It could be any of us...you just never know.

You know, at times when epithets and homophobic slurs are hurled at us like Molotov cocktails, it becomes hard to put that convenient heartless bitch shell we always put without feeling irked. So, when Jo-C first called me regarding today’s guest, I had mixed feelings. I’m not an activist or a rights enthusiast but what I know is that I’ve sipped some ‘not-so-cheap’ coffee with a good number of them and also have a valuable category of them on my cellphone. You just never know when or where homophobes may strike. After a series of postponements and avoiding the whole dialogue I'd to make up my mind. 

This is a great kid with dreams just like yours truly and in as much as the emphasis may be largely monetary, there is need to look at the social bit of it. How many kids at his age have embraced social evils and practice them as fulltime jobs? I’m sure T.S.R has a wealth of avid readers who have ideas to move us a little bit forward. I’ve also spoken to some of our very own individuals who have a hint of how to go about it. I’m patiently waiting for their respective rejoinders.

I thought this could be wholly an interview (the way we do questions and answers) but then during our almost-an-hour phone conversation I’d to let him do all the talking with some moments where he had to collect himself after breaking down so I only asked a few questions for purposes of clarity.

  

The Situation Room introduces to you Abdul:

My name is Abdul*.I’m 20 years old. It was on Friday 20^th April, 2012 at 7p.m thereabout. I had a date to grace with this guy I was really getting a hang on. It was our second date. I was at The Soga Plag (sic) on time. We shared a great bonding time before we retreated to a room in a different location. We ran into a member of staff who was known to my partner but he assured me not to worry (I’m not living openly) and affirmed that we were safe. We never locked the door to our room. In the process of our rendezvous, the door slammed open! We attempted to take cover under the sheets but it was too late. The police were here. My friend and I were handcuffed and accompanied to the police station in our boxers. This was about 10p.m. I gathered that the staff member might have seen what we were up to and had called the authorities. There was nothing much the police could do being a weekend. The following day my mother called me to find out where I was since I’d not reported back home the previous day. The police explained to her the peculiar circumstances they had arrested me for and advised her to come on Monday.

Monday                                                                                                                                                                      

We are at a room and the police are recording statements from us. My mother arrives and gets further explanation on my arrest. She cries bitterly, she says that I’m a disgrace to the entire family and that I should look for another family! I have been disowned!

In the process, I sought some permission to go relieve myself at the washrooms. I escaped by taking advantage of some minor oversight of the station. I went to my best friend’s place. Apparently, the police had already been sent to look for me here earlier and I gather it’s my mother who had directed their search efforts here since he’s well known to my family. He gave me some money and advised I get out of Bujumbura to my sister who lived in a small town out of the capital.                                                                                                                                                                       

I did this the following day. When I got to my sister’s place she was surprised to see me considering it was a school day. She sensed I was hiding something but she never labored to probe further. On Wednesday my mother called her asking my whereabouts, she graciously disclosed to her I was staying at her place. I was within earshot of their phone conversation. She sent me away. I was evil and she couldn’t condone such activities in her abode.

I had hit a dead end but was still in communication with my friend who suggested I go to Rwanda to my brothers. I requested him to go to my home and get me some pocket money I’d kept and/or a few personal effects. He had to do this discreetly and pretentiously. He went like a normal friend would and asked my mother whether the police had traced me. He got my bag, a few clothes, Identification and some pocket money I’d kept in my room(He’s well known in my family and can access my room as he pleases, he’s like my second brother). He left without bidding my mother bye who was occupied in the kitchen.  

                                                                                                       

When I got to the bus station at Rwanda, I ran into a cousin of mine. He told me I was being looked for. I was convinced my brothers had already been called and briefed of my evil. I got back into the bus which was Kampala bound. I alighted in Kampala. At the Kampala Coach stage I saw buses heading to Kenya. I remembered I had a distant relative I call ‘sister’ in the Northern part of Kenya. I got to Nairobi very late. My ‘sister’ lives and works for gain in Kakuma Refugee Camp. I’d run out of money. I met some lady at the bus station and explained to her my situation. She offered me accommodation at her place for the night. The following day I called Jo-C whom I’ve known for a while since we met online. He was travelling out of jurisdiction on official duty. He was kind enough to lend me some fare to Kakuma. When I got to Kakuma I started asking around. I sought to know the refugees’ section. I found her at the reception where she’s stationed. She was shocked to see me. I saw no need to hide anything from her. I had to come clean. She insulted me and since then she has distanced herself from me. I am still stuck here in the camp. I’d just joined Varsity back at home after finishing my college and that’s my major concern. What I appreciate though about this place is the security I have from the people I fear finding me. I’m at the moment under the weather, been trying to seek medication through the help of a few contacts. What is provided here are just painkillers.

Cole: Have you been in touch with any LGBT organizations back at home? 

                                           

Abdul: No. As I’d pointed out earlier, my family is deeply religious and I wasn’t living openly at all even before this happened. I can’t go back home because I recollect a while back one of my cousins died in mysterious circumstances after being seen actively participating in affairs of the queer community. The burial was a very complicated affair and revealed the general feeling associated with being queer in my country. I don’t think I’ll be safe there anymore.  

                                 

Cole: Any new developments in your search back home? Have your parents tried to reach you or anything? 

                                                                                                                                                    

Abdul: Well, I’m still in communication with my best friend who helped me flee. He says my parents are still in pursuit of me. They have even reached out through the media. My partner whom we were arrested with is still in police custody. I’ll be grateful if this could really work for me since my major wish is going back to varsity at least to put my life in perspective through the Economics Science Degree I’d commenced. I haven’t achieved the refugee status yet, too much bureaucracy involved here. I have no idea even how to go about the paperwork. All I have now is a ration card (the one you get after the first interview) and some other necessary document to get me going. I’m openly up to my lips in water.                                                               

Cole: Okay, I may not promise much but I’m sure my forum has a wealth of readers who may have an idea on how to handle this; I’ll do this story just to see how far we can get. I’ll withhold your name and phone number but only provide it to those who really matter since I don’t want to expose you to any opportunists out here. I’ll let them reach me through my mail…if that’s okay with you.                                                                                                                                                            

Abdul: I’ll be more than grateful and thanks for your time listening to me Cole.                                                        

Cole: No worries, hang in there.

T.S.R Thoughts 

At 20, one is still young, susceptible, got a whole life ahead of them to figure out. My only concern in this story is the part where he says: ‘I’ve reached a dead end.’ When one reaches a dead end, they are capable of anything. Just like parents -affluent or poor- even relatives can fail you when they are the ones who you need the most. I’m aware I may be opening a flood gate to all the unreported situations. I pause here and ponder. This kid is a reflection of what could happen to any of us in this kind of society we live in as queer persons.

All I need is ideas here not the pity parties and sad smileys. I think we are technically his only brothers and sisters who won’t judge him. For his contacts or anything you'll first reach me(I have to shield him from opportunists who are commonplace online) on:

 

E-mail: Colemutahi@gmail.com

Twitter: @Cole_Mutahi

Facebook: Cole Mutahi

Or contact any resident LGBT Organization and/or individual here in Kenya since I’ll still have to deal with them regarding this.

Regards,

Cole Mutahi

 Abdul* is a native of Burundi; a burgeoning young man in his prime. He’s currently seeking refuge in Kakuma after being on the run from his homeland. He ably deciphers his mother tongue, Rwandese, French, Swahili (which T.S.R used for purposes of this story) and only some little bit of English.
*  (Real name withheld for discretion purposes)