SPHERES (Final Part)

By J. Sisulu Mwanga

I am a better gentleman than what Sauti Sol and P-Unit sing about. I call Gillo, the watchman and send him to the supermarket. Waiting for him to lumber up the stairs to fifth floor, I peer into the fridge and they have ransacked it; opened cans of desiccated coconut milk – both the yellow colour label sweetened and blue colour label unsweetened- pure shagzmondoz (primitive people)! And both bacon packs – beef and pork – are slit open. I pour myself a glass of scotch and light a Dunhill. 

They frown, and say ‘Sigara!!!’ Na pombe, itakuua!’ (Cigarette and liquor will finish you) Well, its scotch bought by my own money and yes, I can read the placards on my cigarette package, duhh! I wrote the tobacco legislation working at the A.G’s! I know my choices well, what are yours? Sprawling on my couch twitching my remote while the bed I left you in at 9 a.m. is not spread?

You are not and will not be a mboch (househelp). I intend not to make you my mboch. But dear, clean after yourself, the plates – coconut milk, cereals and bacon and Nidos, the soda bottle – you drunk directly from a bottle, yuck! And you feign class? - And water glass and desiccated coconut milk cups are seducing flies on the coffee and dining table. My precious Dutch oven porcelain, is unwashed, rotting away soaked in salty Mombasa borehole water. The pan that fried varied bacon still seats greasy on the burners! My stand alone Simfer electro-gas oven and burner is unwiped! Dude, even if you are the dream bottom, wacha ikae (let it be)!

 Your usual musical treat is in order at this point I guess...

In this sewage of queerdom, I will fuck around and grow old alone and lonely. I will keep my sovereignty. Fuck the idealistic gay love I imbibed fearing I will be labeled ‘mtu wa ngozi’. I am grown full circle. I have preached and mis-preached at the temple-Tacos Balcony; screwed pre-prime meat, kept and paid school fees for a man; gone to someone’s nyalgunga -the grandma remembers me five years down the line -; I have had that gay men ‘fighting-for-me’ drama on my door step at 2 a.m. – the hour of leopards-; and I crave to take ngwaci and bananas and whatever else rucacio entails. Now, here and with no apologies, l conclude nothing concrete comes from being gay. Nothing but disillusionment and emptiness. 

Final sentiments

And if we get to talk on F.B, don’t be pea size brained. Don’t ask after the basic ‘hi’ if I am ‘t or b’? What the hell am I doing chatting with you! Some due diligence please, it’s all on my profile info. Expand your brain capacity, it’s an old fag over here you are transacting with. Sample some previous chat F.B. administrators are paid to maintain.

‘What is the latest read and flick you watched?’ An intellectual stimulant. Note: It’s read then flick. Any wannabe with fifty bob can get any flick, not a book though. That takes some special energy.

The Gathering by Anne Enright is what I am currently reading; New Yorker’s article on the conviction of Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke the lord of Tivoli Gardens, the protector of the neighborhood Denham Town of Kingston, Jamaica is my smoking read; A.S Byatt “Possessions” is the toilet read.’ I typed back.

Response, ‘Starting on Chika Ungwe’s latest Last Night Dancer. A preview copy though. Can you get me the Kenyan classic, Down River Road, Meja Mwangi?’ Now that is a challenge, I am still looking for the first edition!

He chats like someone we can find a ranch in Laikipia and make a home and just read and write. Someone rocky and founded, something exciting beyond gypo, some worthy exploration if you ask me. Sad, he is in Lusaka. Get it?   

Kindly let's cut the hypocrisy, the double standards, the pretender classiness and idealism of queerdom. Let’s create a realistic queerdom to operate in. Maybe the dream catcher is still out there.

By J. Sisulu Mwanga

 J. Sisulu Mwanga is a writing enthusiast and established barrister. His short story ‘Motel Ngara’ appears on the ezine Storymoja. Storytime Africa has long listed one of his stories 'A Married Man' for African Roar 2012. This work is dedicated to his last clandestine partner whom he really liked and wanted to learn to love.