Just Another Gay From Zimbabwe

Honeybee!!!

Today I woke up and stood in the mirror, and there was a lot that flashed through my mind as I gazed at my naked self. My eye traced my built and adored my whole being, and I thought to myself such a fine piece of art, “surely God was in a good mood when the thought of me came to him.” I have realized my presence is easily noticeable and my name so easy to grasp, but it has been an issue of contention when it comes to embracing me as a person, and the idea of making me a friend has never been for the faint-hearted. I am very accommodating and accepting. I have never liked to define how l relate to people based on the outer being but only what comes out of their soul. At one time, I was even conned in the CBD, thinking I am helping someone only to realize it's a needle approaching onto my iris, and I am one fucked up human being at this point. My mother had always told me, “Please watch out, not everyone is like you, mwanangu,” but l thought mama worries too much, and it would not hurt to chat and hear someone out.

My journey as a person is not a downhill joy ride; l found myself in a gloomy living space while in a lot of light. Thought of myself as a child how a lot of prejudice could evaporate with thin air because everyone was soaked into thinking children must discover themselves. Still, they always grow off certain things and become a blend of everything that has been patterned out before them by previous generations; however, that was not my narrative. At one point, l heard my mama talk to my aunties,” my child has queer behavior l don’t like,” and no one had ever paid attention to her. They would all laugh and continue to talk about other things but would say “siya mwana Viola,” and life would continue being fun and being a child and grow up like everybody else.

As a child, I was retarded to all sexual activity; l had never really known about it, but there was always a sensational feeling l had liked when l gawked at the bulge on a man’s pants. My grandmother had always called our little dicks “honeybee,” and she would crack into laughter after that, and l had always been shy about it. It was only after my cousin came to me and got us in a spare bedroom, and he said, whispering into my ear, “ngatinyenganei.” Before l could even respond, he had pulled my pants down and touched my tiny dick that did not reject him but responded with all excitement. He said, “ndokuita wozondiitawo,” and he opened his mouth and filled it with my erected penis, and the feeling was a divine touch I knew l wanted to experience more. When I got on my knees, l encountered his long-erectedpenis, the time my tongue touched his delicate piece and slid it into my mouth, there was followed by crying tones. I had never imagined anyone using their knees to give a moment of life and such pleasure but only to be thankful and ask for more but there!!! l was gracing his honeybee with the warm watery mouth. 

This act unleashed demons that were to haunt me for the rest of my life. I want to call my other cousin the first demon because he tormented me all day long. After our little fun act, my cousin went to vocalize to his friend, and my other cousin got the news flash, all the time, he laughed with his suppressed voice pointing out at Canaan Banana and in an old magazine that he had found who knows where. One of my aunts picked it and shouted, “Sam usanyepere vana.” He then exhibited his show to everyone, everyone’s eyes looked sharply at me, not even my fellow accused, and l protested, “he came on to me.” Later, when his mum came over to our place short of breath, and a shaky loud raspy voice directed at me for blaming her one and only son. Again, I am the glitch of it all. Before l could even respond, my mum slapped me multiple times. She gave me a guilty sentence just like everyone else until the angry aunt said with a pitiful compassionate face, “hiii aiwamusamurove mai Liberty.” Until this day, my mum never knew l was bullied and cursed at the whole time because that moment silenced me and took a voice away and convinced me to believe l am messed up somehow, that something is wrong with me.

Oh gosh, there is this uncle we called Isaiah because he never had a child with my aunt, he came over to the room my mum and l were renting and saw me play makeup artist on myself, and he coined the term “sisi Keith.”This he would only do in my mum's absence, who was highly protective, but because she hit me the last time over similar issues, l feared to tell her. I wouldn't say I liked Isaiah, who kept perpetuating my torment; luckily, my family has always had this attachment. If you are one of them, love overshadows everything. It was only now that I am grown when they attempted to have a meeting for me because l had crazy sex in a public toilet at the lake with my cousin’s uncle; oh man, how did l become this fucked up. L fight dirty, a very toxic tendency of mine because society pronounced me guilty, so l finally silenced Isaiah at the age of 12 when he had sent me to buy him 2-liter coke only to come back and found him lying on his bed with a huge black penis facing upwards. I had knocked on his door, and he invited me in, and l saw what real cock looked like, not the child play zone l was used to. I swear I would have asked to touch it! If he was not on my enemy list, however, l needed to get him off my back, and l told him am going to tell my mum and my aunt. He pleaded with me, and l told him you would no longer call me “sisi,” what a moment of victory and from then onwards if l asked him to buy me something, he would do it, after the title he had given me for three good years this was not blackmailed.

I started high school, and by then, l knew am not allowed to express anything, although my androgynous being was relaying reports to everyone about who l am. There was this guy called Sylvester. He was dark and had juicy red lips that he always stuck Vaseline on, and l lusted on him, everything about him made me melt and led me in deep thought about how he could work his lips on me, and l had always seen his penis printed on his shorts at the sports grounds where l looked forward to going. The sports days were the only time l could have all the cute men flaunt staff right before me and look freely without anyone noticing. After sports, life would get back to normal; these boys would wait for me and my friend Lovejoy to curse at us and make fun of us; sometimes they would threaten to beat us and burn us alive, somedays they would say they want to gang rape us since we thought ourselves as women. Sylvester was always my hero; he would come and brush them off to leave us alone, and he would continue messing around with girls. My other friend Shingi who was beautiful inside out, had come to tell me how this guy had asked her, “why do you talk to that faggot. This has been the scenario my friend and l  were permanently alienated from the rest of the boys. Even if we had wanted to participate in anything the choir, Scripture union, or any club, we were totally disregarded. We had to fight for our place in everything we did, and the fear of it all entangled in our hearts. We never even uttered a word to each other that had to do with being homosexual. It was only in Form 4 when my two friends came out to me in the school auditorium; although other people could not hear their sustained eye contact with us loudly spoke the hate, the reluctance, and the anger.  

At the end of it all, l am a badass, l hold myself accountable to do better, and it looks like the most significant deity who created time, and everything is in agreement. I became head boy, and bitches had to suck up, and I boasted in an elevated status. Speaking to myself, “l can't start thinking about college. It's another long story of victory, hostility, and journey to discovery.” I now see how this society is fucked up. Somehow, people are so misguided to others and ostracize them. Even Banana, my cousin had alluded me to, was denied a hero status because he enjoyed the same gender. However, stories were surrounding him of molestation and “sodomy,” as they call it.