The little things in life

Funny. It is the little things in life that really matter.

Reading Christian Rossetti’s ‘A Birthday’, my heart went singing along with her. The sense of joy, sense of happiness in the words flowed over me, ‘my love is come to me.’ Such a simple thing love is. Two hearts, two minds that find themselves in synch, together. And one thinks of the other, and smiles. And one dreams of the other, and even in sleep, dreams come alive with happiness. Stress bleeds away.

Not the huge, big things. Not the tight, right things. Not the earth moving, goal breaking that can and does happen. But the small things in life that make it really worth the while. The thought of my lovers smile, his laugh. The simple joy in life that a kiss on the mouth is, holding a warm body close to one, hearing, listening to his heart beat, in the silence of the night. Or the simple joy of having him lie close to me, skin to skin, length to length, bathing face in his sweet breath. Such a simple thing, so full of contentment, such a sweet beginning to a day. It sets my mind at rest. Kind of sets in motion the energies I will have to fire up in the rest of the day.

Reminds me of Whitman, ‘when I heard at the close of the day…’ Indeed, love, what we call love is nothing simple. It is complex. But one of those sweet complexities that a man, a woman is blessed when in this world they share.

I love a man. So? My love is a man and am a man. I will not shy away from that. I will celebrate it, as and when I can. I will hide, I will lie, I will dissemble before a hostile world. But in the darkness of our bedroom, in the warmth of our bed, I will hold him, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, feel him flood me with his self and mutual happiness.

It is these small, sweet things in life that matter. They matter because I make them matter. And I mind because they matter.

Deep thoughts, for a lovely morning. Hope you are ok.

Have a good day.

And to the man who inspires me to write this, love, my heart is singing, because my love is come to me.

gug

Monday Morning

A beautiful morning, indeed.

Well, Tiger Woods was denied a Major… Was asking myself whether it mattered that much to me. I follow the stats, but the sports? Not at all. Cannot even grace the term ‘arm chair athlete’. That’s me!

The Tiger coughs, for once, and Focus on the Family sells its Ex-gay programme to Exodus International, because of budgetary constraints. Yeah, I am in Uganda, but I have read up on the American ex-gay, ‘Right’, Christian movement. Seems to concern me. More than I would like, but it does. Sigh!

Another week dawning, what with Monday and everything.

Overcast at the moment. Still, cool, promise of sun… Don’t know when it will really rain. Rain like it can, a drenching deluge flooding the valleys, sweeping off all the dust. I am kind of impatient for it. Seems as if we are being teased. Teased, always. I will complain of the red mud soon as it comes. I am human. Very.

Of my friend who is Gay and Christian, I was musing about the conflict going around in his head… What I think he thinks about being both gay and loving god, when all the evidence from his outside world seems to suggest that gay and Christian is a contradiction. What I think he thinks.

I was ruthless enough to cut myself off from faith. But that was MY solution. Cant work for everyone. Wont work with him. But in the meanwhile, he is in the process of working out a solution. Because he is conflicted, and it is affecting him. My problem is, how do I support him, without encouraging him to abandon his faith, like I did? Sigh…! Seems like I have to re-examine what I think about faith…! Why? Because it is important to some people, it has to be important to me too. I cannot just go around faith bashing. As bad as gay bashing, that.

Great, isn’t it? Seems as if our beautiful world is awash with examples of how logical ill-logic is. And how the case of absolutes never holds for us human beings. We seem ready to tear them apart at any and all opportunities.

Now, have a good day. I am going to read some poetry, and then settle down to do some work. Have a beautiful day, and may the week bless you.

gug

Gay, and Christian

A beautiful morning.

Remember the rain yesterday? It washed the air of dust. Kind of wiped it from the leaves, so the banana frond sails are firm, turgid, greener than they have been in a long while. There is dust, here and there, brown, but for the moment it is dampened, tied down. More than likely, the sun will out later in the day, bake the soil, and release clouds of the infamous brown red cloud which seems to be such a permanent addition to Kampala these days.

It is cool. Overcast, dull compared to the bright sunny days of last week. It might clear.

Sunday morning.

Church time for many people. Not me. Well, I don’t believe…!

But some do, many believe, and I have to defend their right to a faith of their own.

Have a friend, close. He is kuchu. Accepts that, one of those who couldn’t hide it way back when he was in school. Came out naturally- a flaming queen, would be the parlance.

He is conflicted. His faith, his sexuality.

He believes. Deeply. And he is also gay. Without question.

My compromise, my faithlessness bothers him. Enough. Yet he finds it hard to challenge me in light of the hostility of those people of faith to him. It seems as if he is the hypocrite, being both gay and a Christian. And I, who rejects religion and faith and am proud of my sexuality, enough to throw it into detractors faces, am not.

His is a conflict I lived, for a while, and bowed out of. My decision, my compromise. Or my non compromise.

But knowing him, I have suddenly realized that to him, faith is so important a part of him that it should not be destroyed. He lives, he believes, and he is. A part of him. He tells me all his large extended family is a family of believers. He believes, but because he is gay, he sees himself living a hypocritical kind of life. His sexuality versus his faith. A false choice.

Faith is a part of him. And my ruthless example is not something that he can follow. Nor should he.

Funny. I saw him yesterday and I realized that we don’t really talk about faith. Or faith issues. I know it is bothering him, enough to cause problems with the expression of his sexuality. And with expression of his faith too. I don’t know whether he realizes that.

But he is a strong character. I wish him the best.

I know his is a conflict many gay people face. And the way we resolve it affects us greatly. I mean, what if it is true that Pastor Kayanja and Father Musaala are really gay? They must have faced that kind of conflict. And resolved it, as well as they could. But unsatisfactorily, at least…

Well, those demons can come back to haunt us.

Have a good Sunday. Go to church or your worship house. And remember those who are gay and believers.

Have a beautiful Sunday.

gug

Saturday Eve

Rain.

I cannot look out. Dark, outside. Inside bright with light. A small island of light, just like the whole city is, at night. From Namirembe hill it looks fantastic. Stand, sit, gawp in any way that you like. It looks like a huge bowl of darkness with diamond stars twinkling in the depths. Darkness neuters the distances. It is calm, and quiet, and incredibly restful.

Sadly, that is not where I am, at the moment.

I am inside, looking out. And it is Saturday evening. I just hope I can go out and enjoy myself. Drink, fill my eyes with eye candy. Maybe snag a beauty or two- you know, get a number, make an assignation…! Oh, I am married! Doesn’t stop one from dreaming, does it?

I have not posted much in the last few days. Thing is, with Ssempa dealt a well earned blow, the forces of anti-gayism are still recuperating. Oh, they will come up with something to say, something outrageous, something out of this world, in the name of kicking my sexuality out of the country.

But for now, it is quiet on that front.

So, I can forget that for a while, and remember a few silent things. Like being in love, yeah, and looking and seeing and salivating. Cruising they call it. Never touching….!
And reading some poetry.

Oh, besides the daily, mundane things, earning the pretty penny to stroke my internet addiction. The net is supposed to be cheaper, but we are yet to see that. Exorbitant prices charged, I was already calculating my savings. Sigh, these are Ugandans. Maximizing profits.

Rain. It threatened.

A storm of wind, leaves, dust came in from the west, drizzled all over the city, and then disappeared. There is drought in the country. I hear Nairobi has no water. Kampala has the huge reservoir at its back, but the land is thirsty. Very thirsty, dry, and hard. Dust, the wind picked it up, dusted everything in sight.

For a few minutes I thought it would rain. But it was not to be.

Maybe another day. Meantime, I hope the night out is as interesting as my expectation of it.


gug

Cruising in Kampala

The title says it all...! Kampala the lovely. A foreigners POV! Excuse for hillarity...!

PINK PASSPORT

Chaos McKenzie / Vancouver / Thursday, August 13, 2009

Outside of Cape Town there’s pretty much nowhere in Africa that happily embraces homosexuality. So trekking forces intrepid queer travellers to gauge how much they show, do and get away with in every social situation.

On your own it’s pretty simple. The average Ugandan male is surprisingly effeminate so the amount of gayness you exude is easily adjustable to the surroundings. But when uniting with other queers on the road, the level of gay you project goes up exponentially. Or better put: one gay man can hide in the closet, two gay men require a walk-in, three gay men just can’t help themselves — they’ll need spotlights in the end.

Alone, I casually check out any passing fancy behind dark lenses large enough to conceal which way my eyes are excitedly patrolling. But with the addition of friends subtlety is torn to shreds and we count our blessings for not getting arrested.

There is so much to see in Kampala, Uganda’s San Fran-styled capital. Everyone is posh, no matter what class of life they hail from. Men are always in slacks, button downs and sophistication. Folks in full Prada step out of slum-huts and mechanics in suits bend over steaming engines.

The men are incredibly friendly. Smiles invite you into their world where they will go to any length to help you, whatever your crisis.

Matthew’s been a local for almost two years. He’s quick to spin us past a popular Mexican restaurant so we can confirm suspicions about the bookish-yet-sultry manager. An Irish stud who blushes at the childish encore of men oh-so-obviously checking him out, bashfully giving us a little spin and bestowing beers, all before his staff who’ve never seen him smile and cower from it.

A table of locals stares quizzically but Justin, fresh from yoga-enlightenment-training smiles with a nod, “we were complimenting him on his posture —very exacting.”

They laugh, we laugh and no one notices lingering gazes on the Tyresse look-alike who can’t help staring back.

The Americans, bless ’em, have derived the ultimate cruising grounds at the A(merican)-R(ecreational)-A(ssociation), a paradise straight out of an Aaron Spelling drama — gym, pool, patio, wi-fi, tennis courts, bamboo bar with cable TV, billiards, the works.

Justin and I turn a full set of heads from live-broadcast-Cricket finals, shooing Matt off to do his exercises, already eagerly speculating on the scenery.

The best way to absorb Kampala is on the back of a boda-boda. Motorcycle escorts, who when good are stylish and charming fonts of knowledge, spin you through the tightest corners of city life.

We drive straight through packed crowds of market-goers and random idlers, Justin intoning, “oooh, chocolate” with theatrical gesture towards anything worth sharing. One can only wonder what our drivers make of us, gesticulating indiscriminately.

The inability to openly hit on any specimens without fear of social collapse makes the mere act of viewing overwhelming in its intensity.

We end our racing cruise through the city before a rare example of disheveled demeanor, rugged looks contrasting so sharply with the all-posh presentation of the city we’re all left speechless, the heat tangible. Our drivers ask where to next. “Oh no,” we sigh with delight. “We’re good.”

The Church and Gay Clergy.

I am continuing to be fascinated by what is happening in the Episcopal church. Of course in Uganda, we are at the other end of what is happening. But, it is fascinating. Here is a body of believers who are determined to stand by their beliefs in me.

Sometimes, I wonder whether I am equal to their faith in me!

But, (yes, I am a non-believer), it is the typical story of Jesus as taught by Christians. He is God. And he believes in me enough to die for me. That is how it goes, isn’t it?

Well, here is a Church of Christ willing to stand by what they believe. And, aren’t they fascinating!

Aug 03, 2009

Episcopal dioceses are fast to list gay nominees for bishop

Less than three weeks ago the Episcopal Church cleared the decks for full participation by openly gay members -- all the way up to the role of bishop. And already, two dioceses are nominating gay and lesbian candidates for that role, despite the clear dismay of the Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams, head of the worldwide Anglican Communion.

In a way, the issue is moving full circle. The election of the church's first gay bishop, Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, was ratified at the Church's tri-annual governing meeting in Minneapolis in 2003. Late last week, the Diocese of Minnesota announced that one of three nominees for bishop is a lesbian priest from Chicago. The vote will be held at the diocesan convention in October.

The most recent governing meeting -- where a de facto moratorium on electing and confirming gay bishops was voted down by Church leadership -- was in Anaheim in July. And this weekend the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles released a slate of six nominees for suffragan bishop including two who are gay. The vote will come in early December.

Just as the locations echo the controversial changes in the Episcopal Church's direction, so do the reactions -- outrage from traditionalists and cheerful best wishes to all the qualified candidates from gay activists.

Anglican traditionalist and vehement critic of the Episcopal Church David Virtue says these moves "further inflame the Anglican Communion's orthodox believers. It confirms in their minds that The Episcopal Church intends to show no restraint whatever, raising the middle finger to the communion's titular head..."

While the Rev. Susan Russell, of All Saints, Pasadena, Calif., head of the gay Episcopal group Integrity, cheersthat "the 'season of fasting' at the expense of the vocations of gays and lesbians in the Episcopal Church is at an end." She links these nominations to the historic moment when women were first ordained by The Episcopal Church 35 years ago last week.

But not so fast. Just because a diocese elects someone doesn't make that person bishop. It requires the consent of the national Church. Since the national legislature doesn't meet again until 2012, the elected candidate will face a mail-in vote on ratification. All the diocesan bishops and all the diocesan standing committees of clergy and laypeople have 120 days from the date they're notified of the election results to decide.

Since Robinson was elected shortly before the 2003 national meeting, the ratification decision was done in the convention center. It electrified the worldwide church and prompted the eventual exit of about 10% of U.S. parishes in a newly formed traditionalist umbrella group, the Anglican Church in North America.

DO YOU THINK ... now that there are two Churches, people will vote with their feet, lining up where they're most comfortable? Is the furor going to die down?

SunSet

Sunset

the dusky, orangey, sun splashed feel of evening,

a rowdy, bustling, bursting Kampala downtown

when the cars are many and thick,

streets traffic jammed, the cars

sandwiched, packed between the

jostling, joisting, pushing pulling crowds.

Sweet confusion sour.

tired faces, a long day’s work worn

a longer, stress filled packed journey expectant

homewards, outwards, out of town

to the leafy, dusty, peopled suburbs that we call home.

©GayUganda 10 August 2009