Jabulani Dube (BTM Fellow)
KENYA September 2, 2008: “I do not find religious arguments against homosexuality persuasive because I have come to learn that historically religion has been manipulated and misinterpreted to oppose the rights of various minority groups such as women, slaves, etc.”
So said Reverend John Makokha of the United Methodist Church of Kenya in his August 16 open-letter to Bishop Daniel Wandabula who is allegedly silent, after numerous complaints by Makokha that he is getting hateful messages from the church, based on his positive views on homosexuality.
Makokha is accused of advocating for homosexuality by “some people in the church” who also claim that he intends to visit some churches in East-Africa to promote homosexuality.
This after Makokha has been outspoken against the discrimination of gay people by the church.
“Some confusing statements were put out concerning Other Sheep and me. Some people went further to impersonate me through e-mails and other forms of communication using disparaging remarks. It grieves me deeply that a number of my good friends have turned angrily against me and my family. On my part, I love them still and wish them no ill. Let us continue to be on speaking terms for the sake of Christ”, Makokha said in the letter.
He added that during his ministry LGBTI people, he discovered that many of them live under fear. “They are stigmatized; they daily experience rejection and all kinds of discrimination both from the society and the church. These brothers and sisters need a lot of love, respect, understanding and care. They need a minister who can listen to them and give them an assurance of God’s love. This is a frightened group that needs Christ”, he said.
Makokha believes that LGBTI people should be included in churches as he believes that they existed in the African history. “We need a gospel for LGBTI inclusion in Africa. Despite much denial of homosexuality in Africa, it has emerged from research that homosexuals have always been part of African society but, like other areas of human sexuality, it is treated as a taboo”, Makokha advised.
He also revealed that people who speak openly about homosexuality are “bound to learn a hard lesson” at the hands of the church.
“The United Methodist Church in Kenya refused to pay me a salary two years ago because of being pro LGBTI minister.”
To add salt to injury, Makokha’s family has also bore the brunt of his views on homosexuality. His wife was allegedly stopped from teaching at Nairobi Evangelical Graduate School of Theology (NEGST) because of his association with the Other Sheep.
“This has caused great suffering to my family”, he lamented.
He also declared that “I greatly respect the family unit and the heterosexual individuals, as I am also heterosexual''.
The controversy continues to steers on in the United Methodist Church of Kenya over homosexuality and the divisive line still stands between pro and anti gay people.
Meanwhile Makokha appealed to the church to stop intimidating and harassing him and his family.
While Makokha has not received any response from Wandabula, efforts to get comment from him by Behind the Mask were unsuccessful.
Makokha, works closely with Other Sheep - an ecumenical Christian organisation that includes lesbians, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex (LBGTI) people.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
The Mosque
It is Ramadan.
Oh, I had forgotten. Today is Friday also. That is why there is so much visible presence of Moslems wearing their faith on their sleeves around town.
Amiss of me, I had not wished my Moslem brothers a Happy Ramadan. [though, to be fair, some will consider me, GayUganda, wishing them a good fasting holy season the height of insult] But Happy Ramadan, nevertheless, however you take it!
Seems as if wherever one looks, there is someone proudly identifying as a Moslem. Of course they are fasting. Goes without saying. The Holy Month demands fasting from every faithful Moslem.
Decked in white, flowing robs, and caps; skull caps and all sorts of others. There are differences. The Tablics, with their goat beard and ankle length trousers are easily identifiable. Don’t know the others. My background is not Islamic. But I have noticed some of the women are putting on un-relieved black, others are in the famed Moslem bukta, little of the skin showing in this holy month, for us lascivious men [ahem, except I] to be attracted to. The men are also resplendent.
But I noticed the proud Moslems late.
It is the mosque which continues to fascinate me.
Don’t know why. Not the first time that I have seen it. Not the last time that I have seen it.
Growing up, it was the hideous ruins of a minaret of the Amin years that I remember. An eyesore from which, even I, as a child, knew enough not to see, nor to draw attention too.
A tall, hollowed out edifice on the top of the most central hill of Kampala City.
But now, it has been replaced by the mosque.
During the day, the bronze of the domes and the cream of the walls are eye catching, to say the least. The bulk is on the shoulder of a hill, misnamed Old Kampala hill, but surely it is a hill shoulder. It overlooks much of the bulk of the city, from the taxi parks. Catching, drawing the eye, whensoever one looks up. The minaret straight, proud, piercing the skies. From Namirembe hill, which is higher, it is the bulk of the mosque which is imposing. From the taxi parks, it is the squat magnificence of cream and bronze, outlined against the sky, that is so impressive.
Night, and the mosque is a sight for sore eyes.
Ramadan means to light up this pride of Ugandan Moslems. All the lights are on, throughout the night. [night prayers in progress, at the given hours.] And it is beautiful. Kampala at night is like a bowl, with the sparkling gems of light within the black depths. Now, the Mosque is like the crown gem, crown jewel of them all. Closer, the cream and bronze seems to glow in the light. Further, it sparkles, a gem bigger and brighter than the others.
Last evening, going down the street past Hotel Equatoria, I had to stop and look at it. It was simply magnificent, the mosque. A huge, bulk, well lighted, a distinct royal yellow white against the deeper absorbent black of the sky. Dwarfing out in its brilliance all the lesser lights.
And, just above it, like an omen of the season, was the moon. Slice of moon. A magnificent symbol of the harmony of man and god. Allah in this case.
I walked past, stopped and gazed. Impressed, inspite of myself.
Shook my head and walked away, towards the Old Taxi Park.
But I had to come back. Sights like this are too rare. I needed a picture. It would be magnificent. Followed five minutes of farce, in the sight of the boda boda men. I mean, I am no tourist. My skin is black, so no Ugandan would expect me to stop and try to get a picture of the moon, [except my long suffering lover].
I searched for the perfect position, internally debating with myself how to stand, where to stand, and not lose the respect of the silent boda-boda men. Couldn’t ask to loan a perch on their motorbikes. Too low. The signpost above was too high for me. And putting the camera there seemed to be an imposing task. And, of course there was the matter of safety. On Kampala road above, had had to pull my bag closer to me. Seems as if the street children are back. Didn’t want to seem too tempting a target.
Defeated, I moved off. All the photos I took will have to be deleted.
But the Mosque still stands, something to look at.
Oh, I am not planning to become a Moslem. Sorry to my Moslem brothers and sisters. When the Mufti says I should be marooned on an Island, I am reminded of the extremes of Osama bin laden. And of course, just below the Gaddaffi mosque is the other, Shia mosque. I remember the four policemen who were beheaded when one of the Moslem sects had taken over the mosque, in the interminable religious rumbles.
The mosque is magnificent, nevertheless. And I will continue searching for the perfect picture of it.
The Mosque, from Namirembe Hill
The Mosque, from the Equatoria
GayUganda
Oh, I had forgotten. Today is Friday also. That is why there is so much visible presence of Moslems wearing their faith on their sleeves around town.
Amiss of me, I had not wished my Moslem brothers a Happy Ramadan. [though, to be fair, some will consider me, GayUganda, wishing them a good fasting holy season the height of insult] But Happy Ramadan, nevertheless, however you take it!
Seems as if wherever one looks, there is someone proudly identifying as a Moslem. Of course they are fasting. Goes without saying. The Holy Month demands fasting from every faithful Moslem.
Decked in white, flowing robs, and caps; skull caps and all sorts of others. There are differences. The Tablics, with their goat beard and ankle length trousers are easily identifiable. Don’t know the others. My background is not Islamic. But I have noticed some of the women are putting on un-relieved black, others are in the famed Moslem bukta, little of the skin showing in this holy month, for us lascivious men [ahem, except I] to be attracted to. The men are also resplendent.
But I noticed the proud Moslems late.
It is the mosque which continues to fascinate me.
Don’t know why. Not the first time that I have seen it. Not the last time that I have seen it.
Growing up, it was the hideous ruins of a minaret of the Amin years that I remember. An eyesore from which, even I, as a child, knew enough not to see, nor to draw attention too.
A tall, hollowed out edifice on the top of the most central hill of Kampala City.
But now, it has been replaced by the mosque.
During the day, the bronze of the domes and the cream of the walls are eye catching, to say the least. The bulk is on the shoulder of a hill, misnamed Old Kampala hill, but surely it is a hill shoulder. It overlooks much of the bulk of the city, from the taxi parks. Catching, drawing the eye, whensoever one looks up. The minaret straight, proud, piercing the skies. From Namirembe hill, which is higher, it is the bulk of the mosque which is imposing. From the taxi parks, it is the squat magnificence of cream and bronze, outlined against the sky, that is so impressive.
Night, and the mosque is a sight for sore eyes.
Ramadan means to light up this pride of Ugandan Moslems. All the lights are on, throughout the night. [night prayers in progress, at the given hours.] And it is beautiful. Kampala at night is like a bowl, with the sparkling gems of light within the black depths. Now, the Mosque is like the crown gem, crown jewel of them all. Closer, the cream and bronze seems to glow in the light. Further, it sparkles, a gem bigger and brighter than the others.
Last evening, going down the street past Hotel Equatoria, I had to stop and look at it. It was simply magnificent, the mosque. A huge, bulk, well lighted, a distinct royal yellow white against the deeper absorbent black of the sky. Dwarfing out in its brilliance all the lesser lights.
And, just above it, like an omen of the season, was the moon. Slice of moon. A magnificent symbol of the harmony of man and god. Allah in this case.
I walked past, stopped and gazed. Impressed, inspite of myself.
Shook my head and walked away, towards the Old Taxi Park.
But I had to come back. Sights like this are too rare. I needed a picture. It would be magnificent. Followed five minutes of farce, in the sight of the boda boda men. I mean, I am no tourist. My skin is black, so no Ugandan would expect me to stop and try to get a picture of the moon, [except my long suffering lover].
I searched for the perfect position, internally debating with myself how to stand, where to stand, and not lose the respect of the silent boda-boda men. Couldn’t ask to loan a perch on their motorbikes. Too low. The signpost above was too high for me. And putting the camera there seemed to be an imposing task. And, of course there was the matter of safety. On Kampala road above, had had to pull my bag closer to me. Seems as if the street children are back. Didn’t want to seem too tempting a target.
Defeated, I moved off. All the photos I took will have to be deleted.
But the Mosque still stands, something to look at.
Oh, I am not planning to become a Moslem. Sorry to my Moslem brothers and sisters. When the Mufti says I should be marooned on an Island, I am reminded of the extremes of Osama bin laden. And of course, just below the Gaddaffi mosque is the other, Shia mosque. I remember the four policemen who were beheaded when one of the Moslem sects had taken over the mosque, in the interminable religious rumbles.
The mosque is magnificent, nevertheless. And I will continue searching for the perfect picture of it.
The Mosque, from Namirembe Hill
The Mosque, from the EquatoriaGayUganda
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Day
Slept late. Woke up early.
The bird song was beautiful this morning. Almost got out of bed to listen to the chorus. That break of day chorus, when the sun’s rays mix with the bird song to create the magic of dawn.
According to my lover, I have been acting weird.
Inclusive of the fact that, coming home yesterday, I thought the new mosque was such a wonderful sight that I had to stop and take pictures of it in the night. They were bad. Too little time, and the fear that it was not safe enough to take photos.
It is the days of Ramadan. My Moslem friends are fasting the day hours, from the rising of the sun, till it deeps past the horizon. Then they break the fast.
Religion.
An interesting thought. Do we have a hunger for religion!
Speaking wholly objectively, it seems a superfluous compliment to our intelligence as human beings. One can even argue that it is a relic of the days of ignorance. An opiate of the people, as I believe one revered philosopher termed it.
Yet, people believe.
When I say I do not believe in Uganda, it is a novelty. Like the statement that I am gay.
Once, talking to my mum, when my lover was present, I was that blunt. She was distressed. And another time, dad took a different, traditional view. Cant have my name, he said huffily, cant have my name and not not believe. Like the name he gave me when I was born is the marker of faith.
I noticed, during the non Ramadan days, the mosque is lit up. That differs a lot for the holy days of Ramadan. It is positively awash with light in the night.
Bolton says religion and mysticism flows from every pore of myself. Well, it should.
All around me are the mysteries of my people’s faith. Deep faith. It may be in the wonders of Allah, or the mysteries of Jesus, or the superstitions of the traditional religions. But my people have deep faith. To me, deeply annoying faith. Not amenable to any of my logic. So, faith, to me remains a mystery.
And of course there is the small issue of reconciling my sexuality, with the condemning faith of the book religions. It is a little known fact, but in Uganda, (apparently elsewhere too), gay sex is part of some traditional rituals.
It is a calm day outside.
Loverman is in bed. I am listening to the cock’s crow. And it is quiet. No children shouting as yet. None trekking to school, as it is still school holiday. And the trees are barely stirring, and the leaves are still. Motionless.
I think it will be a sunny day. A beautiful day.
Time I started working on the many things that have to be done.
Have a beautiful day.
GayUganda
The bird song was beautiful this morning. Almost got out of bed to listen to the chorus. That break of day chorus, when the sun’s rays mix with the bird song to create the magic of dawn.
According to my lover, I have been acting weird.
Inclusive of the fact that, coming home yesterday, I thought the new mosque was such a wonderful sight that I had to stop and take pictures of it in the night. They were bad. Too little time, and the fear that it was not safe enough to take photos.
It is the days of Ramadan. My Moslem friends are fasting the day hours, from the rising of the sun, till it deeps past the horizon. Then they break the fast.
Religion.
An interesting thought. Do we have a hunger for religion!
Speaking wholly objectively, it seems a superfluous compliment to our intelligence as human beings. One can even argue that it is a relic of the days of ignorance. An opiate of the people, as I believe one revered philosopher termed it.
Yet, people believe.
When I say I do not believe in Uganda, it is a novelty. Like the statement that I am gay.
Once, talking to my mum, when my lover was present, I was that blunt. She was distressed. And another time, dad took a different, traditional view. Cant have my name, he said huffily, cant have my name and not not believe. Like the name he gave me when I was born is the marker of faith.
I noticed, during the non Ramadan days, the mosque is lit up. That differs a lot for the holy days of Ramadan. It is positively awash with light in the night.
Bolton says religion and mysticism flows from every pore of myself. Well, it should.
All around me are the mysteries of my people’s faith. Deep faith. It may be in the wonders of Allah, or the mysteries of Jesus, or the superstitions of the traditional religions. But my people have deep faith. To me, deeply annoying faith. Not amenable to any of my logic. So, faith, to me remains a mystery.
And of course there is the small issue of reconciling my sexuality, with the condemning faith of the book religions. It is a little known fact, but in Uganda, (apparently elsewhere too), gay sex is part of some traditional rituals.
It is a calm day outside.
Loverman is in bed. I am listening to the cock’s crow. And it is quiet. No children shouting as yet. None trekking to school, as it is still school holiday. And the trees are barely stirring, and the leaves are still. Motionless.
I think it will be a sunny day. A beautiful day.
Time I started working on the many things that have to be done.
Have a beautiful day.
GayUganda
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Politically Correct
Am I politically correct?
It is a Tuesday, and I woke up with a hangover. Very unusual, that, but last night we went to Kabalagala. A suburb of
It is near the so called ‘Rich Man’s slum’, Muyenga. But, what makes the world go round in Kabalagala is the mix of the rich and the poor.
Kabalagala is the middle of one of the deepest, dankest of
We had heard of the bar for some time. But Monday evening is not a good day to party. Not at the beginning of the week. Not when most of the entertainment budget was interrupted by a weekend.
So, I went, I saw, and discovered. Came back drunk, happy drunk.
Am I politically correct?
Certainly not in
I write of things which are inconvenient. Slum life, and hovels, and…
Have been having a conversation with deT. She accused me of being a ‘misogynist’, with some very frank allusions to my African macho thinking.
Politically correct?
I write of some very inconvenient truths. Of myself. Of others. Use the blog to examine my thinking.
Yes, I may have an agenda. Is it defined? Or just the musings of a mind?
I like to poke fun in a round about way. What if I am not understood?
Yes, there is the risk of not being understood. The language, the cultures, the differences in opinion.
I should turn the title to this to ‘Musings’. Because I have no plan, except to labour your brain with unconventional thoughts, questions.
I cannot be politically correct. Not in
So, why do I push my agenda?
Maybe it is because I am a human being. And questions are part of life.
Why shouldn’t I question the church when it stumbles? Or take on my culture? Is culture, my culture supposed to be holy? If church and mosque are not holy, what of culture? Why are there supposed to be truths which are unquestionable? And why should I believe them? Invisible chains on the freedom of my mind.
--
Has that been dunk enough?
My mind is a morass. Sometimes when I glance into the depths, I feel like am drowning.
But at least I can look outside. I am in the house. Not at work.
The day is dull, overcast. But bright with light, and a palely blue sky. There is little wind. Maybe the rain season’s on the way. The rough bright edge of sunshine has been blunted. At least today.
My love went off to work.
And I am at home, trying to work off a hangover. There is a pile of work to do actually, but, well, this is my second post of the day. Lazy me.
I will go out and read a poem.
It should be ok. It is like a fix. Something calms my thoughts, reading a poem.
Be well, and have a happy day. I will go back to bed, expecting to be more fresh when I wake up!
GayUganda
Some Big Brother 3 News
I thought that the Red rug was, er, just stirring the pot of homophobia in Uganda by implying that the BB3 Ugandan contestant Morris was gay, or bisexual, or whatever.
I was amazed at the responses on the blog! An open secret? Or has the guy been ... Well, I don't know. Havent slept with him. Cant say whether he is or not. And, if he is, or is not, and I say he is, well, I will have saddled him with what I try my level best to hide.
Sigh. Dont want to be reminded of the reason I am anonymous here.
But, and a very big but, one of the Big Brother contestants outed themselves. Yes, outed themselves! Here, I picked this from Gay Nairobi Man
A snippet.
The Kenyan representative in BBA stated that she is bisexual and her strategy would be to sleep with all the women first then go for the dudes. This was even reported in The Standard friday magazine.
Wow, Kenya! Kudos
WildeY, wow!!!!!!! Dont tell me you had not picked that up?
So, there is one sis on the show, out and out. And maybe one brother also. The others, well, one never knows. We gay people are gay indeed! Fabulous, and why shouldnt we make that grade.
Makes me almost wish to keep up with BB3!!
gug
I was amazed at the responses on the blog! An open secret? Or has the guy been ... Well, I don't know. Havent slept with him. Cant say whether he is or not. And, if he is, or is not, and I say he is, well, I will have saddled him with what I try my level best to hide.
Sigh. Dont want to be reminded of the reason I am anonymous here.
But, and a very big but, one of the Big Brother contestants outed themselves. Yes, outed themselves! Here, I picked this from Gay Nairobi Man
A snippet.
The Kenyan representative in BBA stated that she is bisexual and her strategy would be to sleep with all the women first then go for the dudes. This was even reported in The Standard friday magazine.
Wow, Kenya! Kudos
WildeY, wow!!!!!!! Dont tell me you had not picked that up?
So, there is one sis on the show, out and out. And maybe one brother also. The others, well, one never knows. We gay people are gay indeed! Fabulous, and why shouldnt we make that grade.
Makes me almost wish to keep up with BB3!!
gug
Monday, September 1, 2008
Hilarious! Dedicated to deT!
I stumbled across this little nugget of information on the BBC website. Could not resist bringing it here.
deT is promised to Comrade 27th. By yours truly. I mean, I am the big brother here, the Muko and go between, who has been promised 50 heads of cattle, for my family, ahem, (and the bribe of a car, or two for myself) to bless the marriage. Giving away my luscious, lovely, white sister from across the waters.
Oh, Comrade will pay the bride price. After all he has promised. A man of his word.
And, him being a good African man, and apparently unmarried at the moment, (well, not officially, as far as I know), deT will be the first wife.
Oh, she will cry and throw a tantrum, and kick and promise hell and heaven. But sooner or later, the good African Comrade will soon add to his harem. Dont worry deT, the first wife always has a position of honour. And you are white, after all!!!!!!!
Comrade is not a moslem. So, he does not have to stop at the religion sanctioned 4 wives. And, since we do not have sharia law here, he will not be threatened with stonning to death. And of course he can marry more than the 86 wives that this Nigerian had. Nothing in the law of the land to prevent him. Only the strength of his, err, libido.
So, how does it feel being the first of 86? [have to hide somewhere from this sister of uncertain temper now, so you will forgive me as I hike off for a short holiday...]
Oh, here is the article
Story from BBC NEWS:
deT is promised to Comrade 27th. By yours truly. I mean, I am the big brother here, the Muko and go between, who has been promised 50 heads of cattle, for my family, ahem, (and the bribe of a car, or two for myself) to bless the marriage. Giving away my luscious, lovely, white sister from across the waters.
Oh, Comrade will pay the bride price. After all he has promised. A man of his word.
And, him being a good African man, and apparently unmarried at the moment, (well, not officially, as far as I know), deT will be the first wife.
Oh, she will cry and throw a tantrum, and kick and promise hell and heaven. But sooner or later, the good African Comrade will soon add to his harem. Dont worry deT, the first wife always has a position of honour. And you are white, after all!!!!!!!
Comrade is not a moslem. So, he does not have to stop at the religion sanctioned 4 wives. And, since we do not have sharia law here, he will not be threatened with stonning to death. And of course he can marry more than the 86 wives that this Nigerian had. Nothing in the law of the land to prevent him. Only the strength of his, err, libido.
So, how does it feel being the first of 86? [have to hide somewhere from this sister of uncertain temper now, so you will forgive me as I hike off for a short holiday...]
Oh, here is the article
A Nigerian religious leader with 86 wives has accepted an Islamic decree ordering him to divorce all but four of them, local authorities say.
A spokesman for the emir of Bida told the BBC that Mohammadu Bello Abubakar, 84, agreed on Saturday to comply with the decree.
Last week one of Nigeria's top Islamic bodies, the Jamatu Nasril Islam, sentenced him to death.
The sentence was lifted but he was threatened with eviction from his home.
Earlier, Mr Abubakar had challenged Islamic scholars, saying there was no punishment stated in the Koran for having more than four wives.
"I have not contravened any established law that would warrant my being banished from the land... There is no law that says one must not marry more than four wives," the AFP news agency reported him as saying.
"All my wives are with children and some of these are people I have married and stayed with for over 30 years. How can they expect me to leave them within two days?" he reportedly told local newspapers.
The former teacher and Islamic preacher lives in Niger State with his wives and at least 170 children.
Niger is one of the Muslim majority states to have reintroduced Sharia punishments since 2000.
Several people have been sentenced to death for adultery by Sharia courts but none of these sentences have been carried out.
Poetry
A good poem.
My god! a good poem
the emotion of the moment touches,
wrapping it in leaves of everlasting freshness
to store in a book, a piece of paper somewhere.
From whence it can be remembered,
and written day to day
on the hearts of generations to come.
A good poem’s nothing more, nothing less than
a living memory.
©GayUganda 01 Sept. 08
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