my body felt young and vigorous. I danced.

My partner, he was not into the music. Sad, that.

But, there was a trans friend who had come in. Dressed to kill. Flamboyant. Drawing glances which would slide off him, embarrassed for themselves. Too flamboyant, too gay, too kuchu.

He would try to dance with a guy, and they would slide away from him. Not wanting an obviously gay guy to hit on them. Even if they were gay…!

My feelings. I remembered one of the discussants on the BBC programme having issues with what I said. Apparently, my reasons were too weak. Based on feelings. My emotions, my ‘love’ is not really love, the lady from Spain seemed to say.

I also remembered Pastor Martin Ssempa rubbishing my writing as based on my ‘feelings’. Feelings in quotes.

Why, are my feelings not valid? I do not have the reading, the excessive knowledge to know the full biology of my sexuality. I don’t know what the experts say, and the studies which prove one thing over another. I am a poor Ugandan, in a backward backwater in Central Africa. Why should I need to have that to debate my sexuality, my right to life and freedom? Why cant I know myself? Why do others, others who admittedly hate me, need to validate what I am?

Why arent MY feelings valid?

I was dancing, swaying and twisting to the very loud music as these thoughts went through my alcohol dazed brain. I thought, I will write about this. The title will be ‘My Feelings’. And, I looked at the trans guy, and I decided that, even if dancing with him outs me fully, his feelings do matter.

He wants to dress, flamboyant, flashy in Uganda. That is an expression of what he is, of what he feels. He might not fully understand himself. He might know less about what he is than I do know. Life is a journey, and he is still discovering what it is. In a place and hostile to gender role crossing like Uganda, his is a difficult journey. A very lonely journey even when he seems to be so confident and bright, a kingfisher bird amongst weaver birds.

I didn’t take pity on him.

I understood what he felt. And, I understood what I felt. And, we danced. Right there on the floor, with other guys around us, looking on.

The music flowed, life pulsed, the lights throbbed. And, we were in heaven.

I truly felt I could have continued to the break of day.

My partner is less blasse about me outing myself. He intervened… Dragged me off to bed. Or, he might just have been jealousy of me dancing with another guy…. Sadly, my reputation follows me into the new year.

But, I loved it. I loved the freedom within the oppression. I loved being myself, dancing to the music, feeling freedom and, defiant.

No. It is not a kuchu bar where I was dancing, with my friend. It is a straight bar. But, there are no kuchu bars in Uganda.

I loved it.

Just hope the music continues through the year, and, we all find that much more satisfaction. Happiness, contentment, one can have even in one’s worst nightmares. Life for a gay person in Uganda is tough. It is much worse for trans men. But, the strength and bulwark of their feelings make them surmount that mountain.

Have a wonderful new year.

gug