DATES, DEATH & DEEDS

Part One

My techno spark phone buzzed in my pocket on this particular Friday. I do not remember why I had placed it on vibration mode. It was a chilly muddy day due to the August rains. I had just come from a local shop to purchase rice which we would use for our evening meal. I was struggling with avoiding the mud, escaping pools of water, and taking care that my gumboots do not get dirty when I stood rooted to the spot after seeing that this particular call was from Adrian.

Adrian! So he has decided to call me! I had met him when I was in my second year at the university. This was my second man to meet after I had decided to be openly but discreetly gay. I made this decision after, my experimental relationship with Ruth, my ex-girlfriend ended up in shambles. I could not feel anything for her, not even the remotest romantic feeling. The one kiss I gave her seemed so bitter than pepper. We had come from our evening stroll when I told myself I had to prove to myself that I was straight and I was past the gay “phase”.  I hated it! I thought I did not have kissing skills, her lips tasted as dry as sandpaper, I did not see anything sweet with kissing and concluded the soap operas on TV overhyped it. Later, when I kissed my first boyfriend, I enjoyed it, I swam in the pleasure of his kiss and that is one part of romance that I cherish. I came to accept that I am gay and I did not need to force myself on being anything else.

One day, as I was strolling around the Facebook streets with my pseudo account, I came across this nice, handsome picture of a man, I knew it was a fake photo but nonetheless I felt a connection. Adrian is this light-skinned kind intelligent and warmhearted guy. I loved him when I first saw the pictures that he had sent on WhatsApp as we began chatting. He was mature in his refined mannerisms and speech. I fell in love immediately! After series of chats, we agreed to meet for a date.  I did not know what to wear. I spent half of a day to finally decide. They say that gays do not spend their time in the closest doing nothing! I had to make an impression that would last. I also had to be careful so as I could not expose my member who grows anytime I see someone hot. And now that this was a date, I was sure of getting horny because this Adrian was a perfect man. The type I just wanted.

We were to meet at the entrance of Tuskys supermarket. He later explained to me the importance of meeting a stranger in a public space. This was to avoid getting yourself in an obnoxious situation with a blackmailer who would extort an obscene amount of money (many falsely believe, of course, that all LQBTQI+ community members are rich) from you as some would expose you and you would be lucky to escape without a public shaming, beating or even death.

My Adrian was there smiling sweetly as an angel. He was adorned in white khaki trousers and a black and white polo shirt with nice boots. I had a maroon t-shirt, a pair of black jeans trousers and some white sneakers. We smiled sweetly at each other; we could not hug or dare express our emotions freely.

“I am glad you came, most dates do not turn up. Plus you look manly enough you cannot raise eyebrows,” his sweet voice filled my ears.

“It’s nice to meet you.” is what I managed to mumble before such a god of beauty.

We shook hands, letting them touch for a moment, feeling the warmth of each other, eyeball to eyeball and smiling beautifully. We left for a nearby hotel. All along with our chats through the meals, my bulge was daring to burst out of my pants. I had this terrible dry spell and I needed him there and then, I wanted him to take me. I wanted us to have long sweet, romantic, and slow sex. I focused on his crystal clear eyes, I adored his pink kissable lips that looked sweeter than honey. I loved him. I adored him. I was happy to have such a man in my life. I promised to cherish and adore him. I wanted him forever. We left the hotel at around ten at night. We had sipped on tea, savored on meals, and enjoyed some drinks. I was somehow tipsy as we left. We walked side by side, careful of not getting too close, and not too far. We could not hold hands even though we wanted to. We feared being spotted, we felt each other, but we dreaded judgment, we adored each other, but we feared, the stares, the hate, and the possible lynching. We could not express it freely. We found a lonely corridor where he stole a kiss, I felt his hard dick that was jealous of being left in the lone of his boxer, and he laughed and grabbed mine.

“Let’s do it some other time, we might get caught here I feel you to my bone marrow,” he whispered and left.

Back to the call. I shall tell you about my Adrian later.

When I saw his call, I felt a new rush of blood in my body, hot blood as his voice filled my ears. I remembered all the times we had even as he continued talking.

“Hello sweetie, I have missed you so much,” his tender voice said.

“Hello babe, I miss you so much. We should meet someday. I really miss you.” I replied

“Sure, but you left me here in this lonely place, I am alone and lonely here in Nakuru….anyway I have some tea for you.”

“I knew it, you call me when you have some mucene. Nipashe…”*

“Have you checked the newspapers, it is even trending online, and it’s a friend of yours…”

“I haven’t, my friend? Which one and what is happening?”

“I have sent you the article on your WhatsApp, check it and you tell me…”

What I saw made me freeze. I was flummoxed. I could not believe what I was reading.

  ‘MY SON WAS KILLED BECAUSE HE WAS GAY‘ the headline screamed.

There was his picture of Mark. I had just talked to him about a week ago. And now he was murdered, in cold blood and mutilated. I scanned my eyes through the article and it read that he was killed some few kilometers away from his home. He had been mutilated and some parts of his body parts were missing. I cried a river. The kind of pain I felt could not be equated. I felt as if part of me was dead. Mark was such a kind, humble, intelligent, and talented young man. He had dreams of alleviating his family from poverty once he was through with his university education. He confided in me that he had come out to his mother and close family members and they had supported him. I scoffed at the newspaper for spreading propaganda on the reason for his death. I knew he was killed because of his sexuality. Surely, you kill a person because of whom he loves? Isn’t that being insane?  Where did humanity go? The newspaper report was misinformed. It reported that he was killed by a gay cult that did not want him to change, because if he did change he would give away the secret of the “cult”

This was a lie!

A lie because there is no such thing as a gay cult, homosexuals are not devil worshippers. We are not part of any secret society. We are normal human beings who have all our faculties. It is wrong to view a homosexual as part of a cult just because we have a sense of fashion and some of us have money. Don’t we all? This is not a foreign culture or a trendy lifestyle. It is our lives. It is who we are. Being a part of LGBTQI+ is not about money. It is being human. These are feelings that develop in you. Whether it’s by nature or nurture that is not important. What is important is equal rights, recognition, protection, love, support, and care.

I have seen my fellow gays depending on drugs to fight depression resulting from discrimination and rejection. I have met religious gays. I am religious too. There is nothing evil, wrong, cultic, or devilish about being gay.

I also have friends who felt like, due to societal pressure, pressure from their families, friends, and colleagues they have to act straight. This is because it is a better option than coming out and be regarded as an outcast or be disowned or taken to prayer sessions for exorcism, or be scorned. Some opt to play it safe and be bisexuals, for the sake of it. Some opt to cheat on their wives with other men while others opt to get kids and continue living single; some have developed arrangements with lesbians to just make society content.  I have attended many such weddings. No one forces you to be gay. Being gay is not a choice that you can have on and off like a switch. Being gay is you.  Being gay is real.

Mark was now a statistic of homophobic attacks, a statistic of blackmail, and a statistic of hate. A statistic of intolerance. What is wrong when a man loves another man? Why are you concerned about who is fucking or being fucked? Who is the man and who is the woman? How does that change your life?

 I felt bitter and scared. I empathized with the members of the community who underwent the same, I have read stories, articles that highlighted this plight, the suffering, and the deep-rooted hate that has no real origin, I have felt the fear that some have had. Being terrified of the judgment, the trolling, body shaming, and insults. It is pathetic, how our society mocks gays, lesbians, bis, Trans people, and all are taken as normal? I remember some incidents of hate among community members. It is disgusting and disheartening to see that society would spew hate and share it. I have a friend of mine, Fidel, who has been disowned by the family because they realized he is gay. He had to cut short his studies at the university. However, right now he has a flourishing business.

 These archaic laws and flimsy excuses about culture and religion fuel the hatred.  This is despite the fact that history has easily shown that homosexuality is as old as the human race itself. It cannot be wished away, it is not a curse or foreign culture or sin to be prayed away. In fact, homosexuality is part of the history of Africa.

I mourned Mark I had lost a confidant and a friend. I found his photos that I had on my phone and posted them on my status. I designed a video to remember him.  During his funeral was filled with somber emotions since he was just a young man pursuing an engineering course. He would have been the beacon of hope had the cruel hands of murderers not touched him. These murderers are walking freely, as a mother mourns the loss of her child, as his siblings hardly holding their weight due to tears.

I felt like LGBTQI+ people are left on their own. Yes, we have organizations that try to help. These organizations however have not really achieved their mandate, how can they when the law of the land is harshly against those that these organizations are supposed to serve? How would you go for a meeting and you are scared? How do you gain access to counseling services for the sake of your mental health? How do you access lubes and condoms? How do you access treatment in case you get infected with sexually transmitted infections? Yet walking into these institutions/offices is dreadful?

Some of the organizations are used as cash cows for people who have no agenda for gays.  They have become opportunists and are corrupt to the core. Using the name of LGBT to benefit and feed their egocentric greedy selves. They employ straight people, some of whom are homophobes!

Mark’s death opened my eyes to the new dangers that gays face in Africa. They are constantly struggling between blackmailing and death.  For every step you take, you are a target, a suspect. For every date you go, you are risking, staring at your grave. For every new person you meet, you place your life in the dangerous hands of the fate of others.

These blackmailers are people who pretend to be interested in you for various reasons. Some think they have the right to ‘cleansing’ the society, some think that every queer person is stinking rich and would want to possess the money. Others are just megalomaniacs who want to destroy people’s lives and cause pain. The bottom line is that they are driven by hate, they are driven by deep pain and cancer of greed.

They pose as potential lovers on gay dating apps, post fake pictures, and lure you into an unbelievable intense world of romance. They would save your chats and woe unto you if you send your pictures. Things would turn bad when you turn up for a meeting. They would demand your ATM pin, M- Pesa pin. Tell you to call your relatives for more money. They would call a mob on you who would descend on you with blows and whiz, they would post your picture some would rape you, they would even kill you.

The fear of being blackmailed is so real in the community that it would take months for you to meet someone. I remember Erick, My very first boyfriend.  I met him through a WhatsApp group.

            Hi. He typed

            Hi too… I replied

            You look amazing, is that you on DP? (Display Picture)

Thanks, yes

Aren’t you afraid of being exposed?

Nope, I don’t give a damn

Ok, it is Erick from Nairobi?

I and am Kelsey currently studying in Eldoret but I come from Nairobi.

We continued to chat for three months, voice calls, video calls, and SMS I had never felt the love this way. It was such an amazing experience. He dedicated “Sura Yako “by Sauti sol to me.

So we agreed to meet when I went home. I was staying in pipeline one of the hotspots of blackmails. I understood his hesitations on the day we were to meet. He was to come at ten in the morning but he appeared at three.

When he alighted at Taj mall he was ready to board a matatu back to his place in Westlands had I not been there. He had adorned a hat, a yellow t-shirt, and white shorts that accentuated his body so nicely. He smiled at me so sweetly. I took him for a short tour. I was leading the way, he kept commenting on my round fatty ass as he threw furtive glances asking me as if I was leading him to a trap. When we entered the house, he quickly shut the door, with a padlock and pocketed the key

For safety purpose, huku ni ngori man, hii place ni baze ya mablackmailers.” (For safety purposes because this is a dangerous place and blackmailers are rampant)

I was shocked too but I understood his fears. I could see it written on his face. After he had settled and we had a tantalizing meal. I sat on one end of the chair as he sat on the other.

“Move closer babe, are you scared of me?” he commented.

I was shy, it was my first time. I did not know what to do. I moved closer. I was already turned on. I swallowed hard as he held my hand. He looked sweetly into my eyes and moved closer. He kissed me sweetly and it was nice. I kissed him back. We were engrossed in passion as we deep kissed, and he nibbled my ears with his tongue as his hands cupped my ass. I moaned sweetly as his hands moved and caressed my body, I submitted myself to him. We tore out each other’s clothes as we kissed, he sucked my nipples, and his tongue was so warm on my body. He moaned nicely as I sucked his medium-sized dick that tasted like honey, I licked his balls, he turned to me and returned the favor. I was so horny. I enjoyed every inch of him, he was such a sweet romancer. He cuddled me sweetly as our erect dicks touched each other, he wore a condom and applied lube on me as he fingered me. I could feel his manhood giving me pleasure as he filled me. We moaned together, and we cuddled and slept. We woke up at six o’clock and I was to see him off. We took a shower together and left the house. He kept moving quickly as if dashing from fire, I told him to relax. He kept on saying that some people were looking at us weirdly. He could not wait to get on the” mathree” he later called to express his apologies for his strange behavior. That is obviously a reaction to the discrimination in our community.

To be continued in part two…

Story by Kelsey

*mucene*-gossip

*nipashe*-tell me

*matatu/mathree*- Kenyan public transport

*All names are fictitious in order to hide the real identity of the characters.*


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