The Gay Closet; Uganda, and Germany

An expose of gay life in Uganda has Afrogay angry.

They've had a journalist infiltrate the Kampala gay community to try and ferret out what makes gay boys tick. It's not the first time this sort of thing has happened and the only thing that sets it apart is that this journalist has made a clumsy attempt to be balanced. That said, this journalist simply knows too much about the gay community for me to believe that he didn't get embedded deeper than he admits.And that is a great cause for discomfort.

The tactics the journalist are pretty basic and that he seems to be so successful merely attests to the humanity in all of us. But it is also a wake-up call for those Ugandan gay boys who seem unable to take the simplest precautions in this day and age when stalkers, blackmailers and malevolent people are on the prowl, with gay boys and girls as their target.

~

Indeed, for guys who are under pressure, the pressure of one of the most homophobic countries in the world, it is simply too easy to infiltrate us. And, it is possible.

Oh well....

To my friends out there, I must confess I am more paranoid than lots of people. I mean, I have aided connection and lessening of our isolation in more than one way. Yet I continue to be anonymous. I am gayuganda, gug. And that is who I want to be. Gay, and closeted, and damned shy! Some have more to lose than others. Maybe I am just a coward.

Yes, I know lots of people know who I am. But, not to the extent of opening up to people like in this journalist's expose.

Within a period of three weeks, I learnt that gay relationships are almost like straight ones. Those involved charm, seduce, deceive, try to manipulate with money and even plead with whoever they are interested in to give into them and yes, they also get cheated on It was a hot Tuesday morning and I was seated in front of my computer reading an online article about gays in Uganda. The page had a link to a website called icebreakersuganda.org.

I clicked on it out of curiosity. It is probably one of the boldest gay things I have seen in this country. It’s a website that encourages gay people to come out and embrace their sexuality (thus the name icebreaker) and it connects gay people in Uganda. The website has a guestbook link where visitors of the site can update any comments or ideas on their mind about the website.

However, most of the comments posted on the website’s guestbook are announcements of gay people who want to meet other gays for mere company, sex or love. Consequently, this segment of the website has been turned into a “lonely hearts” of sorts for gay people. Some of the posted messages are darkly explicit and complete with e-mail addresses and phone numbers.

One of the posted messages on the website was an announcement for a gay party of sorts. It had a phone number attached to it.

Gay, in the closet, in Uganda? Why the recklessness of those who are gay in Uganda?

Because it is very hard to live in self denial; and sometimes recklessness takes the place of despair.

I was mourning about the closet in Uganda. We are not alone. The German national team, the one which did so well in the World Cup of football? Well, they are a 'bunch of gays' Ha ha ha ha ha!

I am not alone in my woes about the goodness of the closet. Says one former manager of the Bundesliga-

The whole issue of gay players in the Bundesliga is a sensitive issue in Germany. In March former football manager Rudi Assauer provoked outrage outrage by saying there is ‘no place' for gay players in football.

Assauer, who was boss of Schalke in Germany, said: "Perhaps they are OK in other sports but not in football.

"If a player came to me and said he was gay I would say to him: 'You have shown courage.' But then I would tell him to find something else to do.

"That's because those who out themselves always end up busted by it, ridiculed by their fellow players and by people in the stands. We should spare them these witch-hunts."

His outburst is set to enrage world footballing authorities who are making concerted efforts to rid the game of homophobia.

Asked whether he had ever met a gay footballer during his many years as both player and manager, 65-year-old Assauer replied: "No, never.”

Ugh, of course German football is so holy a spot that no gay people make their way into that holy of holies. Self deception at its best

gug

The closet

In a kuchu hang out, last Friday-

Was seated with a group of friends. Kuchus. None out and out, all of us closeted. You know, there are always some of us who are more gay and flamboyant than others. But, birds of a feather, we flock together.

A beautiful evening it was. A lot of members, fleeting, flirting in and out. One a bi friend. Married, for the ‘usual’ reasons. A friend of his noticed him in our group. Called him aside and asked, ‘Do you know that those guys are gay?’

Correct answer would have been, ‘Yeah, how did you know?’ or, ‘Yeah, want an intro?’

Or, something to the effect, ‘No, but does it matter?’

Our friend, because he is gay and in the closet, panicked. Decided to disappear, run away from us, without a bye. Spoilt his evening.

The closet. We end up hurting ourselves more by the self imprisonment.

How did the dude know we are gay? Bet none of us told him. And he might have suspected, but, did he have any proof? Like in one of us sleeping with him?

Hilarious. The guy was of course concerned about the ‘corrupting’ influence of our association with his friend. But, even the guy he was seated with at his table was a kuchu! And, his friend, though married, with a child, is kuchu.

Anyway, life as it is. Interesting how we build our walls of lies all round us. And comfortably live in those recesses of hypocrisy.

Before we hit them down, remember the story of the trans. These lies are necessary for survival.

Sober thought.




GayUganda

Of love and Deception

Beautiful morning out. Very beautiful.

Sometimes I kind of think that it strikes me too much. The beauty of where I live. But can life ever be too much? Don’t think so.

Sunny weather, a clear sky, golden sunlight on green leaves. A calm and stillness all around. Can hear a goat or two, and some birds, doves cooing in the distance. Lovely sounds.

Came across this story at antipop’s blog.

Has a friend, relative, who had a lover. Caught the lover cheating 4 times, before she decided to dump him. He didn’t want to let go. 5th time caught him, well, with a man!

Must say I laughed my head off when I read it. I mean, this is real life for me and most other kuchus. To others it is a scandal that can blow them away, to me it is life.

I did wade into the discussion, and posted a link to the Israel story. Told her that she had been lucky.

How can I say this gently, honestly? We live in a closet. A closet of lies. Lies that we have to live on a daily, hourly, minute by minute basis. Yes, all humans do live in closets, but the kuchu closet is a terrible thing.

Don’t want your pity. Just a fact of life.

So, we have to lie, to those closest to us, about our very selves. No wonder they think that they have never known us when they find out. Its true, they don’t really know us.

But it is also true that it is not voluntary, to live in the closet. It is simply a matter of survival. A do or die fact of life.

Had a lover who was pressured into getting married. Wanted me to share his marital bed. I declined, don’t want that kind of heartbreak. And it was getting close.

My lover would kill me if he found me with another guy. But with a woman, he shrugs it off. He knows the pressure I am under to produce an heir. Pity that I am not so inclined!

Lives of double, triple deception, disjointed, dysfunctional. Part of why I am proud gay. Because not to be proud of what I am is to sink and drown in the pit of self loathing.

So, I have to have the option of telling the necessary lies. Every kuchu has to have it. A terrible life to lead, but that is life.

I salute you, all those who have bitten the bullet and have jumped out of that trap. Dont forget how bad it is for others. And dont judge them too harshly. It is a matter of survival. Necessary Lies.

GayUganda

The Closet

I have reason to be thinking of the closet recently. The closet, that covered, deceptive existence which gay humans have to adopt, to survive.

In a way, there are more closets than just the gay closets. We humans tend to live in closets of existence, with a public persona, and a very private, intensely private persona that is let through only when we are ready. And never, sometimes.

A friend’s closet has caved in.

A kuchu friend. He has been outed.

And as his world collapses round him, I am drawn into the maelstrom. And, it is painful to watch as he denies it, desperately, trying to shore up the collapsing walls with his bare hands and fingers.

The closet.

A world of self knowledge, and denial.

Denying what we are. Denying it so forcefully, and so habitually that we also tend to forget that that is what we are. Senator Craig. I am not gay. Poor guy, when the closet collapses, and he is outed to the world, but he cannot, dare not, be gay.

A world of lies. Lying to those we love best, for fear that they will not be able to accept what we are.

A friend told me that he was once at table at home, and one of his brothers said he would kill a relative, do mortal harm to a relative who is homosexual. Another one challenged the talker, what if it was a child of his? The child would deserve death, he affirmed.

And a brother of his was at that dinner table, and he was gay, and he could not dare say that he was.

A world of several false existences, several false identities.

When I was discovering myself, that is how I lived. At home, I was the dutiful son, at work the dutiful worker, then there would be the times that I would don another identity and go out cruising. Looking for sex and love and connection, with people who were the same, living in closets that they exited once in a while.

A terrible existence. I could not, would not allow the different identities to mix. If I met a person who I knew in the ‘gay persona’, we would pass each other like strangers. I even had a different name, like everyone else.

Yet I had accepted that as normal, as natural. Denying myself the freedom that is a right to a human being.

It is wonderful to be out, to know that I am, and accept what I am. I have not been more thankful of that than in the last few days. Watching my friend try, with all his might, to stop the collapse of his world of lies. I sympathise, but I can only watch the struggles, and advise. When the closet collapses, voluntarily or not, just pray that you are ready for the storm. For it is a cyclone, hurricane.

Yet beyond that storm is a liberty and acceptance of one’s self that may be well worth the collapse of that closet. If the storm does not snuff out life, the walls crush our existence.

The closet for a kuchu in Uganda. A very necessary evil.

GayUganda

The Closet

Yesterday, couldn’t go to the party. Drag queen show. Apparently it was fabulous.

Many attended, despite the chilly, rainy day. And they did have fun.

We are growing up. And I feel a sense of pride in it.

And yesterday, I met another Kuchu. One who reminded me of all the bad things of the closet. The Gay Closet in Uganda.

Young man, presentable, personable. Acknowledging his sexuality. And deathly scared about it being found out by any other person.

A painful reminder of what it used to be like for me, in the closet. Oppressed, more by the sense of a secret that I know of myself, that the world cannot tolerate, and for that matter I was in a cage made by my own mind. Till freedom tore it apart, knowledge giving me more maturity and happiness than I would have expected.

The guy was scared of us. Me and my friend. Had heard of us, from a friend of a friend. Wanted to meet us, see who these curious guys are.

So, we meet, but not in a usual ‘kuchu’ bar, because he was scared of those. And when we were feeling lazy and tired and in need of a change, I suggested the kuchu bar. He recoiled. Impossible. We, (he), could not go there.

Realised at that time that he was actually recoiling from the word kuchu!

And when one of us mentioned gay and lesbian, he almost ran away from us. ‘How could we so openly mention the G and L words, he demanded.

Why not? we asked in turn.

He turned to look around the bar. The nearest people were a couple of meters away.

Nevertheless, he went out a couple of minutes later. Thought that he had gone to the loo. We paid up, and after some time went outside, thinking he would meet us there.

He was seated at the doorway. Outside, waiting for us. Reason, we asked. We were talking too loudly of forbidden subjects.

Well, it was time to try and tease him out of his closet. Once the crack is opened, the smell of freedom will tempt him.

The closet. We do still live in the closet. I will be very happy, the day I proudly put my name on this blog. But I cannot, at least not yet.

But the closet is something that is tangible, and made more of our thoughts and imagination, than the hostile world around us.

By the end of the evening, the guy was a little relaxed, though regrettably that may not have benefited him much.

And I was very thoughtful. When I was deep in my closet, I was very fearful of being outed. Well, of now, I am not really out of it. Still cautiously peering out. But at least I have less oppression from my own very self.

Freedom is of the mind, and, curiously, we must give it to ourselves, before we demand it for ourselves and others.

GayUganda

The Closet

We are born naked and open,

with age learn to withdraw,

a cosy closet to make;

With age, knowing ours

against the world’s very strengths;

closets we fly, embracing life.

Not so the gay;

the closet, a prison;

place of refuge, our very chameleon camouflage,

the hostile to stare unblinking in the face.

There comes a time, always

when the walls dissolve,

jelly on a hot day,

we are revealed, clothed, naked,

as we are;

The closet, bane ‘n boon,

to gay man, ‘n woman on earth.

The closet, we love to hate you,

hate to love you,

the closet.

©GayUganda 29 Nov. 07

Pastor Ssempa invited me kindly to shed my anonymity. I declined with grace, I hope. He calls himself a friend to the homosexual, but if he cannot call me gay, and he is a friend, then surely I do not need any enemies.

The closet.

I am effectively 'out' to many people. Parents, relatives, effectively out at work. But I cannot be out to everybody. Especially to my enemies, because there is a risk in that. Standing in the middle of Pastor Ssempa’s church people as they egged the policemen to go ahead and beat the ‘lesbians’ up, I felt very thankful that I was unknown. Unknown, unnoticed, but very much there. That is the closet.

When the policewoman came to look us over, searching for ‘lesbians’, there were lots of us homosexuals there. But she was blind, though her eyes checked each one of us. We were not many, and she stood for at least a couple of minutes. The closet again.

It is protection. It is safety in Uganda. And of course, when Pastor Ssempa and his friends knew of the masks that many of us had put on at the press conference, they went ahead to put our pics on the web and name us on their radio stations.

The acts of a friend? Maybe a crocodile’s smile is mirthful. I don’t want to find out.

For some reason, I think my closet is dissolving. A bit more rapidly than I would have thought possible. What will Ssempa do when he knows me?

Truth to say, he has known of me for some time, though not necessarily in this guise. I may find out the mirth in a crocodile’s smile.

(Nay, the poem is not much, but, it says something. I hope.)

GayUganda