Her presence in the room was heavy and ubiquitous. The suffocating smell of her perfume filled every pocket of air and smothered our noses so that we could hardly breathe. The large springy cane she held in her hand took all the attention we would have paid on our breathing and focused it on how fast she would swing her hand and how randomly we would scamper away, farthest from the cane most preferably.
The tall figure at the door moved towards us swiftly and began screaming a tirade of words that none of us could hardly comprehend.”Silly good for nothing boys who cause nothing but headache to all the teachers in my school. Useless! I will hang you on a potato stem and leave you to rot there!!”That was her usual gibberish and at eight years of age all we could do was stare at her sheepishly and wonder when the caning would begin and be over with. “Clearly you are well on your way to becoming charcoal salesmen and gravediggers! AND WHAT IS THIS? Nyokabi? A girl! HOW?!!”
I stood up when my name was called almost as automatically as a bullet would have shot out of the muzzle of a gun when the trigger was pulled. The ruffled mass on my head that I attempted to arrange and christen cornrows had come apart for the third time today. My dust covered school uniform would have easily gotten first prize at a street urchins garb competition but really I didn’t care. Playing truant was no frivolous affair.
As our hawk eyed head teacher approached me searching my face for any signs of remorse she poised her arms in caning position, raised up like a falcon reaching out for its prey, indeed she gave new meaning to the expression ’the old bird’ She wielded the “black mamba’ cane menacingly, so called for its effectiveness at inflicting maddening pain and the horrific bruises and lesions it indented on the body. Nail sharp edges notwithstanding, this was one piece of nature I had learnt to detest with comforting passion. I knew she was going to let me have it.
My thin body structure was not much to behold, so she didn’t stare for long but compensated for the extra time by hurling the larger than life paper punch machine on her desk at me with surprising force. The old bird did have some strength left in her. The force of the tool to my head knocked me off balance with so much force that I found myself seated on the ground and tongue bleeding. I had bitten myself. Mrs. Kamuzi as she was known set upon me with kicks and blows that would have sent a ravenous lion back into its cave hungry. The buckles on her shoe tore into my flesh impatiently and opened up wounds that I knew would fester with infection in a few days. Black mamba swung into action and my back was not spared either.
All this time I withdrew into myself and started to imagine a peaceful place, full of calm and safety against this incursion of violence. A grassy meadow for the mass of hair she was now puling off my head. A cool river with calm icy water which reflected the clear blue sky, for the warm blood that flowed freely from my body. Sweet fleshy mango fruit for the open wounds that now punctuated my skin from head to toe. She was relentless, unabashed and unabated.
My partners in crime now crawled to the darkest corners of the office and watched in silence as the festival of torture carried along. It was Nyokabi she wanted. She was not to be disturbed while she was handling disciplinary cases, not even by a parent. Those were the instructions bawled out during the weekly assemblies in the hall. They were more relieved than scared that it wasn’t their turn for punishment. As they watched timidly, as if ashamed to see my plight, Mrs. Kamuzi intensified her orgy of violence, “You will not shame this school anymore! You will not shame your parents anymore! You will not shame ME anymore! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD…
Her voice was now trembling and pitched to a scream as she started foaming at the mouth. I curled myself into a foetal position to protect my body from the heavy blows it was receiving and continued in my trance of imagination. Her strong perfume was still suffocating and the air was rich with hot air from her breathing like an angry bull. Despite all this the blood from my swollen lips and mouth did a good job of dulling the nausea. I couldn’t open my eyes to see what she was doing to me and that was a relief because the damage to my body would have been too much to take in anyway. One of my arms was facing different directions like the broken compass in my geometrical set, and then came a loud raspy thud that made everything silent. Aaah, sweet silence. Silence and calm that lifted me on their lofty wings and set me up on a high place, far from Mrs. Kamuzi and her mad shrieks and painful lashes, far far away.
After some time, I was recalled back to reality by a certain fire that had been lit on my body. I screamed out loudly but I could not hear myself. It must be the pain, I thought to myself. It was like somebody had dipped me into the biblical lake of burning sulphur spoken of for the judgement day. FIRE FIRE FIRE. Fire that could not allow me to think feel or do much else. I was trapped and unable to go back to my grassy meadow, with clear blue skies and cool calm waters. But along with the fire came an awakening. The massive influx of beatings had stopped. Abruptly stopped. Then numbness set in.
I began to wonder about what was happening and came to learn much later what had transpired. My accomplices hidden at the corners of the office had panicked and began to scream hysterically. They had run out of the office leaving Mrs. Kamuzi and I in our labours. They had attracted the teachers on duty’s’ attention who had swiftly addressed the cause of the boys’ frenzy. The teachers, male teachers for that matter had had to pull Mrs. Kamuzi off of me to stop her biting me with her teeth. I had then been quickly rushed to the school sanatorium where the nurse’s absence had forced the teachers to take me to hospital.
As I lie in my bed tonight and run my fingers over the smooth contours and serrations on my body, I wonder. The darkness caresses me and engulfs me in a world of imagination. In my utopia I can walk without the use of crutches. I am not compelled to slave on with my Braille and speech classes. Clouds of hatred and confusion don’t muffle me and force me to gasp for air. I don’t jump from every touch of help from my mother or brother. Drowning in despair is converted to basking in the sunshine. I am free. All I can remember as I mull over my adversity, sliding deeper in the sheets to search for warmth, is that night. That fateful night in boarding school. That long night five years ago. The night of my sight.
Thursday 24 February 2011
Night of My Sight
Her presence in the room was heavy and ubiquitous. The suffocating smell of her perfume filled every pocket of air and smothered our noses so that we could hardly breathe. The large springy cane she held in her hand took all the attention we would have paid on our breathing and focused it on how fast she would swing her hand and how randomly we would scamper away, farthest from the cane most preferably.
The tall figure at the door moved towards us swiftly and began screaming a tirade of words that none of us could hardly comprehend.”Silly good for nothing boys who cause nothing but headache to all the teachers in my school. Useless! I will hang you on a potato stem and leave you to rot there!!”That was her usual gibberish and at eight years of age all we could do was stare at her sheepishly and wonder when the caning would begin and be over with. “Clearly you are well on your way to becoming charcoal salesmen and gravediggers! AND WHAT IS THIS? Nyokabi? A girl! HOW?!!”
I stood up when my name was called almost as automatically as a bullet would have shot out of the muzzle of a gun when the trigger was pulled. The ruffled mass on my head that I attempted to arrange and christen cornrows had come apart for the third time today. My dust covered school uniform would have easily gotten first prize at a street urchins garb competition but really I didn’t care. Playing truant was no frivolous affair.
As our hawk eyed head teacher approached me searching my face for any signs of remorse she poised her arms in caning position, raised up like a falcon reaching out for its prey, indeed she gave new meaning to the expression ’the old bird’ She wielded the “black mamba’ cane menacingly, so called for its effectiveness at inflicting maddening pain and the horrific bruises and lesions it indented on the body. Nail sharp edges notwithstanding, this was one piece of nature I had learnt to detest with comforting passion. I knew she was going to let me have it.
My thin body structure was not much to behold, so she didn’t stare for long but compensated for the extra time by hurling the larger than life paper punch machine on her desk at me with surprising force. The old bird did have some strength left in her. The force of the tool to my head knocked me off balance with so much force that I found myself seated on the ground and tongue bleeding. I had bitten myself. Mrs. Kamuzi as she was known set upon me with kicks and blows that would have sent a ravenous lion back into its cave hungry. The buckles on her shoe tore into my flesh impatiently and opened up wounds that I knew would fester with infection in a few days. Black mamba swung into action and my back was not spared either.
All this time I withdrew into myself and started to imagine a peaceful place, full of calm and safety against this incursion of violence. A grassy meadow for the mass of hair she was now puling off my head. A cool river with calm icy water which reflected the clear blue sky, for the warm blood that flowed freely from my body. Sweet fleshy mango fruit for the open wounds that now punctuated my skin from head to toe. She was relentless, unabashed and unabated.
My partners in crime now crawled to the darkest corners of the office and watched in silence as the festival of torture carried along. It was Nyokabi she wanted. She was not to be disturbed while she was handling disciplinary cases, not even by a parent. Those were the instructions bawled out during the weekly assemblies in the hall. They were more relieved than scared that it wasn’t their turn for punishment. As they watched timidly, as if ashamed to see my plight, Mrs. Kamuzi intensified her orgy of violence, “You will not shame this school anymore! You will not shame your parents anymore! You will not shame ME anymore! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD…
Her voice was now trembling and pitched to a scream as she started foaming at the mouth. I curled myself into a foetal position to protect my body from the heavy blows it was receiving and continued in my trance of imagination. Her strong perfume was still suffocating and the air was rich with hot air from her breathing like an angry bull. Despite all this the blood from my swollen lips and mouth did a good job of dulling the nausea. I couldn’t open my eyes to see what she was doing to me and that was a relief because the damage to my body would have been too much to take in anyway. One of my arms was facing different directions like the broken compass in my geometrical set, and then came a loud raspy thud that made everything silent. Aaah, sweet silence. Silence and calm that lifted me on their lofty wings and set me up on a high place, far from Mrs. Kamuzi and her mad shrieks and painful lashes, far far away.
After some time, I was recalled back to reality by a certain fire that had been lit on my body. I screamed out loudly but I could not hear myself. It must be the pain, I thought to myself. It was like somebody had dipped me into the biblical lake of burning sulphur spoken of for the judgement day. FIRE FIRE FIRE. Fire that could not allow me to think feel or do much else. I was trapped and unable to go back to my grassy meadow, with clear blue skies and cool calm waters. But along with the fire came an awakening. The massive influx of beatings had stopped. Abruptly stopped. Then numbness set in.
I began to wonder about what was happening and came to learn much later what had transpired. My accomplices hidden at the corners of the office had panicked and began to scream hysterically. They had run out of the office leaving Mrs. Kamuzi and I in our labours. They had attracted the teachers on duty’s’ attention who had swiftly addressed the cause of the boys’ frenzy. The teachers, male teachers for that matter had had to pull Mrs. Kamuzi off of me to stop her biting me with her teeth. I had then been quickly rushed to the school sanatorium where the nurse’s absence had forced the teachers to take me to hospital.
As I lie in my bed tonight and run my fingers over the smooth contours and serrations on my body, I wonder. The darkness caresses me and engulfs me in a world of imagination. In my utopia I can walk without the use of crutches. I am not compelled to slave on with my Braille and speech classes. Clouds of hatred and confusion don’t muffle me and force me to gasp for air. I don’t jump from every touch of help from my mother or brother. Drowning in despair is converted to basking in the sunshine. I am free. All I can remember as I mull over my adversity, sliding deeper in the sheets to search for warmth, is that night. That fateful night in boarding school. That long night five years ago. The night of my sight.
The tall figure at the door moved towards us swiftly and began screaming a tirade of words that none of us could hardly comprehend.”Silly good for nothing boys who cause nothing but headache to all the teachers in my school. Useless! I will hang you on a potato stem and leave you to rot there!!”That was her usual gibberish and at eight years of age all we could do was stare at her sheepishly and wonder when the caning would begin and be over with. “Clearly you are well on your way to becoming charcoal salesmen and gravediggers! AND WHAT IS THIS? Nyokabi? A girl! HOW?!!”
I stood up when my name was called almost as automatically as a bullet would have shot out of the muzzle of a gun when the trigger was pulled. The ruffled mass on my head that I attempted to arrange and christen cornrows had come apart for the third time today. My dust covered school uniform would have easily gotten first prize at a street urchins garb competition but really I didn’t care. Playing truant was no frivolous affair.
As our hawk eyed head teacher approached me searching my face for any signs of remorse she poised her arms in caning position, raised up like a falcon reaching out for its prey, indeed she gave new meaning to the expression ’the old bird’ She wielded the “black mamba’ cane menacingly, so called for its effectiveness at inflicting maddening pain and the horrific bruises and lesions it indented on the body. Nail sharp edges notwithstanding, this was one piece of nature I had learnt to detest with comforting passion. I knew she was going to let me have it.
My thin body structure was not much to behold, so she didn’t stare for long but compensated for the extra time by hurling the larger than life paper punch machine on her desk at me with surprising force. The old bird did have some strength left in her. The force of the tool to my head knocked me off balance with so much force that I found myself seated on the ground and tongue bleeding. I had bitten myself. Mrs. Kamuzi as she was known set upon me with kicks and blows that would have sent a ravenous lion back into its cave hungry. The buckles on her shoe tore into my flesh impatiently and opened up wounds that I knew would fester with infection in a few days. Black mamba swung into action and my back was not spared either.
All this time I withdrew into myself and started to imagine a peaceful place, full of calm and safety against this incursion of violence. A grassy meadow for the mass of hair she was now puling off my head. A cool river with calm icy water which reflected the clear blue sky, for the warm blood that flowed freely from my body. Sweet fleshy mango fruit for the open wounds that now punctuated my skin from head to toe. She was relentless, unabashed and unabated.
My partners in crime now crawled to the darkest corners of the office and watched in silence as the festival of torture carried along. It was Nyokabi she wanted. She was not to be disturbed while she was handling disciplinary cases, not even by a parent. Those were the instructions bawled out during the weekly assemblies in the hall. They were more relieved than scared that it wasn’t their turn for punishment. As they watched timidly, as if ashamed to see my plight, Mrs. Kamuzi intensified her orgy of violence, “You will not shame this school anymore! You will not shame your parents anymore! You will not shame ME anymore! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD! I WILL NOT LOOK BAD…
Her voice was now trembling and pitched to a scream as she started foaming at the mouth. I curled myself into a foetal position to protect my body from the heavy blows it was receiving and continued in my trance of imagination. Her strong perfume was still suffocating and the air was rich with hot air from her breathing like an angry bull. Despite all this the blood from my swollen lips and mouth did a good job of dulling the nausea. I couldn’t open my eyes to see what she was doing to me and that was a relief because the damage to my body would have been too much to take in anyway. One of my arms was facing different directions like the broken compass in my geometrical set, and then came a loud raspy thud that made everything silent. Aaah, sweet silence. Silence and calm that lifted me on their lofty wings and set me up on a high place, far from Mrs. Kamuzi and her mad shrieks and painful lashes, far far away.
After some time, I was recalled back to reality by a certain fire that had been lit on my body. I screamed out loudly but I could not hear myself. It must be the pain, I thought to myself. It was like somebody had dipped me into the biblical lake of burning sulphur spoken of for the judgement day. FIRE FIRE FIRE. Fire that could not allow me to think feel or do much else. I was trapped and unable to go back to my grassy meadow, with clear blue skies and cool calm waters. But along with the fire came an awakening. The massive influx of beatings had stopped. Abruptly stopped. Then numbness set in.
I began to wonder about what was happening and came to learn much later what had transpired. My accomplices hidden at the corners of the office had panicked and began to scream hysterically. They had run out of the office leaving Mrs. Kamuzi and I in our labours. They had attracted the teachers on duty’s’ attention who had swiftly addressed the cause of the boys’ frenzy. The teachers, male teachers for that matter had had to pull Mrs. Kamuzi off of me to stop her biting me with her teeth. I had then been quickly rushed to the school sanatorium where the nurse’s absence had forced the teachers to take me to hospital.
As I lie in my bed tonight and run my fingers over the smooth contours and serrations on my body, I wonder. The darkness caresses me and engulfs me in a world of imagination. In my utopia I can walk without the use of crutches. I am not compelled to slave on with my Braille and speech classes. Clouds of hatred and confusion don’t muffle me and force me to gasp for air. I don’t jump from every touch of help from my mother or brother. Drowning in despair is converted to basking in the sunshine. I am free. All I can remember as I mull over my adversity, sliding deeper in the sheets to search for warmth, is that night. That fateful night in boarding school. That long night five years ago. The night of my sight.
Shades Of Grey
I found a letter in the mail the other day. It has been a long while since I checked. Nobody ever sends snail mail these days anyway, its bills that just keep coming. Nothing good in there. Anyway, I am not sure if it is mine, it was in my mail though. Maybe you can help me understand. Have a look.
12/06/2008
To him who needs this,
This life is like the story of the sword of Damocles in a way. Now Damocles was one of the court flatterers (yes, the kings then had people to flatter him so as to boost his ego) in the realm of King Dionysius, the tyrannical ruler of Syracuse. He (Damocles) often praised the king on his wealth and power until one day, the king asked him if he thought such power came with ease and luxury. On responding positively, the king organized for a feast to be thrown. Damocles was to sit on the king’s seat at the table. He was heartily enjoying himself when he realized that a sharp sword had been hung over his head. Up until now, he had not seen the sword. With his shock came the king’s explanation of the sword, “That is how the life of a ruler really is like.” Such was the event that led to the expression the sword of Damocles.
There is always something hanging over your head, a curse, a trap, a sin. It waits, it lurks in the dark, and it searches for you. Waiting, waiting to destroy you. For me, the modern day Damocles, there are more swords than one .Despite my seemingly lovely life; there is one huge sword, that has always been there. I can’t seem to get rid of it.
I don’t understand why things get so complicated. I believe its supposed to be simple. If the bible says its wrong, then, its wrong. There is supposed to be a point where you just overcome. A point where salvation drives you to be more than a conqueror. Not so for me. Not so for the self professing Christian. Sin has taken another turn and the victory has been wrenched lose from my grip. Now I enjoy sin like a warm glass of milk, after a hot supper.
It has been so with me for quite a while. I go to church and say praise the Lord on Saturday at the leader’s meeting and on Sunday when am leading the bible study. Monday, I am making out secretly in my campus room with a hottie from my class. His name is Dennis, Dennis Mwangi. I like him and he likes me, and a few other men. He though is not the crux of my story; there was one I loved more.
It has been a long journey to this point .One full of confusion, confusion and men. When I was young I thought that being like this was abnormal. That I was the only one who liked other boys, or wanted to ‘explore’ them. I always wanted to be the one who was different because I knew deep inside I was different. I wanted to wear my mother’s heels and play around in her pretty dress. I wanted to be able to catwalk down the runway like all the famous models, I still practice to date. I loved the colour and the make up. I knew beautiful women and handsome men. Most of all I wanted to be set on fire. I wanted to experience the freedom from the touch of a man. A liberating feeling that would course through me and cause me to tremble with excitement. I wanted to experience men.
Then I had to go back to church on Sunday. I had to listen to the preacher and my Sunday school teachers tell me about God and holiness. I had to experience the guilt and condemnation, the price to pay for my sins. I had to struggle with my identity and personality. I went through the everyday hoops of explaining why I don’t like soccer, and play with the girls more than the boys. I had to suffer humiliation in school when I was called all kinds of names, fag, chichi and many more. I was not sick. I was not an alien. I was a human being, I still am. My urges unrelenting, my conscience unwavering. Confusion reigned. What to do?
Well, I am tired of hiding any longer. I am tired of pretending about my feelings and desires. I am ready to fight, and not just fight but win. I must make it through the maze that is my destiny. I must deal with it. I may be hurt, but I am willing to try.
11
I loved him. I loved him with all my heart. I was willing to do anything for him. He was the kind of man that makes your blood boil. He made me want to live life. Every time I thought of him, my throat ran dry. My heart seemed to obtain a new rhythm. I was abit disillusioned. Apart from that I was willing to be committed. I wanted to be his, so that he could be mine.
We met online, on Facebook. I was an anonymous nobody. He was the attention loving and flamboyant lover boy. He was like a young prince freely hunting wild boar over summer, or in the Kenyan context, the young heir to a rich man, living the Nairobi high life. I wanted recognition, his attention. I had idolized him; in fact he was all I wanted. We chatted for a while the first night, abit more on the second and I was completely addicted by the third. I knew, I wanted this specific man. Then it hit me. I wanted a man. I wanted a man? How was that going to work? I had never been in a relationship before, at least not a real one. I had always had a crush on this person or the other, how was this going to be? Notwithstanding, I was willing to try .I was willing to work at it. I could do anything for him. The problem was, he was away. In Tanzania, or at least that’s what he said. He was a student there. He was learning philosophy at The University of Dar Es Salaam. Surely, a student of such nature couldn’t be as intriguing as I thought! Anyway, I could not see him, so I spent time scrolling over and over again through his pictures on his Facebook profile page and the backlog of messages we had exchanged. I thought that perhaps I could get a connection. Maybe I could learn something that I did not know from this enigma. I don’t know what excited me so about him. Was it his reckless and uncaring attitude? Was it the little crazy things he did and said? I couldn’t quite put my finger to it, but I knew I wanted it. I knew I had to meet him; I had to go to Tanzania.
Then the opportunity came. Our school had organized an exchange program for the Economics students, a one in a kind chance. One in a kind both ways for me. I would get to see James and earn a few golden nuggets in my field .I fought for the opportunity. I prayed and groveled to God to give me just this one chance. I not only prayed though, am sure that God needed some persuasion, so I visited my lecturer and had a ‘talk’ with him. Am sure he will remember me .I work until I was sure I was to fly over there for an exchange program. A program that would last me two weeks. Two weeks in Dar Es Salaam University, right next to him. My mind would constantly wander off into thoughts of bliss and pure pleasure. Sunny afternoons and cool evenings. Moonlit nights in Swahili restaurants, and early mornings walking along the deserted streets, or even better, the sandy beach. I was to have the time of my life. As soon as I learnt of my trip I promptly informed him. I told him that I wanted a long boat ride with him on my first weekend there, just us. James took a while to respond. He must have been thinking of the perfect answer I suppose. Perhaps he was making arrangements. So I waited, patiently I waited. I did not go to church that SundaThe answer came three days later, a Tuesday. It was short and precise. “I am waiting,” he said, “I look forward to seeing you here. I have had a long stare at the pictures on your profile and I am thrilled at this golden opportunity. Remember your swimming costume luv. xoxo” Delight gushed in me like venom of a puff adder would course through the body of a victim. I could not wait for the trip. I feared every time we were called for a meeting, it was for cancellation. Surely God wasn’t happy with all of this! Wasn’t a punishment the logical way to go? Wasn’t lightning to strike me and devour my flesh whole? I had committed mortal sin the remedy of which was unreachable. The poison dart had hit its mark. I did not mind all this though .At least not for the moment. I was going to Tanzania, to meet my love. Nothing within my reach would stop me, and that included disease and disaster.
It seems as if yesterday, what was reliving itself inside my head. As if getting in that plane with my classmates was the last thing I did before going to bed. I knew I desired him; I was tired of sticking my hands down my boxers all the time, all by myself. I wanted to be in Tanzania as fast as possible, that was a fact. The flight took two hours. To me it seemed like a decade and I couldn’t wait to set my feet in the foreign country. I had never been outside of Kenya but that was not what dominated my mind. I was hardly focusing on the discussions my friends were having, let alone the lecturers’ information points. I just wanted James.
As soon as we got to the university and into our rooms I sent him a text message. He didn’t reply. I waited, waited the whole night. I waited the whole of the next day. My hands kept sweating. I paced about more. I didn’t want to pray because I didn’t either need God’s opinion on what I was doing or the guilt would just pour icy water on the whole idea. I tried to focus on the lectures and discussions as I went about my business. All I could think about was the response. I was nervous. Didn’t he want to hear from me anymore? Was I being too aggressive? What was going on? I need him to give me something to hold on to. I needed him to give me hope. Hope enough to last me the day.
Two hours later, lunch time, and nothing. We were seated in one of the school lunch halls. A bunch of differently dressed black people, with totally different accents. Some student council representatives kept coming over to chat us up. I was in the least bit interested. I just wanted him to answer me. I was desperate now .I stared at the plate of fish set before me with part disgust and part disappointment. I didn’t want to taste the food. Coconut rice and fish, seasoned delicately with cloves. Sounds sumptuous, I know, but with the supervening circumstances, it might as well have been bamboo shoots. I had once tasted steamed bamboo shoots. One of my mother’s friends cooked it as a delicacy for us when we visited. I was in shock for a while before I even dared taste them. They were soft and crunchy, and carried about a taste of roasted grass. I didn’t know how to receive them. I simply ran through the meal to finish. The same meal was now reincarnated here in Tanzania. Deep in my daydream, I didn’t notice someone come and sit by me. I was too engrossed in thought. I tried to take a bite of the food. Bamboo shoots again! I set the plate aside and took a sip of water. It was harsh against my throat. The minerals tore through as they rushed to my stomach.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned. I was too preoccupied to look at their face and snapped back almost immediately, “WHAT?!” The man answered back with mild amusement weaving through his voice, “It seems you are really not enjoying your trip here or you are just having a bad day.” I didn’t even bother to glance at him; I just grunted and ignored him. He continued, “I wonder what I could do to make you feel better. You know, I was really looking forward to seeing you but now it seems I may have bitten more than I can chew!” I turned straight to look at him. It was James!
I couldn’t get over the shock and rage. I just stared at him in disbelief. How could he do that to me? I was angry at him for not replying but I was glad too, glad that he was now here. Glad that I could now spit out the bamboo shoots and eat some of the coconut rice. He was smiling at me. I couldn’t believe it. I touched his arm gently and tried to pinch him. It did not seem real to me. As I looked at me, Jesus walked into my brain and started speaking without prompting. “What are you doing Phillip?” he asked, “What are you up to? You are aware that the bible strictly prohibits the feeling you have. You know you are not supposed to desire him the way you do. Fight it, fight the feeling. Fight the desire. Fight it all away. What will people say? What will your pastor say when he finds out? Do you know you are in charge of the bible study in your church? JUST STOP!!”
I looked back at James. I weighed the conviction and the guilt I would feel afterwards. I took another long look at him. He was puzzled, but was going on and on about some thing or the other on the Tanzanian scene. I broke into a defiant smile. I would cross that bridge of guilt and the people at church when I got there. I came to Tanzania with a mission, and I intended to accomplish it. I took hold of James’ hand and stood up. I made to leave when one of my classmates called out to me. I intended to ignore her but James stopped in his tracks. He turned and faced her. I was forced to oblige. She had a curious look on her face. “Who is that?” she asked, “and where are you going holding his hand?” She gestured at him with a peculiar air of confidence. “I see academics wasn’t your only agenda here then. You had a steamy side show on the go. Need I remind you that this is Tanzania? The people around here may not be as tolerable as those back in Nairobi. Be careful or I may out you myself and see what happens. You may not go back home in one piece.”
I knew this girl well, Cynthia, and I feared her. She was one of those lethal women that extorted money from you when she had some information. She was a foul gossip that Cynthia, like the black widow, beds her husband and then bites off his head. She would use you and dump you if not worse. I simply stared back at her .I winced in panic, and then suddenly, a rush of rage flowed through my veins. I looked at James and blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “Do your worst! I will face you and win,” I retorted.
I did not know that anyone was watching me. It scared me to realize that someone knew my secret, a secret I had worked so hard to hide. Worse still was that this was a renown gossip, a legend of sorts. Who else knew then? And why did this have to happen all the way out here? I didn’t need this on my plate right now; I just wanted to enjoy my time with James. Nobody, not Cynthia, not Jesus, not even the president would stop me. I had my mind made up.
I walked out of the lunch room with James by my side. I was happy. For the first time in my trip I was happy. I planned to enjoy my afternoon to the maximum. I didn’t even know where I was going but I was willing to go all the same. He led me by the hand out into the narrow streets. We were talking about all things random and interesting from our personal lives to the everyday experiences we had. James was event more exciting in person. I didn’t want the afternoon to end.
We were walking in the market area when it happened. A man walked up to us with disgust etched all about his face. He was dark, short and pudgy, like one of those goblins in fantasy stories. His hair was sprayed sparsely all over his graying head. The man had fat fingers, fat enough to strangle a pig singlehandedly. He seemed to have something to say. He oozed irk. He began to shake an angry fist at us. It seemed as if he had something to say to us but the words didn’t want to come out. So he had to force them out, and force them out he did. “NYNYNYINYI WATOTO! HATUTAKI MASHOGA WA KENYA HUKU!! MUSHINDWE KABISA!!” Clearly the reception of two men walking about and seeming so intimate wasn’t the refreshing cup of tea that I deemed it to be. Our joy was not one shared by many. My throat ran dry. I almost teared up. WHY OH WHY WOULD EVERYONE WANT TO RUIN THIS DAY FOR ME? It was not for me to fight this one though. I don’t know how things went or even what happened next. All I know is that a fist met a face somewhere and my feet were running faster than I was accustomed. James had come to our defence faster than I had expected. I didn’t reckon he was much of a fighter but the adrenalin must have kicked in in time. I turned and fled without a doubt in my mind that I was being followed. If not by a mob of gay bashers, definitely by James in full flight.
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter when we stopped at a street corner. This had to be one of the craziest days in my life. I had done a myriad of things that if my pastor ever knew I was up to would lead me to immediate and direct excommunication. I knew this would hurt my faith but at the moment the rash feeling in me would just brush it off without a second thought. I wanted him, I wanted him bad and I had made up my mind. Nothing was going to stop me.
We headed over to his campus room to cool off and relax in the heat of the day. The campus was a quaint and composed area with well manicured lawns. The buildings had an Arabic feel to them with a touch of African culture dashed generously in every alley. Various plants and shrubs were strewn about strategically, and the cobbled stones on the way to the hostels were exquisite. We talked little as we went over and I had a chance to have a look at him. A chance to really look at him. He was handsome. One of those refined men who could make heads turn. James was slender and tall, a spectacle to behold. His long hair, plaited into long braids was tied back in a pony tail. His light skin was spectacular in the sun, glowing a little. He had a disarming smile, one that could charm the ice queen. He leaned slightly when he walked and had a fascinating demeanor. The most interesting thing about him though was his teeth. They were a brilliant white, and curved. They were arranged like a row of piano keys in his mouth, as if their order gave a certain musical note. I couldn’t get my eyes off them.
We got to his room after about half an hour. We were trying to avoid all the attention we had attracted earlier. It wasn’t something we had discussed, because neither of us wanted to look embarrassed at what had happened. Nevertheless we wanted to be discrete and confident about whom we were at the same time. I got in and plopped on his bed, tired. He made to change his shirt and opened his closet to take out a fresh one. I simply stared, and then I decided to act. I stood up and walked over to him. I touched his back and he turned to face me. He reached out his hand to my face. I moved closer and closed my eyes. I was to achieve my goal that day.
111
I was late to church, again. I hurried to the bus stop focusing on the excuse I would give. The bible study was to begin at 8 o’clock and I was already one hour late. It was a Sunday morning once more and I had to hurry through the day and hope it would end as uneventfully as all the others. I just wanted to get it over with.
I got to church in fifteen minutes. I walked through the gates and greeted the guard. His name was Martin. I met the senior pastor on the way to the Bible study hall. He greeted me and began some small talk on my family. My father was an usher in the church and my mother was the head of the missions department. We had been to this church since it inception ten years ago. I was still in primary school then, but I could still remember the founding members. A lot had changed since then. I rushed over to the bible study room and walked in with profuse apologies. I had asked my assistant in the ministry to help me begin the class. I walked in and noticed a few extra people, which was normal. I took my seat next to the assistant and she welcomed me with a smile. I looked into my pouch bag and took out my bible and the study guide. We were at the book of Leviticus, chapter 18. I swallowed hard. The book was on the ordinances of God as relating to priestly sacrifices and holiness when approaching him. I personally perceived it as a set of difficult rules the Israelites in the desert had to follow. That was not the reason why I swallowed though. I knew this chapter well. It had been read profusely and vehemently in various forums. It spoke of unlawful sexual practices. Verse 22 was one of specific interest. It read like a death sentence to me, “Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable.” We were soon to approach this verse, and as we moved along I began to ponder many things. I loved God, I truly did. I loved church too, it was exciting and eventful. A place where I could grow in a supportive environment. Then I loved men. Not in the same way as I did God obviously but still, I loved them. I wanted to live my life, and love who I wanted, but clearly that was detestable. I also wanted to have God on my side, which was difficult in the supervening circumstances. I had a double life; I was one person on one side and a completely different one on the other. Was I to obey the bible and live in torture for the rest of my life or be free and risk hell, fire brimstone and condemnation? And yet they all felt so good when I was doing them.
I was drawn from the deep well of thought by a question that had been directed at me. I was startled into reality. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t know what was going on. It was one of the new people. He had asked a question on that poison verse. He asked me my opinion on the church and homosexuality. My eyes watered immediately and I swallowed hard. I looked at him straight in the face and blurted out some words. I fixed my eyes on his hair, neatly cut and well shaped. I was fidgeting a little as I explained to him the principle the church held on gays and Christianity. It was not possible for one to be both, and as I said this I moved my gaze to his face and gaze to his face. It was James! Three months later, it was he again. I don’t understand how he found me but here he was, in plain sight. We had not spoken for three months after Dar. He had simply stopped communicating. I wrote him messages. I tried to call. I did everything possible to reach him and not once had he gotten back to me. Now here he was, in my safe place. The place I went when I wanted to run from the rest of the gay world. I had been invaded, and my territory soiled. A knot immediately tied in my throat. My hands shook a little but I couldn’t let anyone notice. I hurriedly completed my answer and stood up. The Bible study was not over but I just had to get out of there. I left my things on the chair. I walked out hurriedly. I was going toward the washroom when someone called out to me. I pretended as if I had not heard. I increased my pace. I just wanted to get as far away from the rest of the world as I could. I tried. Despite my efforts he caught up with me and held me by the shoulders. In the middle of the church compound he held my shoulders. I reacted quickly and irrationally. I pushed him away violently in the hope that nobody had seen that. I had a reputation to maintain. I had a picture I wanted to keep drawn in the minds of the people in church. One of the women’s leaders in the church was passing by. She looked over at me and smiled uneasily. “Praise the Lord,” she said, “AMEN!” I shouted back, in the hope that my effort would cement my allegiance to Jesus, at least in her mind.
I turned to face James, anger written all over my face. “What are you doing here?” I whispered. I was getting frustrated. This was going to be a bad day. He simply looked at me and smiled. That smile reminded me of a lot. It reminded me of that afternoon. That sunny afternoon in Dar. And it angered me. I was bitter, I was hurt. I had been forced to go back to church with my tail between my legs because this man had refused to talk to me after I broke my faith and disobeyed my Lord. Now here he was trying to behave like we were friends. I felt like I had been left at the altar, and my partner had run off with the maid and not the maiden. William Congreve did well in saying’ “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” I sure as hell wasn’t a woman, but I was scorned. I wanted him to pay, pay for everything, but there he stood, smiling. “I came to visit,” he answered, “to see how you were doing.” The stupid bastard was checking up on me after three months? I had had enough. I looked at him and asked him to leave. I asked him to go and never come back. I pushed him while I was at it and began to shout. The minute I pushed him a small crowd had started to gather and by the time I was shouting I had an audience. People were interested to see why the little pastor without a theology degree was acting so rashly. A group of youth came over to hold me back and the members of the bible study ministry walked out of the hall. They were just in time to see me in full action. People were staring in amusement now. My clean robes were now soiled.
James was looking at me with a sorry face. He looked like he wanted to hug and hold me. I looked at him and wanted to vomit. I decided that I would not waste my time with him. I simply composed myself and walked away. I wanted to be alone for a while so I took a walk towards the forest nearby. He followed me there. He did not seem sorry that I had been forced to embarrass myself in the church. He did not want to hold me as I had thought but to shake me into reality. He stopped me again and told me the most piercing words I had ever heard, “Choose one, just choose one. Is it me or the church? That’s why I didn’t answer your calls, or messages. I knew that you had something to hold on to. What do I have? I would have to sacrifice everything to be with you and you would still be holding on to both sides. How does a farmer sell half of his produce to get the full price? I need you to let go so that you can get me. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready like Jesus to lay down your life to get me? Choose one.” With that Parthian shaft he started to walk away. I couldn’t get to wrap my mind around his words. They tore right through me and forced reality to my face.
. Before I could begin to ponder deeply on what he had said, he turned again and said,” I wonder what Jesus would say about you, going by what you said in that room and what the Bible says!” That was the shocker! I walked out of the forest with a new perspective I thought James had hurt me, but he hurt me to protect himself. I am not sure I would give up everything to be with him, at least not in this lifetime. So what did I want? What did I need? James had given me the harshest reality check so far. Then again, I indeed was a huge hypocrite.
I still need a man, someone to hold on to, and someone to satisfy me. Maybe just not James. I need someone to make me feel alive, like am not a conformist. Like am not a sheep led to the slaughter without a choice as to how I am to live my life. Yet through all this I have the Bible to obey. I have the word of the Lord to follow and live by and the whole world is watching to see if I fail. Indeed I have failed and I have fallen, but how many people know that? I am out to keep up the impression, to save face.
I have had time to think through everything. I have thought through James words. I would love to see James again. Maybe his beautiful face would help me sort out some of these things. I know few things about myself; I am on the path to self discovery. One thing that I know though, is that I want to be free. I want to get rid of the bonding boundaries. I need to be free. Free to live, free to love free to be me.
Lovingly penned down,
Phillip.
So someone help me understand this, I just don’t get what is going on here. Yes, I am Phillip, but I never wrote this letter, at least not yet anyway. I am not ready yet. Africa is not ready yet.
12/06/2008
To him who needs this,
This life is like the story of the sword of Damocles in a way. Now Damocles was one of the court flatterers (yes, the kings then had people to flatter him so as to boost his ego) in the realm of King Dionysius, the tyrannical ruler of Syracuse. He (Damocles) often praised the king on his wealth and power until one day, the king asked him if he thought such power came with ease and luxury. On responding positively, the king organized for a feast to be thrown. Damocles was to sit on the king’s seat at the table. He was heartily enjoying himself when he realized that a sharp sword had been hung over his head. Up until now, he had not seen the sword. With his shock came the king’s explanation of the sword, “That is how the life of a ruler really is like.” Such was the event that led to the expression the sword of Damocles.
There is always something hanging over your head, a curse, a trap, a sin. It waits, it lurks in the dark, and it searches for you. Waiting, waiting to destroy you. For me, the modern day Damocles, there are more swords than one .Despite my seemingly lovely life; there is one huge sword, that has always been there. I can’t seem to get rid of it.
I don’t understand why things get so complicated. I believe its supposed to be simple. If the bible says its wrong, then, its wrong. There is supposed to be a point where you just overcome. A point where salvation drives you to be more than a conqueror. Not so for me. Not so for the self professing Christian. Sin has taken another turn and the victory has been wrenched lose from my grip. Now I enjoy sin like a warm glass of milk, after a hot supper.
It has been so with me for quite a while. I go to church and say praise the Lord on Saturday at the leader’s meeting and on Sunday when am leading the bible study. Monday, I am making out secretly in my campus room with a hottie from my class. His name is Dennis, Dennis Mwangi. I like him and he likes me, and a few other men. He though is not the crux of my story; there was one I loved more.
It has been a long journey to this point .One full of confusion, confusion and men. When I was young I thought that being like this was abnormal. That I was the only one who liked other boys, or wanted to ‘explore’ them. I always wanted to be the one who was different because I knew deep inside I was different. I wanted to wear my mother’s heels and play around in her pretty dress. I wanted to be able to catwalk down the runway like all the famous models, I still practice to date. I loved the colour and the make up. I knew beautiful women and handsome men. Most of all I wanted to be set on fire. I wanted to experience the freedom from the touch of a man. A liberating feeling that would course through me and cause me to tremble with excitement. I wanted to experience men.
Then I had to go back to church on Sunday. I had to listen to the preacher and my Sunday school teachers tell me about God and holiness. I had to experience the guilt and condemnation, the price to pay for my sins. I had to struggle with my identity and personality. I went through the everyday hoops of explaining why I don’t like soccer, and play with the girls more than the boys. I had to suffer humiliation in school when I was called all kinds of names, fag, chichi and many more. I was not sick. I was not an alien. I was a human being, I still am. My urges unrelenting, my conscience unwavering. Confusion reigned. What to do?
Well, I am tired of hiding any longer. I am tired of pretending about my feelings and desires. I am ready to fight, and not just fight but win. I must make it through the maze that is my destiny. I must deal with it. I may be hurt, but I am willing to try.
11
I loved him. I loved him with all my heart. I was willing to do anything for him. He was the kind of man that makes your blood boil. He made me want to live life. Every time I thought of him, my throat ran dry. My heart seemed to obtain a new rhythm. I was abit disillusioned. Apart from that I was willing to be committed. I wanted to be his, so that he could be mine.
We met online, on Facebook. I was an anonymous nobody. He was the attention loving and flamboyant lover boy. He was like a young prince freely hunting wild boar over summer, or in the Kenyan context, the young heir to a rich man, living the Nairobi high life. I wanted recognition, his attention. I had idolized him; in fact he was all I wanted. We chatted for a while the first night, abit more on the second and I was completely addicted by the third. I knew, I wanted this specific man. Then it hit me. I wanted a man. I wanted a man? How was that going to work? I had never been in a relationship before, at least not a real one. I had always had a crush on this person or the other, how was this going to be? Notwithstanding, I was willing to try .I was willing to work at it. I could do anything for him. The problem was, he was away. In Tanzania, or at least that’s what he said. He was a student there. He was learning philosophy at The University of Dar Es Salaam. Surely, a student of such nature couldn’t be as intriguing as I thought! Anyway, I could not see him, so I spent time scrolling over and over again through his pictures on his Facebook profile page and the backlog of messages we had exchanged. I thought that perhaps I could get a connection. Maybe I could learn something that I did not know from this enigma. I don’t know what excited me so about him. Was it his reckless and uncaring attitude? Was it the little crazy things he did and said? I couldn’t quite put my finger to it, but I knew I wanted it. I knew I had to meet him; I had to go to Tanzania.
Then the opportunity came. Our school had organized an exchange program for the Economics students, a one in a kind chance. One in a kind both ways for me. I would get to see James and earn a few golden nuggets in my field .I fought for the opportunity. I prayed and groveled to God to give me just this one chance. I not only prayed though, am sure that God needed some persuasion, so I visited my lecturer and had a ‘talk’ with him. Am sure he will remember me .I work until I was sure I was to fly over there for an exchange program. A program that would last me two weeks. Two weeks in Dar Es Salaam University, right next to him. My mind would constantly wander off into thoughts of bliss and pure pleasure. Sunny afternoons and cool evenings. Moonlit nights in Swahili restaurants, and early mornings walking along the deserted streets, or even better, the sandy beach. I was to have the time of my life. As soon as I learnt of my trip I promptly informed him. I told him that I wanted a long boat ride with him on my first weekend there, just us. James took a while to respond. He must have been thinking of the perfect answer I suppose. Perhaps he was making arrangements. So I waited, patiently I waited. I did not go to church that SundaThe answer came three days later, a Tuesday. It was short and precise. “I am waiting,” he said, “I look forward to seeing you here. I have had a long stare at the pictures on your profile and I am thrilled at this golden opportunity. Remember your swimming costume luv. xoxo” Delight gushed in me like venom of a puff adder would course through the body of a victim. I could not wait for the trip. I feared every time we were called for a meeting, it was for cancellation. Surely God wasn’t happy with all of this! Wasn’t a punishment the logical way to go? Wasn’t lightning to strike me and devour my flesh whole? I had committed mortal sin the remedy of which was unreachable. The poison dart had hit its mark. I did not mind all this though .At least not for the moment. I was going to Tanzania, to meet my love. Nothing within my reach would stop me, and that included disease and disaster.
It seems as if yesterday, what was reliving itself inside my head. As if getting in that plane with my classmates was the last thing I did before going to bed. I knew I desired him; I was tired of sticking my hands down my boxers all the time, all by myself. I wanted to be in Tanzania as fast as possible, that was a fact. The flight took two hours. To me it seemed like a decade and I couldn’t wait to set my feet in the foreign country. I had never been outside of Kenya but that was not what dominated my mind. I was hardly focusing on the discussions my friends were having, let alone the lecturers’ information points. I just wanted James.
As soon as we got to the university and into our rooms I sent him a text message. He didn’t reply. I waited, waited the whole night. I waited the whole of the next day. My hands kept sweating. I paced about more. I didn’t want to pray because I didn’t either need God’s opinion on what I was doing or the guilt would just pour icy water on the whole idea. I tried to focus on the lectures and discussions as I went about my business. All I could think about was the response. I was nervous. Didn’t he want to hear from me anymore? Was I being too aggressive? What was going on? I need him to give me something to hold on to. I needed him to give me hope. Hope enough to last me the day.
Two hours later, lunch time, and nothing. We were seated in one of the school lunch halls. A bunch of differently dressed black people, with totally different accents. Some student council representatives kept coming over to chat us up. I was in the least bit interested. I just wanted him to answer me. I was desperate now .I stared at the plate of fish set before me with part disgust and part disappointment. I didn’t want to taste the food. Coconut rice and fish, seasoned delicately with cloves. Sounds sumptuous, I know, but with the supervening circumstances, it might as well have been bamboo shoots. I had once tasted steamed bamboo shoots. One of my mother’s friends cooked it as a delicacy for us when we visited. I was in shock for a while before I even dared taste them. They were soft and crunchy, and carried about a taste of roasted grass. I didn’t know how to receive them. I simply ran through the meal to finish. The same meal was now reincarnated here in Tanzania. Deep in my daydream, I didn’t notice someone come and sit by me. I was too engrossed in thought. I tried to take a bite of the food. Bamboo shoots again! I set the plate aside and took a sip of water. It was harsh against my throat. The minerals tore through as they rushed to my stomach.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned. I was too preoccupied to look at their face and snapped back almost immediately, “WHAT?!” The man answered back with mild amusement weaving through his voice, “It seems you are really not enjoying your trip here or you are just having a bad day.” I didn’t even bother to glance at him; I just grunted and ignored him. He continued, “I wonder what I could do to make you feel better. You know, I was really looking forward to seeing you but now it seems I may have bitten more than I can chew!” I turned straight to look at him. It was James!
I couldn’t get over the shock and rage. I just stared at him in disbelief. How could he do that to me? I was angry at him for not replying but I was glad too, glad that he was now here. Glad that I could now spit out the bamboo shoots and eat some of the coconut rice. He was smiling at me. I couldn’t believe it. I touched his arm gently and tried to pinch him. It did not seem real to me. As I looked at me, Jesus walked into my brain and started speaking without prompting. “What are you doing Phillip?” he asked, “What are you up to? You are aware that the bible strictly prohibits the feeling you have. You know you are not supposed to desire him the way you do. Fight it, fight the feeling. Fight the desire. Fight it all away. What will people say? What will your pastor say when he finds out? Do you know you are in charge of the bible study in your church? JUST STOP!!”
I looked back at James. I weighed the conviction and the guilt I would feel afterwards. I took another long look at him. He was puzzled, but was going on and on about some thing or the other on the Tanzanian scene. I broke into a defiant smile. I would cross that bridge of guilt and the people at church when I got there. I came to Tanzania with a mission, and I intended to accomplish it. I took hold of James’ hand and stood up. I made to leave when one of my classmates called out to me. I intended to ignore her but James stopped in his tracks. He turned and faced her. I was forced to oblige. She had a curious look on her face. “Who is that?” she asked, “and where are you going holding his hand?” She gestured at him with a peculiar air of confidence. “I see academics wasn’t your only agenda here then. You had a steamy side show on the go. Need I remind you that this is Tanzania? The people around here may not be as tolerable as those back in Nairobi. Be careful or I may out you myself and see what happens. You may not go back home in one piece.”
I knew this girl well, Cynthia, and I feared her. She was one of those lethal women that extorted money from you when she had some information. She was a foul gossip that Cynthia, like the black widow, beds her husband and then bites off his head. She would use you and dump you if not worse. I simply stared back at her .I winced in panic, and then suddenly, a rush of rage flowed through my veins. I looked at James and blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “Do your worst! I will face you and win,” I retorted.
I did not know that anyone was watching me. It scared me to realize that someone knew my secret, a secret I had worked so hard to hide. Worse still was that this was a renown gossip, a legend of sorts. Who else knew then? And why did this have to happen all the way out here? I didn’t need this on my plate right now; I just wanted to enjoy my time with James. Nobody, not Cynthia, not Jesus, not even the president would stop me. I had my mind made up.
I walked out of the lunch room with James by my side. I was happy. For the first time in my trip I was happy. I planned to enjoy my afternoon to the maximum. I didn’t even know where I was going but I was willing to go all the same. He led me by the hand out into the narrow streets. We were talking about all things random and interesting from our personal lives to the everyday experiences we had. James was event more exciting in person. I didn’t want the afternoon to end.
We were walking in the market area when it happened. A man walked up to us with disgust etched all about his face. He was dark, short and pudgy, like one of those goblins in fantasy stories. His hair was sprayed sparsely all over his graying head. The man had fat fingers, fat enough to strangle a pig singlehandedly. He seemed to have something to say. He oozed irk. He began to shake an angry fist at us. It seemed as if he had something to say to us but the words didn’t want to come out. So he had to force them out, and force them out he did. “NYNYNYINYI WATOTO! HATUTAKI MASHOGA WA KENYA HUKU!! MUSHINDWE KABISA!!” Clearly the reception of two men walking about and seeming so intimate wasn’t the refreshing cup of tea that I deemed it to be. Our joy was not one shared by many. My throat ran dry. I almost teared up. WHY OH WHY WOULD EVERYONE WANT TO RUIN THIS DAY FOR ME? It was not for me to fight this one though. I don’t know how things went or even what happened next. All I know is that a fist met a face somewhere and my feet were running faster than I was accustomed. James had come to our defence faster than I had expected. I didn’t reckon he was much of a fighter but the adrenalin must have kicked in in time. I turned and fled without a doubt in my mind that I was being followed. If not by a mob of gay bashers, definitely by James in full flight.
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter when we stopped at a street corner. This had to be one of the craziest days in my life. I had done a myriad of things that if my pastor ever knew I was up to would lead me to immediate and direct excommunication. I knew this would hurt my faith but at the moment the rash feeling in me would just brush it off without a second thought. I wanted him, I wanted him bad and I had made up my mind. Nothing was going to stop me.
We headed over to his campus room to cool off and relax in the heat of the day. The campus was a quaint and composed area with well manicured lawns. The buildings had an Arabic feel to them with a touch of African culture dashed generously in every alley. Various plants and shrubs were strewn about strategically, and the cobbled stones on the way to the hostels were exquisite. We talked little as we went over and I had a chance to have a look at him. A chance to really look at him. He was handsome. One of those refined men who could make heads turn. James was slender and tall, a spectacle to behold. His long hair, plaited into long braids was tied back in a pony tail. His light skin was spectacular in the sun, glowing a little. He had a disarming smile, one that could charm the ice queen. He leaned slightly when he walked and had a fascinating demeanor. The most interesting thing about him though was his teeth. They were a brilliant white, and curved. They were arranged like a row of piano keys in his mouth, as if their order gave a certain musical note. I couldn’t get my eyes off them.
We got to his room after about half an hour. We were trying to avoid all the attention we had attracted earlier. It wasn’t something we had discussed, because neither of us wanted to look embarrassed at what had happened. Nevertheless we wanted to be discrete and confident about whom we were at the same time. I got in and plopped on his bed, tired. He made to change his shirt and opened his closet to take out a fresh one. I simply stared, and then I decided to act. I stood up and walked over to him. I touched his back and he turned to face me. He reached out his hand to my face. I moved closer and closed my eyes. I was to achieve my goal that day.
111
I was late to church, again. I hurried to the bus stop focusing on the excuse I would give. The bible study was to begin at 8 o’clock and I was already one hour late. It was a Sunday morning once more and I had to hurry through the day and hope it would end as uneventfully as all the others. I just wanted to get it over with.
I got to church in fifteen minutes. I walked through the gates and greeted the guard. His name was Martin. I met the senior pastor on the way to the Bible study hall. He greeted me and began some small talk on my family. My father was an usher in the church and my mother was the head of the missions department. We had been to this church since it inception ten years ago. I was still in primary school then, but I could still remember the founding members. A lot had changed since then. I rushed over to the bible study room and walked in with profuse apologies. I had asked my assistant in the ministry to help me begin the class. I walked in and noticed a few extra people, which was normal. I took my seat next to the assistant and she welcomed me with a smile. I looked into my pouch bag and took out my bible and the study guide. We were at the book of Leviticus, chapter 18. I swallowed hard. The book was on the ordinances of God as relating to priestly sacrifices and holiness when approaching him. I personally perceived it as a set of difficult rules the Israelites in the desert had to follow. That was not the reason why I swallowed though. I knew this chapter well. It had been read profusely and vehemently in various forums. It spoke of unlawful sexual practices. Verse 22 was one of specific interest. It read like a death sentence to me, “Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable.” We were soon to approach this verse, and as we moved along I began to ponder many things. I loved God, I truly did. I loved church too, it was exciting and eventful. A place where I could grow in a supportive environment. Then I loved men. Not in the same way as I did God obviously but still, I loved them. I wanted to live my life, and love who I wanted, but clearly that was detestable. I also wanted to have God on my side, which was difficult in the supervening circumstances. I had a double life; I was one person on one side and a completely different one on the other. Was I to obey the bible and live in torture for the rest of my life or be free and risk hell, fire brimstone and condemnation? And yet they all felt so good when I was doing them.
I was drawn from the deep well of thought by a question that had been directed at me. I was startled into reality. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t know what was going on. It was one of the new people. He had asked a question on that poison verse. He asked me my opinion on the church and homosexuality. My eyes watered immediately and I swallowed hard. I looked at him straight in the face and blurted out some words. I fixed my eyes on his hair, neatly cut and well shaped. I was fidgeting a little as I explained to him the principle the church held on gays and Christianity. It was not possible for one to be both, and as I said this I moved my gaze to his face and gaze to his face. It was James! Three months later, it was he again. I don’t understand how he found me but here he was, in plain sight. We had not spoken for three months after Dar. He had simply stopped communicating. I wrote him messages. I tried to call. I did everything possible to reach him and not once had he gotten back to me. Now here he was, in my safe place. The place I went when I wanted to run from the rest of the gay world. I had been invaded, and my territory soiled. A knot immediately tied in my throat. My hands shook a little but I couldn’t let anyone notice. I hurriedly completed my answer and stood up. The Bible study was not over but I just had to get out of there. I left my things on the chair. I walked out hurriedly. I was going toward the washroom when someone called out to me. I pretended as if I had not heard. I increased my pace. I just wanted to get as far away from the rest of the world as I could. I tried. Despite my efforts he caught up with me and held me by the shoulders. In the middle of the church compound he held my shoulders. I reacted quickly and irrationally. I pushed him away violently in the hope that nobody had seen that. I had a reputation to maintain. I had a picture I wanted to keep drawn in the minds of the people in church. One of the women’s leaders in the church was passing by. She looked over at me and smiled uneasily. “Praise the Lord,” she said, “AMEN!” I shouted back, in the hope that my effort would cement my allegiance to Jesus, at least in her mind.
I turned to face James, anger written all over my face. “What are you doing here?” I whispered. I was getting frustrated. This was going to be a bad day. He simply looked at me and smiled. That smile reminded me of a lot. It reminded me of that afternoon. That sunny afternoon in Dar. And it angered me. I was bitter, I was hurt. I had been forced to go back to church with my tail between my legs because this man had refused to talk to me after I broke my faith and disobeyed my Lord. Now here he was trying to behave like we were friends. I felt like I had been left at the altar, and my partner had run off with the maid and not the maiden. William Congreve did well in saying’ “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” I sure as hell wasn’t a woman, but I was scorned. I wanted him to pay, pay for everything, but there he stood, smiling. “I came to visit,” he answered, “to see how you were doing.” The stupid bastard was checking up on me after three months? I had had enough. I looked at him and asked him to leave. I asked him to go and never come back. I pushed him while I was at it and began to shout. The minute I pushed him a small crowd had started to gather and by the time I was shouting I had an audience. People were interested to see why the little pastor without a theology degree was acting so rashly. A group of youth came over to hold me back and the members of the bible study ministry walked out of the hall. They were just in time to see me in full action. People were staring in amusement now. My clean robes were now soiled.
James was looking at me with a sorry face. He looked like he wanted to hug and hold me. I looked at him and wanted to vomit. I decided that I would not waste my time with him. I simply composed myself and walked away. I wanted to be alone for a while so I took a walk towards the forest nearby. He followed me there. He did not seem sorry that I had been forced to embarrass myself in the church. He did not want to hold me as I had thought but to shake me into reality. He stopped me again and told me the most piercing words I had ever heard, “Choose one, just choose one. Is it me or the church? That’s why I didn’t answer your calls, or messages. I knew that you had something to hold on to. What do I have? I would have to sacrifice everything to be with you and you would still be holding on to both sides. How does a farmer sell half of his produce to get the full price? I need you to let go so that you can get me. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready like Jesus to lay down your life to get me? Choose one.” With that Parthian shaft he started to walk away. I couldn’t get to wrap my mind around his words. They tore right through me and forced reality to my face.
. Before I could begin to ponder deeply on what he had said, he turned again and said,” I wonder what Jesus would say about you, going by what you said in that room and what the Bible says!” That was the shocker! I walked out of the forest with a new perspective I thought James had hurt me, but he hurt me to protect himself. I am not sure I would give up everything to be with him, at least not in this lifetime. So what did I want? What did I need? James had given me the harshest reality check so far. Then again, I indeed was a huge hypocrite.
I still need a man, someone to hold on to, and someone to satisfy me. Maybe just not James. I need someone to make me feel alive, like am not a conformist. Like am not a sheep led to the slaughter without a choice as to how I am to live my life. Yet through all this I have the Bible to obey. I have the word of the Lord to follow and live by and the whole world is watching to see if I fail. Indeed I have failed and I have fallen, but how many people know that? I am out to keep up the impression, to save face.
I have had time to think through everything. I have thought through James words. I would love to see James again. Maybe his beautiful face would help me sort out some of these things. I know few things about myself; I am on the path to self discovery. One thing that I know though, is that I want to be free. I want to get rid of the bonding boundaries. I need to be free. Free to live, free to love free to be me.
Lovingly penned down,
Phillip.
So someone help me understand this, I just don’t get what is going on here. Yes, I am Phillip, but I never wrote this letter, at least not yet anyway. I am not ready yet. Africa is not ready yet.
Smile of Hope
I met her in the lift the first time it happened. I was just rushing out of our offices at Winfred House. It was to be a quick errand. The package tucked under my arm was my ticket to a few minutes of freedom. The day really was one of those obscure ones when the heat and disgust got the better of you.
I looked to the corner and there she was. Tall and slender. She had a captivating smile on, that made anyone who looked at her blush. It was her skin though that really got the better of me. It was pure and flawless. Dark, and handsome to behold. It flowed and slid all through her body, clutching to her comfortably. Her chubby cheeks augmented the effect and she looked divine. They seemed to squeeze her eyes into her skull so that she looked crushed inside.
As she walked out of the lift, she took form. Her gay clothing seemed to effortlessly add colour to the environment .The luminous green dress and long flowing orange scarf fought for attention. Her red earrings dangled brazenly, dancing to the beat of her strides. Everyone who saw her walk by turned and stared. She was a sight to behold. The latest fashion adorned like a peacock she whisked around the corner and disappeared out of my sight.
I let her go on her way and crossed the street. I was late already. I rushed along, brushing past people who seemed to own the street. They walked ever so majestically. I felt like slapping the back of someone’s head. I moved along, taking a moment to glance at my watch. I broke into a jog. Twenty Minutes!!I was twenty minutes late!
As I looked up my eyes struck another one of her kind. She stood tall, nearly a foot above everyone. The dressing was the same. She was as bright as the midday sun. Her stride was calm and gentle, maybe even playful. There was something else though. Something in her eyes. It was a flicker. It seemed to speak to me. It was urging me to look closer and closer still. Then I saw it, rather I heard it. No, I saw and heard, therefore I must have perceived it, and it made my skin tingle.
There was a call of desperation in her eyes. Not one of those obvious ones you hear or see. It was not presented in tatters and dirt. She didn’t stink of the nearby alleys with drunkards urine freely spread all over. It was not like a woman in agony over her dead son, weeping loudly. NO. This one brought a feeling of despair right in the pit of my stomach. It was an imminent hopelessness. It compelled me to stop. I stopped and looked, and looked again. My throat went dry. I couldn’t understand why.
But I was late, I had to hurry. I pushed these piercing thoughts to the back of my mind and hurried on. I had documents to deliver for my boss. I was about to lose my job. I zigzagged and wove through the crowd with the prowess of a real city dweller.
I got to Malabu Building five minutes late. I was ushered into a waiting lounge and asked to take a seat. The secretary told me that the boss would be right with me. The endless bureaucracy people were fed these days. My mind began to wander off five minutes into the wait. This was going to be a long one, or so I thought. I went back to the piercing eyes and gentle faces of her kind. They looked like they had gone through a lot. Suffering was inscribed all over their smooth faces. Where I was expecting to have deep trenches and creases of longstanding trouble though, there was an only smooth and layered fold after fold on the skin. That skin was like a beauty cream advert of sorts, refined over the years of tests. Their tests though, seemed different.
Then I thought of the men, their men. Tall and slender as well. Dark as coal. There was something more. There was a concentration in their eyes. It was like they were seeing something more. The men seemed to carry a burden and a purpose that they needed to put down. They couldn’t though, try as they did. There was a promised land they were seeing, just like Moses. I wondered if Moses’ face was also as creased and folded as theirs. Was he as tired looking and burdened? Did he try to hide it like they did? Was he dressed like them also, showing us the joyful outside and hurting inside? I wondered.
Across their foreheads, the men’s foreheads, there was something. Some had lines, others had tattoo like scars, they all had something. It seemed like the marks on their faces were a constant reminder of what they wanted. They needed to remember their heart beat. The heartbeat of their people. It struck me as odd, awe inspiring even. I felt my heart throb to a beat. It was like I wanted to be part of them. To fight on with them, to get to a unity of purpose. Was my heart beat like theirs? One that resonated with that of others? I reached out to my forehead, touched it lightly. Did I also have lines?
The boss walked in abruptly and I almost fell out of the chair in confusion. I was too deep in thought. It was the heat and disgust. He stuck his hand out to me and I took it and shook it. He stared at me blankly and I let go of him swiftly. He was holding out his hand for the documents. I passed them to him reverently and withdrew my hand. He didn’t have his turban on today, but the crisp white kanzu and the checked scarf reminded me it was a Friday. These people were so consistent, so devoted. Quite unlike me I must say, in so many ways. I was shamed to silence by the way they carried out their affairs.
He was still looking through the papers that were in the envelope when a couple walked in. These were two samples of them again. Ah!! Was I being followed or pursued? It was too much now. What was God trying to say to me? They were smiling broadly and looking so pleased with each other. The smile that opened my eyes again. It split right through to my heart. It was like a ray of light that coursed through me and brought out a realization in me. I was reminded that the sun still shone on everyone. The rain also fell on them as it did me. It reminded me that there was hope. Theirs was a smile of hope at the least, and a freedom song at the best.
Their people had seen enough tears. The battle still rages on their silent tussle for freedom, but one message remained clear. They could make it. All that from a smile. I smiled as I thought to myself.
As they walked in, I quickly stood up. The boss was done looking through the papers. I decided to get on my way as soon as he handed back the documents to me. Besides, my work for today was done. I didn’t hear anything he said to me, the boss, but I knew I was happy. I couldn’t help but smile at my realization. I still had my smile as I walked into the lift, another lift. I looked around to see if there was another on of them. That evening was an excellent and peaceful one.
I saw another one of them last week. They were so many in the streets. High heels, makeup, skinny jeans, leather bag, green yellow red mix, slender, dark skin, chubby cheeks, typical. I remembered, there was still hope for them. Hope for tomorrow, and she smiled. It was that smile again, a smile of hope.
I looked to the corner and there she was. Tall and slender. She had a captivating smile on, that made anyone who looked at her blush. It was her skin though that really got the better of me. It was pure and flawless. Dark, and handsome to behold. It flowed and slid all through her body, clutching to her comfortably. Her chubby cheeks augmented the effect and she looked divine. They seemed to squeeze her eyes into her skull so that she looked crushed inside.
As she walked out of the lift, she took form. Her gay clothing seemed to effortlessly add colour to the environment .The luminous green dress and long flowing orange scarf fought for attention. Her red earrings dangled brazenly, dancing to the beat of her strides. Everyone who saw her walk by turned and stared. She was a sight to behold. The latest fashion adorned like a peacock she whisked around the corner and disappeared out of my sight.
I let her go on her way and crossed the street. I was late already. I rushed along, brushing past people who seemed to own the street. They walked ever so majestically. I felt like slapping the back of someone’s head. I moved along, taking a moment to glance at my watch. I broke into a jog. Twenty Minutes!!I was twenty minutes late!
As I looked up my eyes struck another one of her kind. She stood tall, nearly a foot above everyone. The dressing was the same. She was as bright as the midday sun. Her stride was calm and gentle, maybe even playful. There was something else though. Something in her eyes. It was a flicker. It seemed to speak to me. It was urging me to look closer and closer still. Then I saw it, rather I heard it. No, I saw and heard, therefore I must have perceived it, and it made my skin tingle.
There was a call of desperation in her eyes. Not one of those obvious ones you hear or see. It was not presented in tatters and dirt. She didn’t stink of the nearby alleys with drunkards urine freely spread all over. It was not like a woman in agony over her dead son, weeping loudly. NO. This one brought a feeling of despair right in the pit of my stomach. It was an imminent hopelessness. It compelled me to stop. I stopped and looked, and looked again. My throat went dry. I couldn’t understand why.
But I was late, I had to hurry. I pushed these piercing thoughts to the back of my mind and hurried on. I had documents to deliver for my boss. I was about to lose my job. I zigzagged and wove through the crowd with the prowess of a real city dweller.
I got to Malabu Building five minutes late. I was ushered into a waiting lounge and asked to take a seat. The secretary told me that the boss would be right with me. The endless bureaucracy people were fed these days. My mind began to wander off five minutes into the wait. This was going to be a long one, or so I thought. I went back to the piercing eyes and gentle faces of her kind. They looked like they had gone through a lot. Suffering was inscribed all over their smooth faces. Where I was expecting to have deep trenches and creases of longstanding trouble though, there was an only smooth and layered fold after fold on the skin. That skin was like a beauty cream advert of sorts, refined over the years of tests. Their tests though, seemed different.
Then I thought of the men, their men. Tall and slender as well. Dark as coal. There was something more. There was a concentration in their eyes. It was like they were seeing something more. The men seemed to carry a burden and a purpose that they needed to put down. They couldn’t though, try as they did. There was a promised land they were seeing, just like Moses. I wondered if Moses’ face was also as creased and folded as theirs. Was he as tired looking and burdened? Did he try to hide it like they did? Was he dressed like them also, showing us the joyful outside and hurting inside? I wondered.
Across their foreheads, the men’s foreheads, there was something. Some had lines, others had tattoo like scars, they all had something. It seemed like the marks on their faces were a constant reminder of what they wanted. They needed to remember their heart beat. The heartbeat of their people. It struck me as odd, awe inspiring even. I felt my heart throb to a beat. It was like I wanted to be part of them. To fight on with them, to get to a unity of purpose. Was my heart beat like theirs? One that resonated with that of others? I reached out to my forehead, touched it lightly. Did I also have lines?
The boss walked in abruptly and I almost fell out of the chair in confusion. I was too deep in thought. It was the heat and disgust. He stuck his hand out to me and I took it and shook it. He stared at me blankly and I let go of him swiftly. He was holding out his hand for the documents. I passed them to him reverently and withdrew my hand. He didn’t have his turban on today, but the crisp white kanzu and the checked scarf reminded me it was a Friday. These people were so consistent, so devoted. Quite unlike me I must say, in so many ways. I was shamed to silence by the way they carried out their affairs.
He was still looking through the papers that were in the envelope when a couple walked in. These were two samples of them again. Ah!! Was I being followed or pursued? It was too much now. What was God trying to say to me? They were smiling broadly and looking so pleased with each other. The smile that opened my eyes again. It split right through to my heart. It was like a ray of light that coursed through me and brought out a realization in me. I was reminded that the sun still shone on everyone. The rain also fell on them as it did me. It reminded me that there was hope. Theirs was a smile of hope at the least, and a freedom song at the best.
Their people had seen enough tears. The battle still rages on their silent tussle for freedom, but one message remained clear. They could make it. All that from a smile. I smiled as I thought to myself.
As they walked in, I quickly stood up. The boss was done looking through the papers. I decided to get on my way as soon as he handed back the documents to me. Besides, my work for today was done. I didn’t hear anything he said to me, the boss, but I knew I was happy. I couldn’t help but smile at my realization. I still had my smile as I walked into the lift, another lift. I looked around to see if there was another on of them. That evening was an excellent and peaceful one.
I saw another one of them last week. They were so many in the streets. High heels, makeup, skinny jeans, leather bag, green yellow red mix, slender, dark skin, chubby cheeks, typical. I remembered, there was still hope for them. Hope for tomorrow, and she smiled. It was that smile again, a smile of hope.
When Night Falls
In my village, they kill old people. So long as somebody suspects you are one, then you must die. They will attack at any time. Nobody ever determines their arrival. They are like the wind. The come strong and fast. They are numerous like bees. Maybe the only sign you get, if you are lucky, is your nerves. You become uneasy and on edge. It is as if you had just done something wrong, like breaking a cup in the house. When mother comes home she lashes at you with her rod. She tears at you impetuously. No mercy can be traced in her veins.
When they arrive at your home, all hell breaks lose. Fire greets you at the doorway. Rage slaps you in the face. Fear grasps your arms. Hatred grabs you from the back. Then horror. Pain. Darkness.
Last week they lynched my grandmother. I remember it clearly. The tears still sting my eyes. My heart hasn’t stopped racing. I wish that day could be erased from my memory. How I wish.
We were seated round the fire, as usual. My stool was the tiny one, for the little children, she said. She was peeling the bananas for supper. Her hands worked fast and skilfully. She was focused, and experienced. Nyanya bent over occasionally to adjust the pot. It was cracked on one side. It threatened to pour out all the water it held so carefully. She pushed the firewood further in, and then she went back to work. Silently, she peeled. I was watching her intently, hoping to catch her attention. Maybe today she had another interesting story, at least I hoped so. I stared at her face. It was lined and etched like a macabre carving. Her skin was smooth, like soapstone. The folds on her cheeks were hunched together, as if protesting an injustice. They vibrated gently as she pulled and pushed at the firewood. Her nimble hands seemed adept.
I turned my gaze to the door. It was partly open. The air outside was still. It was formless in the dark. It had this urge to it, a desire to receive shape. It longed to be lifted up and thrown into order. The pitch darkness clung to it all the same. It gave me a sense of uncertainty, it was void, hopeless. I wished there be a stir. A simple movement somewhere. Something to raise my spirits. I rested my head on my knees and bent over. I was slowly being lulled to sleep. No breeze, no sound. It was just the consistent crackle of the fire.
Crack! A sudden shatter startled me back into reality. A cup had fallen off the shelf. Suddenly, there was an event. Maybe even the loudest commotion of the evening. I looked around to where the cup was and noticed a swift swish out of the door. Something had moved very fast. A tail then nothing. Long and brown: a cat. It was Fifi. I lay my head back on my lap. This time I folded my arms round my legs. I was getting cold. A dog wailed somewhere in the distance, maybe Fifi was going to have a better night than I.
When they arrive at your home, all hell breaks lose. Fire greets you at the doorway. Rage slaps you in the face. Fear grasps your arms. Hatred grabs you from the back. Then horror. Pain. Darkness.
Last week they lynched my grandmother. I remember it clearly. The tears still sting my eyes. My heart hasn’t stopped racing. I wish that day could be erased from my memory. How I wish.
We were seated round the fire, as usual. My stool was the tiny one, for the little children, she said. She was peeling the bananas for supper. Her hands worked fast and skilfully. She was focused, and experienced. Nyanya bent over occasionally to adjust the pot. It was cracked on one side. It threatened to pour out all the water it held so carefully. She pushed the firewood further in, and then she went back to work. Silently, she peeled. I was watching her intently, hoping to catch her attention. Maybe today she had another interesting story, at least I hoped so. I stared at her face. It was lined and etched like a macabre carving. Her skin was smooth, like soapstone. The folds on her cheeks were hunched together, as if protesting an injustice. They vibrated gently as she pulled and pushed at the firewood. Her nimble hands seemed adept.
I turned my gaze to the door. It was partly open. The air outside was still. It was formless in the dark. It had this urge to it, a desire to receive shape. It longed to be lifted up and thrown into order. The pitch darkness clung to it all the same. It gave me a sense of uncertainty, it was void, hopeless. I wished there be a stir. A simple movement somewhere. Something to raise my spirits. I rested my head on my knees and bent over. I was slowly being lulled to sleep. No breeze, no sound. It was just the consistent crackle of the fire.
Crack! A sudden shatter startled me back into reality. A cup had fallen off the shelf. Suddenly, there was an event. Maybe even the loudest commotion of the evening. I looked around to where the cup was and noticed a swift swish out of the door. Something had moved very fast. A tail then nothing. Long and brown: a cat. It was Fifi. I lay my head back on my lap. This time I folded my arms round my legs. I was getting cold. A dog wailed somewhere in the distance, maybe Fifi was going to have a better night than I.
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