The Best Book I Have Ever Read

I got this idea from Even Steven – who recently posted an interesting expose of his favorite reading. Something else entirely has been eating at me for months until I read Even Steven’s article. And then I realized that I can get this personal matter off my chest in form of an allusion to my all time, favorite novel; Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.

First, a synopsis of Great Expectations:

The story is about a young man, Pip, who is frightened into helping an escaped convict by stealing for him food and brandy from his sister’s larder. The convict is soon recaptured and returned to jail. Nearby lives a rich woman, Miss Havisham, who long ago closed herself off from the world on the day she was jilted by a man on her wedding day. She lay waste to her huge mansion and stopped her life on the day she was jilted. Miss Havisham has brought up a young girl called Estella, who is about Pip’s age and who Pip gets besotted with even though she is cold and nasty to him. Miss Havisham senses that Pip likes Estella and she exhorts him to love her even when she is cruel and mean to him. “If she breaks your heart … love her, lover her, lover her” Havisham maniacally urges the young boy who laps it all up. Miss Havisham’s rotting existence comes to represent everything Pip wants to be and he becomes tangibly embarrassed about his own more humble life at the forge with the bungling but caring Joe Gargery whose manners he now finds coarse and uncouth. Pip feels that he deserves better from his life but has no prospects of moving up.

So, it is a welcome surprise when Pip is told that a secret benefactor has put aside money for him to go to London to become a gentleman. He duly goes to London, sure that Miss Havisham is his secret benefactor and proceeds to live it up. He lives extravagantly, spends lavishly, gets deep into debt and becomes snooty with his old friends, including Joe whose manners he finds irritating and unrefined.

Finally, Pip’s secret benefactor shows up one London night. It is the convict he once stole food for! Pip is devastated. He all along thought he was being groomed to a classy person by Miss Havisham so that he can marry Estella. Worse, he soon discovers that Estella is not of classy origin herself, but that she is the daughter of another career criminal. By now Pip is bankrupt and about to be jailed. Joe Gargery steps in and pays off Pip’s debts. Estella marries a high class man who publicly humiliates and physically abuses her. Pip returns to Joe’s forge, humbled and chastised – and certainly a more honorable man than the pretentious upstart who left all those years ago.

What has this timeless classic got to do with me? For one, I cannot think of a better book to teach one about accepting your relatives as they are. For another, I think it is one of the best illustrations I can come up of how breeding is about the unconditional devotion we show for those we should care about.

Another truism from this novel is that money indeed doesn’t buy happiness. Yes, poverty doesn’t buy happiness either (and Joe Gargery proves this when, from his humble means, he pays off Pip’s debts) but we fool ourselves if we think that money does a man make. Miss Havisham is one of the richest people in Great Expectations – as well as one of the worst in character, at least until she realizes the folly of her ways and tries to make amends.

The level of selfishness Pip shows is all too common in our ‘me, me, me’ world today where many of us think that life is about just us. But, indeed, we don’t (or shouldn’t) think only of ourselves, and life is about the relationships we develop as well as what we do for others without expecting anything in return. The clumsy, ill-educated but intensely faithful and loyal Joe Gargery thus turns out to be the most noble character in this absolutely timeless novel. Another lesson here, surely, that class and breeding are not about how well schooled one is.

The selfishness I see in our existence is perhaps the biggest lesson I draw from Great Expectations. When people think that life is just about them, let them. What goes around comes around and they will get their comeuppance in due course. But that doesn’t make for easy living with the kind of selfishness, yes even downright ungrateful behavior we display in our lives. Joe Gargery opted to keep quiet about this trait in his friend, Pip, and only stepped in to help when he absolutely had to. The trick then is to know when to step away from such people and let nature take them where it will.

And there … I have taken it off my chest. Written perhaps 150 years ago, Great Expectations remains absolutely relevant even today. Dickens still has a lot to teach all of us, and for that he deserves to be forever saluted.

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My Days of Traveling "Coach" are Numbered 3

I stepped off a KLM trans-continental flight last evening. My back hurts from the cramped seat I cooped myself in, my neck is stiff from the lack of cushioning and my head is still buzzing from the drone of aircraft engines. Sixteen hours of flying plus a seven and a half hour layover in Amsterdam’s Schipol Airport of course didn’t help matters.

The first thing that really rankled, and led me to start thinking seriously that my days of traveling coach (‘economy’ to anyone outside of the United States) must come to an end were seats 41G and 42G on the US-bound legs. Yes, both those seats are in the back, right next to the toilet, beyond which you find the trolley-dolly galley.

Now, AfroGay stands well above 6 feet. Someone once tried to figure out the legroom space in the coach section of modern aircraft. I don’t recall the results of their efforts but what I know is that unless I sit at the exit section, I struggle to fit my legs into the spaces clearly meant for smaller (lesser?) people. And airlines figured out some years ago that exit seats are highly coveted so they now sell them for a premium to those who want to sit in them. And there is no shortage of people willing to pay the surchage to stretch their legs so there is also a clamor to pay and one is thus lucky to get the exit seats.

But, as always, I digress. After we landed in Schipol, at 5am in the morning, I proceeded to check out what I would do with myself to while away the next seven hours before my connecting flight. Having traveled coach of course meant that I was not important enough to be invited to the swanky KLM Lounge that the better traveled and well heeled passengers headed to. Never mind that most of them likely have not paid for their accumulated air miles themselves (isn’t that what business class means – your ticket being paid for by ‘business?”), men and women purposely sauntered past me and headed to the “By invitation only” lounges as though they owned them.

And those signs with the pictures promising nice, cushy seats made me green with envy. You see, I have visited such lounges on other trips in the past (usually in the company of someone who had somehow qualified for invitation) so I know how comfortable they can be; soft lounge chairs that allow you to relax, the unregulated supply of beverages, the free internet access and the feeling of importance they accord those who have the special invitations. So, I secretly chafed at the passengers who breezed by me to the comfortable confines of the exclusive lounges.

And so I kept on wandering aimlessly around Schipol, cursing my coach travel and its pathetic lack of frills. Finally, totally exhausted, bleary eyed and even a little cranky at the lack of sleep I decided to head to the ‘resting’ chairs. Every single one of them was occupied but even if that hadn’t been the case, I felt that AfroGay didn’t really belong to the type of company that graced the so-called ‘resting’ chairs. No need to go into details about the types that were lying in them; suffice to say that almost all of them looked bedraggled, carried luggage that looked like chickens had used it as a nest and emitted odors that left one wondering when they had last had a proper shower. No, this was not a place AfroGay was going to lose his diva-ness.

The solution I eventually conjured up was to head to the hotel shower ($25.00) and shower for 20 minutes longer than I needed to. Then I stopped by the Wifi internet section and paid for 90 minutes of connectivity ($15.00). Thereafter, I headed to the restaurant downstairs and bought myself a bread egg/bacon roll, sausage roll and a cup of tea ($15.00). A hot water refill followed ($5.00) and I toyed with that for the next 30 minutes while I did the Guardian’s crossword puzzle I had picked up at the aircraft embarkation in Entebbe. I woke up with my pen resting on a clue that had eluded me for a while. I didn’t know when I had dozed off or how long I had been asleep. Focusing again on the elusive clue (in reality not wanting to look up to see if anyone had noticed me sleeping over my crossword) I solved it and stood up to check on my flight. There was still 3 hours before it was due. Yawwwwwn!

Flying coach, while cheap, is unglamorous, the seating tight, the babies in coach seem to wail louder than ambulance sirens and the drone of the aircraft engines seems to be deliberately designed to be loudest in the coach class. If you happen to be also unlucky to sit near the toilet as I was on both legs of my return journey, you then also suffer the indignity of constantly listening to the suction sounds as passengers’ flush down their excrement even if you can ignore those who stand over you while waiting their turn to visit the ablutions.

No, AfroGay deserves better. His days of traveling coach must come to an end even if he has to pay for a business class seat with love or money.

And I haven’t even bothered with the hassle and humiliation I suffered while checking my luggage at Washington Dulles on the first leg of my trip. That will be for another day, perhaps after I get my brain back into its proper shape. Right now I need to sleep off the totally disorienting feeling of flying that traveling coach inflicted on me.

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Boda Boda Stories 2

I rode the Boda Bodas on my recent trip to Uganda. Lots of them.

For the uninitiated, boda bodas are motor bikes that ply the streets of Kampala, ferrying anything from human beings to household pets and even out-sized mattresses. I can’t dig up the picture now but I can assure you that I once saw a boda boda carrying a pillion passenger who was balancing a 6’0″ door in front of him. I really did.

But this is not about the absolutely incongruous sites one witnesses just by opening one’s eyes and observing boda boda shenanigans. This is about some of the conversations AfroGay had while riding pillion on boda bodas.

First, the basics. One needs to select one’s boda boda ‘driver’ carefully. Watch out for those spotting bleary or bulbous eyes; they may be suffering from lack of sleep or may be on an illegal narcotic – both utterly fatal in Uganda’s traffic jungle. Also get as close to them as you can in order to ‘suss’ out their body hygiene. There is nothing like riding with someone who stinks to high hell. Most of the riders are young but you can still tell those who are more experienced by the comfortable way they straddle their bikes or languidly handle themselves around customers. Anyone who seems too eager to take you places is likely to zip too hastily around Kampala’s ubiquitous potholes and mad traffic.

My most memorable ride was with Julius (real name) whose last name shall remain off record to protect his identity. Greetings over, and my lecture about taking care not to get overzealous out of the way, I hopped on, insisted on greetings introductions and off we went. The conversation went as follows, conducted in Luganda in its entirety so this is a translation:

AfroGay (A): Owange gwe Julius … Be careful not to hit that woman’s car.
Julius (J): Don’t worry sir, I shall not. … Naye abakaze nze bantama (I am fed up with women) … I am now looking to date a man because I have had terrible experiences with women.
A (curious but unsure whether I had heard Julius right): Really? And what makes you think that dating men is any better?
J: For one, if you date a fellow man (I was now sure I had heard right the first time, but I was still shocked at what Julius was saying, and was thus hanging on a little tightly) you are dealing with someone who understands you and who will not nag you endlessly.
A (deciding that there was no point being coy if Julius was this direct): Well, I am not sure about that. Men, too, can be nags and they come with their own baggage.
J: Men will not ask you for money because they can at least make their own. In addition, they can’t entrap you with unexpected pregnancies.
A: It is true about the pregnancy but I am not sure about asking you for money since, in my experience, men do ask for money for airtime, drinks and transport home.
J: With a man you can at least discuss with an equal and you can develop each other without any one thinking that the other has to do everything.
A: That is also true only to an extent. For instance, you cannot discuss as equals if one man has much more money than the other.
J: What I mean is that man to man loving (okwagala omusajja) is not as complicated. I am 24 and I think that if I dated a man we would be able to find out whether we were meant for each other without the complications of his family trying to force me to marry him or him getting accidentally pregnant. Women come with too many complications.
A: Really? Is that your experience?
J: Yes. I messed around with this girl and then she told me she was pregnant.
A: Oh, didn’t you love her?
J: No, it was just playing around.
A: So, what did you do?
J: I told her she could move in with me and I supported her through the pregnancy. She gave birth three days ago but the problem is that I don’t even know whether I am responsible for the baby since I suspect that she was playing around with other men.
A: So, perhaps your wanting to date men is because you have had a bad experience with this woman.
J: That is likely, yes. But I had also thought about dating a man instead so the thought was not caused by just this woman.
A: Have you found the man yet?
J: Not yet but I am not likely to go out with women in the future.
A: But isn’t dating a man impossible in Uganda?
J: Everything is possible if you want it. Besides, dating a fellow man would be easy to hide because no one would really know what was going on.
A: Well, you have a point about dating men. They don’t get pregnant and you can certainly date a man for years without them or you thinking that you have wasted time if things don’t work out. Women start thinking about marriage almost before they are out of school and if you have not mentioned marriage two years into dating them, they start thinking that you are wasting their time.
J: Kyeekyo (that’s it).
A: But do you think you would enjoy sex with a man in the same way you do with a woman?
J: Kyoka mukulu ombuziza ekibuuzo! (What a question to ask!) …

Pregnant pause as we maneuvered around Kampala’s traffic and potholes.

A: Well, you understand of course that dating a man also involves having sex with him.
J: I know that.
A: Have you thought about what that would mean?
J (without missing a beat): Ekyo sikirinako nsonga (That doesn’t worry me). When I compare the two, it is clear to me that dating a man would be less of a headache for me. I am 24 and don’t want to be married to anyone until I am at least 30 because I don’t think I will know the right person for me until then. But if I date a woman, I will not have the chance to find out what I really want because she will be introducing me to her parents and asking to move in with me. I now want less complications and so I want to have a relationship with a man.

Sadly, at this point, we had arrived at my destination.

A: Well, Julius, since you have thought about things so clearly, it seems to me what you have to do is find a man to date.
J: Kyeekyo mukulu (yes, sir).

Julius flashed me a beautiful smile through perfectly white teeth, accepted the 5,000/= I paid him and bade me goodbye. I walked on to my appointment in a state of disbelief that I had just had such a conversation in Kampala with a man I didn’t know and who also cannot have known me from Adam. I think I was more stunned by the casual way the entire discussion had flowed – it was like the way two strangers might discuss being a vegetarian as opposed to being a meat lover.

Sadly, though I saw Julius again only from a distance, this time I was riding in a car on my way back home. I rode the boda boda from Julius’ stage twice thereafter but he wasn’t around on both occasions and so I didn’t get any more information about his progress with finding a man or lack thereof.

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Is the Notion of a Sexually Active Catholic Clergy Really Tenable?

I was raised Catholic (for the most part) but no longer consider myself as belonging to any particular religion.

It is not that I don’t believe in God – I do. It is just that despite, perhaps because of, countless masses I attended as a child, I developed a deep skepticism about aspects of the Catholic religion that I likely will never shed. The focus of my skepticism coalesced around Primary 5 (roughly fifth grade), in the ritual of confession that we were told we had to undergo if we had to receive the ‘body and blood’ of Christ during mass.

When, during confession, I admitted to a real “sin,” meaning a failing I had actually fallen foul to, I got absolution from my priest. But at that age one can only sin so much and with daily masses to attend, one sometimes ran out of sins and was forced to make something up in the confession booth. In such circumstances, I still received forgiveness for my imaginary sins and was directed to chant so many Hail Marys as part of my penance.

It gradually dawned on me that the priests didn’t actually have any power to forgive my sinning. That fueled my disinclination to attend confession which I increasingly saw as pointless. Receiving the body of Christ during mass logically became a no-no (something to do with the sin of receiving Christ without going to confession) and by the time I was 16, I saw myself more as a Christian and less as a staunch Catholic. I eventually made a conscious decision to let my hitherto unquestioning Catholic dedication lapse when I was about 16 years old.Today, I believe in God but not in any formal religion.

But this is not meant to be about my lack of religious fervor, rather the rules of any faith and whether there is any obligation on anyone to belong to any faith.

It is not lost on me that I was able to do that because belonging to any faith is voluntary. In addition, we can exercise independent volition and change faiths. So, one can at various times in their life be a Catholic, Anglican, Baptist, Buddhist, Muslim or Jehovah’s Witness etc. Religion is thus not a straight jacket that we are locked into.

As a gay man, the Catholic religion has little attraction for me unless my right to exist as a Catholic gay man is accepted. Since, as each successive Pope has made it a point to remind me, there seems little chance of that happening, I remain free to exercise my choice to keep Catholicism at arm’s length.

But what about priests and other men and women of the cloth who choose to join a faith with already set rules and then knowingly violate them?

Though it was/is all just rumor and innuendo, the accusations of homosexual activity leveled against Father Musaala, Pastor Kayanja and the rest highlight a conundrum that is hard to ignore. Any aspiring Catholic priest has to accept the premise that they should never have any sex whatsoever for the rest of their lives. If they feel that this might be an impossible demand, they have the choice to opt for pastoral work that doesn’t demand celibacy and, under current Catholic diktat, this must be away from the priesthood. Yes, they might join the calling in the expectation that they will resist temptation but once they fail to resist their base human instincts it becomes a different kettle of fish. The same goes for clergy with homosexual inclinations that they feel they might act upon during the course of their vocation.

Father Cutie

While it is understandable that one might join a calling without being aware that the vicissitudes of life will lead them to carnal temptation, it is less so when people with choices stay within the confines of a calling whose demands they know they cannot adhere to or, worse, they are not interested in adhering to.

To this end, the story of Father Alberto “Cutie” is instructive. He failed to live up to his vows of celibacy and was photographed cavorting with a woman on a beach. When the scandal broke, “Father Cutie” (real name Gonzalez) resigned from the Catholic priesthood, changed to a faith that didn’t demand celibacy and eventually married the woman in the photos. Almost all commentaries agree that the Catholic Church lost more than Father Cutie did since his pastoral work spoke for itself, and Father Cutie has already moved on, continuing with his ministering but this time with a wife, and presumably happiness, to go home to at the end of the day.

Where then does that live those who seek to have religion(s) embrace elements of humanity that the religions themselves don’t want to embrace? In the dog-house I fear.

If a religion demands that its priests must not have any kind of sex, so be it. Any would-be priest has the choice to join or not. Indeed any priest has the option to leave that faith just as Father Cutie did. If they don’t leave, and insist on carrying on their amorous ways, they can and should be excommunicated. That is why it is mystifying that the Catholic Church in Boston and Ireland chose to move priests around after they were accused of (and many proved to have) sexually molested children. Why on earth didn’t the Church just excommunicate them and give them up to law enforcement authorities to answer for their crimes?

Obviously, I am on precarious ground here because Father Musaala (in particular) is well known to me and I have the deepest affection and respect for him. That said, if he is indeed gay, it seems to me that he owes it to his conscience to decide whether it is tenable for him to continue practicing as a Catholic priest given the accusations that have been labeled against him. Is staying in the priesthood the more honorable position to take for a man who cannot, perhaps will not, give up partaking of what his Church forbids? Men like Pastor Kayanja and Kiwewesi, both of whom have been accused of homo-sodomy by a retinue of young men and whose names have been bandied about in Ugandan gay circles for years are in a slightly different category albeit for a different reason.

Kayanja’s palatial lakeside home

Kayanja and Kiwewesi are more or less accountable to no one since they set up these Pentecostal churches and practically created the rules along which they would run them. Their amassing of astonishing fortunes is also well known, so one expects that if they have no compunction about using money collected from their gullible and/or vulnerable followers to build ostentatious lakeside homes, they will not have any guilt about luring young men into their vestries and sodomizing them or asking the boys to sodomize them. Their cynicism barely disguised, there is ample evidence to suggest that these two men went into the pastoral vocation for their own selfish ends above everything else.

But Father Musaala is a modest man and there is no doubt in my mind that he joined the priesthood to do God’s work so that he can help others achieve spiritual fulfilment. That he remains without the trappings of wealth and ostentation that Kayanja and Kiwewesi openly flaunt also goes to confirm his selflessness as far as his priestly vocation is concerned. Yet, since the rules of the Catholic Church were well known to him when he joined, and the rules have not changed to date, it stands to reason that Father Musaala’s position as a Catholic priest has to be untenable if indeed he is actively gay. Father Cutie showed that there is a second and third way. It seems to me that Father Cutie’s was the high road that many priests who fall short of their celibacy vows must consider sooner rather than later.

The solution then is a simple one; either the Catholic Church relaxes its stand on celibacy or any priests that cannot abide by the celibacy demands should find an alternative avenue for their pastoral service. One suspects that if enough priests were bold enough to vote with their conscience (and loins), the Catholic Church would be forced to take a serious look at the whole celibacy stipulation, a stipulation that is not demanded by Biblical fiat, and which doesn’t make the least bit of sense in this day and age when there are so many options for anyone who might want to be a priest but who doesn’t understand why serving God should be at the expense of one’s own worldly happiness.

I Have Bought Myself Two Pleasers 1

There is this White Attire gay party (about 600 gay boys and girls gather in Washington, DC, with everyone dressed in white) coming up next month and I have just bought myself two pairs of shoes to wear to it; white 3″ slippers with faux fur and 4.5″ stiletto glass heels.

While I miss my days in the sweltering dust bowl that is Kampala, I must admit I don’t miss the lack of variety when it came to shopping. It didn’t matter who you were or who you knew, there were things you couldn’t get for love or money. One such item was/is decent shoes. And if, like AfroGay, you were a size 13+, you were done for since not even the sandals made out of cut-up tires in Owino Market were made that big. Can you imagine a custom-made tire sandal not fitting one? It was as humiliating as it was heart-breaking.

So, living in the “First World” is wonderful in so much as one can click a mouse or drive to the mall and get any item of clothing or footwear.

And so I decided to take advantage of the fact that I am living in the First World, clicked a mouse and bought myself a pair of size 16 Pleaser slippers and stiletto heels. My fashion consultant suggests that size 13 male feet fit into size 16 heels so I shall find out when my purchases arrive.

Now, y’all transvestite cross-dressing queens don’t send me gushing e-mails about how excited you are that I have joined your club. This is just a fun purchase for me and I am going to wear glass heels for kicks rather than any desire to trade my usual underwear (less) existence for Victoria’s Secrets knickers and my Ferragamos for Mary Janes. Oh, no, no, no.

And I am assured that I should have at least three or four good rounds of usage before I tire of teetering in my Pleasers. Four rounds? That is quite more than I had banked on. You see, if I had to wear these slippers in Kampala, there is little likelihood that they would survive the evening given the clouds of red dust that rise up literally from underneath your feet and settle on anything and everything. And if you are unlucky enough for it to rain, that’s it – you take the shoes off and walk bear feet or you resign yourself to walking around in a mud soaked mess. Both choices are not terribly elegant even if you survive your feet getting cut by flints, broken bottles and discarded garbage that decorates Kampala’s streets.

Why purchase two pairs of Pleasers for the same event? Simple. I am counting on being so fabulous in the 4.5″ clear stiletto heels, but also counting on struggling to stay perched in them for the entire evening – you know, hurting this and that … if you get my drift. So, I am preparing plan B which is the 3″ slippers. Those will come in handy once the stiletto heels begin to encroach on my fabulousness. Besides, it will also help other diva wannabes put a foot in if I lower myself a little, closer to their level, by switching from 4.5″ to 3″ heels. AfroGay is not one to be selfish and wouldn’t hear of upstaging everyone the entire evening. So, he will share the limelight with the lesser divas … later in the evening. And why not share if it helps everyone have a good time all round?

As for what happens at the White Party, I am reliably informed that it will not be Vegas (where what happens there stays there) so … watch this space.

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Gay Lifestyle Versus Being Gay; what is the difference? 9

There is a popular misconception among many discussants where a homosexual lifestyle and being homosexual are concerned. In her response to me, Ms. Gwen Richardson summarizes the misunderstanding perfectly in her comments:

I must also add that this whole idea that someone who has engaged in homosexual behavior, has since ceased this and if, subsequently, they have any desires along these lines means they are lying or living a double life is based on a false premise. The false premise is that anyone who decides to make a lifestyle change, of any sort, can never have an urge in that direction in the future. Otherwise, the person is living a double life.

Ms. Richardson mixes apples and oranges. Engaging in homosexual conduct is one thing; being homosexual is quite another. Anyone can have sex with those of their own sex but that doesn’t mean they are homosexual. Richardson highlighted cases in schools and prisons where that sort of thing happens, and of course she is absolutely right. We also know that many boys looking for money will have homosexual sex without necessarily being gay. This is quite common, for instance, along the coastal areas of Kenya where tourists will pay boys for sex. These kinds of boys can drop their homosexual activity or lifestyle at the snap of a finger or if the motivation for money wanes or is removed.

A man or woman who leaves what everyone assumes is a happy home and makes elaborate effort to bond and sleep with a fellow man or woman is not cheating for kicks. He/she is looking for a type of love that he is not getting with a person of the opposite gender. One such man, as we all know, is the former pastor, Ted, Haggard. He preached that homosexuality was wrong, stood on the pulpit and inveighed against it while he was willingly having regular sexual relations with a man. That means that Pastor Haggard had homosexual feelings that he couldn’t do anything about because they were part of him. Homosexuality was thus not a lifestyle to him, it was his very being.

Now, you can argue that Ted Haggard’s heterosexuality was a lifestyle choice since we know he was living a lie. He was and still is gay despite his best attempts to convince everyone else otherwise. There can be no other reasonable explanation why a man who had so much to lose, and whose faith constantly ate at him, would choose that which he knew would destroy him unless that is what he has always been. In fact, he admitted that he had always had the feelings and, even after his world collapsed around him, that he was still struggling with his homosexual feelings. That is not a man who can turn his real sexuality on and off like a tap.

The point Richardson and many others miss is that while being gay might be a lifestyle for some, for instance the money boys on the beaches of Mombasa and Lamu, it is an integral part of life for millions all over the world. Homosexuality is obviously not just a lifestyle for people like Ted Haggard and Don McLurkin who have admitted to having the gay feelings even if not acting on them. It is also not a lifestyle for those who have never had any sexual or emotionally unitive feelings for those of the opposite sex, and who have no wish to change. It is not a lifestyle choice for those who pine for same gender love even when they are virgins or when they are not having any kind of sex at all.

I am firmly in the ‘gay being’ category. Being gay is essentially who I am and I don’t want it any other way. So, to talk of my gay lifestyle is to separate me from who I am, and to reduce my being to a sex act. It is to suggest that who I am and my sexuality are two different entities – yet they are not. I cannot (and do not want to) turn to women and enjoy both a sexually and emotionally unitive union with them because I cannot identify sexually, spiritually, emotionally with women. For me, therefore, talking about my gay lifestyle is similar to talking about my African lifestyle when it is impossible for me to be anything other than African. All I have is my life, my existence, my well-being, my very essence for living – and that is as a gay man. I will presume to argue that that is exactly the same case with Ted Haggard and Don McLurkin who opt to stifle their feelings and opt for a straight lifestyle. It is also the same for many of my friends who have given up the ghost and accepted who they are and, instead, chosen happiness over expedience. Our being gay is not a lifestyle; it is our life!

I think it is not relevant when, where or how an intrinsically gay man or woman started having the feelings if you are considering the business of a happy existence. That is a subject that psychologists can bother themselves with but gays, wherever they are, who don’t want to have it any other way must be allowed to live their lives just like a black woman who is struggling to make a success of her life in America. I have no interest in establishing how or why I am gay because it is pointless for me to do so when I cannot wake up in the arms of the man I love. I gain nothing from it and would rather use my time in the pursuit of happiness as a gay man. I would imagine that Ms. Richardson also has no interest in pursuing why or how she is a black woman in America except for historical edification.

But even if someone could read God’s mind and establish why he created such diversity in the world, it would be pointless for me to try and be anything else because I am happy being what I am. Those who are unhappy with their sexuality (Ted Haggard, Don McLurkin etc.) can seek cures and salvation from wherever it is promised. If they get it, fine. But their quest for something different should not be the benchmark for judging my life as a contented gay man.

To this end, Antony Menchetti’s loose interpretation of Genesis 1:27 comes to mind:

If God loves and accepts us as we are, why do we have to be straight to be more blessed?

If Gwen Richardson or anyone else ever answers that question to my satisfaction [read, if they decipher God's mind], perhaps I, too, will consider converting to a straight “lifestyle.”

In Memory of

Patrick Kahoozi III

This blog is in memory of my friend, Patrick Kahoozi III (Sept 73-Feb 08).

You are still much loved.

Rest in peace my dear friend.