Seminar

Why do people bring their four-course breakfast to the seminar?


09:04 Sitting in a gripping seminar on retention-in-care after HIV testing. A rustling noise to my left. She is reaching into her sack. Rustle rustle, rustle rustle. Rustle rustle rustle rustle. It wont stop.

09:06 Pungent odor of fried oil. To my left: in her hand a half-open ball of foil. Munching noises. Munch. Munch. I look discretely in-between slides. Some yellow, some brown - must be bacon and eggs. Damn. Its not like there is an excuse, they are serving cute little pastries in bite-sized pieces at this seminar.

09:10 Munch Munch - gulp. Crinkle crinkle munch. Crinkle. Crinkle. The crumpled up foil ball is now in the sack. The storm is over.

09:13 Slurp. Sluuuuuuuuurp. Slrp. Sluuuuuuuuuurp. Blow. Slrp. Sllllllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuurp. Blow blow. Slurpaaaaaaah. Gulp. Slurp Gulp. Slurrrrp. The slide changes before I get to read the regression results. Dammet. Slrp. Slp. Gulpaaah. Slurrrrrrrrp. ClosedMouthBurp. I look around me - no one is taking notice. Am I the crazy one?

09:15 peace and presentation of correlates of drop-out after initial positive rapid test.

09:17 crinkle crinkle. Crinkle. What?. Another sandwich? yes - with white in the middle - no odor detected. Crinkle munch. Munch munch munch munch gulp. Gulp gulp. Crinkle munch. Munch crinkle.

09:25 Crinkle Crinkle rustle rustle. Back in the sack.

09:30 rustle rustle. Rustle. Rustle. Shift in seat. Shift shift rustle. Rustle rustle. Out comes an orange. Sigh - Really? an orange? lady... Bite. Insert thumb. Peel. Peeeeeeeel. Peeel. Pungent orange fumes. Every where. Peeel peeel. Pl. Peeeeel.

09:32 Squish munch. Chew chew. Gulp. Squish munch gulp. Gulp. Smackaaaaah squish munch. Gulp smack. Gulpaaaaah.

09:45 peace and question and answer session.

Resolution

Never, never and never again will I creep up behind a friend on the street, at night and say "AAAAAAAGh, AAAAAAAAAgh" while shaking her by the shoulders.

Keletso Makofane
‎10:15pm. An empty(ish) street in Washington Heights.

Walking down 168th I see my friend Mar a few paces ahead of me. Idea pops into head, I implement. I sneak up quickly using stealthy steps, grab her shoulders, shake and say "AAAAAAARGH AAAAAARGH". She turns around in a frenzy and says "AAAAh PUTA!!!".

When Mar turns around, it becomes apparent that she actually is not Mar, she is some other lady with short brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

*awkward laugh*

Boys' School

Wandering eye, always look passed, not at. Don't meet his eye, never make contact. Wandering hand, always brush passed, not with the palm - it will give you away. The outside of the hand is better. Do it in your stride. Inadvertently collide with legs, butt, the small of his back. By accident. Never apologize, move on - your eyes will give you away. Your sweaty palms will give you away. Look passed, brush passed.

Hand on his shoulder. Not too long, not too short, put some force in it, not too lightly. Learn his burning sinews with your finger, you only have a little time to know them, know quickly. Take what you can, before he wizens to your lingering eye. Recall him later on your own in the dark. With all your heart, with all your hopelessness. Recall his random act of kindness - what did it mean?

Does he love me? Do I he? Of course not, my loves are many as the months. His will never be like mine.

As in chapel when you all kneel, as in class, as in choir, as at hockey practice - be vigilant, your body will betray you. Hockey tour change rooms, unabashed showers, swimming class in our regulation-royal-blue-speedos - water every where, not for drinking, but for drowning - be vigilant.

Why is he so beautiful and so mean? Why is she beautiful to him, not me?




*Image from: http://narqs.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html

(mis)Admiration

The first two paragraphs of my indulgent project to write about my young gayness (a tired genre). For your entertainment.

Many things were mislabeled as admiration. A deep yearning to emulate, to be, to feel like, to possess the body of, to speak like, to smell like, to attract girls like, to have soft hands like… to be with. There was a magazine ad for cologne that was burnt into the back of my eyelids. Water flowing across his smooth chest down his chiseled torso and forming a little tidal pool below his waist. He, sitting in a stream. Me, desperately trying to unbend the light through the eddies and to make visible his below-the-waist. Admiration. Look how attractive he is to women, I wish I could be that attractive. I wish I could have his white skin, and his blonde hair, and his copper-stubble chiseled jaw. A real man.

There was Ewan McGregor in The Pillow Book that one Friday night. Watched with finger on [CH +] button. There was no remote, or no batteries. I don’t remember. But I sat close to the TV and lowered the volume. My heart throbbed in my ears the first time he presented himself to the publisher, wearing nothing but calligraphy. And the second time, and the time after that. My chest labored. The fiery hair below his waist,##THIS PART IS CENSORED##. I was rapt. I wanted… something. Wanted for something, acutely. Painfully. I didn’t understand what…. the scene where he seduces his publisher (a man). Two men in bed. I did not understand what they were doing. But it captured me. I couldn’t explain it.

(c) me, btw.

Queer Malawi

I was just reading a small collection of the stories of queer Malawians. In very simple and deeply personal terms, they share their loves and losses and the time when they first knew. The perilous balancing act - close friends know and close family suspect ("who would pay my tuition if my mother knew?"). The law is unrelenting, the church is hostile and it is hard to find community. Dignity and safety are not guaranteed. Despite the conditions, or maybe because of the conditions, there is a courage and resolve to live and to love themselves.

Each person whose story is published in the booklet talked about an object they possessed that means something to them - these are my favorite four objects:

Sabina: Mirror
"The mirror reflects how beautiful I am. I cannot go a day without looking in the mirror. It reflects the kind of person I am. It shows me the facts. It shows me how I feel about myself."

Charisma Maseko: A Stone
"One evening I was walking and someone shouted at me, 'We don't want you people, we will deal with you gays'. He threw a stone at me, but it missed me by an inch. I picked up the stone. I still keep the stone to this day to remind me of this incident. He thought he was stoning me but rather he gave me a precious message. A stone is always intact and maintains its original composition. So too, is my sexuality - it is original, genuine and intact."

Shy Amanda: A Pair of Porcelain Clogs
"The clogs are a reminder of a lady from Holland. She game me the clogs when she realised I was gay and she told me a story about her lesbian friend in England who used to wear clogs. She said the clogs should remind me of her, because she is family."

Monnahrisa: A cellphone
"My cell phone is very important to me. I can kiss through the phone. When I'm sad I can text, and get a lovely text back. I can have a girlfriend, even if she's far away we can feel through the phone. I love a cell phone for communication."




*Queer Malawi: Untold Stories. Centre for the Development of People (CEDEP), Malawi. Gay and Lesbian Memory in Action (GALA), South Africa.

The CT Pride Pink Ball

I have been receiving emails meant for the volunteers of this year's Cape Town Pride festivities. Today's email talks about the upcoming Pink Ball. They are flying in a speaker from the U.S.:

You will also be privileged to be addressed by Melanie Nathan. US based, South African born and qualified, Melanie is internationally recognised for being outspoken on LGBTI and women’s rights issues and her writings about corrective rape have been enormously significant in terms of getting the SA Ministry of Justice to consider legislation. This is an address not to be missed! Thank You to British Airways for flying Melanie to South Africa!

Why is Cape Town Pride flying someone in from the US to address the issue of Corrective Rape, when there are people in Cape Town and in South Africa who have not only survived but have created safe-spaces for women, and have organized around this and other issues that affect women? Working class lesbian women (who bear the brunt of homophobic violence) can speak for themselves. We need not speak for them, and we need not speak about them. Working-class LGBT-identified organizations and their leaders do not lack intelligence, they lack resources. We should be creating opportunities to learn about their needs and their strategies, with the purpose of supporting those needs and strategies.

What a wasted opportunity Cape Town Pride!