There was a time in this ever-evolving world of ours when homosexuality was deemed a psychiatric disorder. The Diagnostic and statistical manual characterised and gave leeway for people, both professionals in the medical domain and ordinary folk the right to not only pose judgement, but to have a leg to stand on in marginalising homosexuals. This marginalisation succeeded to an extent because some homosexuals sought the help of these scientists with a cure, finally they –in most cases gay men- would expect release from the chains of the beast called true self. I, like many others born into a society with a level of sanity and rationality, however minimal, did not have to experience such harshness from the medical institutions or others. However, I did experience levels of homophobia on a personal level. My brother was the first person to point out that something was wrong with me. I remember the one time I came back from school with a knitting kit. I was just sitting there and about to start and he said “wetsang ka ntho tsa banyana?” I could not understand what he meant, I mean everyone at school was permitted to knit, both boys and girls, and now in the comfort of my home I was told that what I was doing was effeminate. My sister, luckily for me, jumped to my rescue and told him to get off my back. I laughed and simply continued the task at hand, which by the way required above-average hand-eye co-ordination and high levels of concentration. Days went by and I continued doing what I enjoyed i.e. choir (singing first soprano), knitting, having my nose in the books and generally being around girls.
The “something is wrong with you” interaction came once more when I was in grade 3. Then and there boys were mean asses, out to say whatever came to mind and the other problem was that they were not afraid to get physical about what they believed in. I remember this particular ass- hole in primary school making a remark, loudly as I walked through the school yard about my demeanour. I did not do anything, just continued walking. But then with days passing and more remarks I decided to retaliate. I am not one gifted with a robust physical structure, but lord knows-and I thank him- for I have an agile and strong vocal tract coupled with some brain cells to rub together. So I began the ever so fulfilling journey to curse-Ville, this was my manner of retaliation back then. Whenever a moron would make nasty remarks about who I am, I did the same thing and it was ten-fold in intensity. This helped but sometimes it got me into even bigger trouble as I was promised a beating after school, that’s if it did not happen immediately. Some boys would go as far as asking if I was a boy or girl, my remark “botsa ntatao”. I somehow knew that by saying that I would get them to keep quiet and angered enough to paralyse them. This was a way for me to degrade the carrier whose loins produced them, which served a snowball effect; by de-masculinising their fathers it somehow reflected on them as well, two birds with one stone sort of thing. These asses got angry and some charged at me, I ran away, typically to the teacher. If I was with my friends then they would step up and tell the idiot to leave me alone. This resulted in no after-school beatings or scars on my face (kneels and sighs).
However, by the time high school came I began wondering if something was indeed wrong with me. I looked at all the boys in my grade and at home and realised that they would hang out together, while I was with the girls. They started sounding different as their voices ‘broke’, while I still had the same high-pitched voice. They had pimples…uh… the only thing I did not question but gladly accepted, as I had the smoothest skin (emphasis on ‘had’). And the most important realisation; my feelings for this other chap (heart eyes). I swear he would simply be wiping his nose and the reason for my existence would be evident (dramatization), but hey you get what I mean. For a whole year I did not entirely entertain these feelings and instead fell into the pit of peer pressure and courted a girl (yuck). This relationship was lovely, best-friends sort-of-lovely, and I even shared a lip-lock with her. This went on for about two months or so, and just as I was beginning to go with the flow of being with a girl she asked me if I was gay. Can anyone spell A N G E R? That is what I experienced as she breathed those words; I gawked at her, motionless, and eventually walked away. That was the beginning of the end for her and me. I was heartbroken as I walked home in the evening, the clouds gathered (this is the truth) and I thought how funny, the outside world is mimicking exactly how I was feeling on the inside… to be continued
teary eyes
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