Zimbabwean parents disown son

The devastated parents of a 20-year old Bulawayo man have said that they had no choice but to forcibly evict their son from their Tshabalala Extension home after he confessed he was gay. Sources close to the openly gay Irvine Mahachi Junior said that a rumour about the estranged man's sexual preferences had been circulating for over two years and were only confirmed to be of substance when he decided to come out of the closet.

In an interview, the visibly shocked father, Mr Irvine Mahachi, who was still failing to come to grips with his son's bizarre sexuality, said that he had disowned his first child and does not want to hear from him again. "As far as I am concerned I do not have a son any more. The only child I have left is my lovely daughter. What Irvine has done is taboo and shameful. It is unheard of in our African culture", said the emotionally aggrieved father.

Mr Mahachi declared in no uncertain terms that he was never going to forgive the black sheep of the Mahachi clan and would not entertain pleas from relatives.

"Anyone who tells me to forgive Irvine risks a fierce quarrel with me. I did not raise my son to be gay. I raised him to be a man. I expected him to chase after skirts like other boys, but he never did that. I should have noticed then that there was something weird about him, maybe I could have strengthened him into a man", said Mr Mahachi with tears in his eyes.

The self-employed, shattered father-of-two revealed that his wife fainted, while he was shocked and speechless when his son announced to them that he preferred men to women.

"The manner in which he asked for an audience with me and my wife made me realise that something was wrong. He was nervous and not his usual self. I was so angry and shocked that I hit him with my fists, something that I have never done in my life. My wife suffers from high blood pressure and the shocking news almost killed her. Even today she is not herself", he said.

Attempts to interview the Mrs Caroline Mahachi failed as she refused to talk to Sunday News because her son's disgrace was a "family matter". In a telephone interview, Irvine Junior refused to reveal where he was staying but confirmed that he was gay and a member of the Gays and Lesbians Association of Zimbabwe (GALZ).

"Its a pity and a shame I was born into a society full of hatred and intolerance. Had I been born in South Africa nothing like this could have happened to me. This country need to move with the times, it needs to change. All this discrimination is unnecessary because at the end of the day who I sleep with is my business. I know that your newspaper is anti-gay and speaking to you is tantamount to suicide. But please be objective and publish my side of the story with fairness", he said.

Irvine said he was saddened by the fact that his parents had chucked him out of their house, but hoped that one day they would accept him as he is.

"All my life I have been the victim of homophobia attacks but I never expected that from my own flesh and blood. I feel betrayed, but such is life. I have been called names, but now I am numb to it.

"All that matters is that I finally told my parents the truth about myself. I am happy with myself and that's all that matters," he said.

Homosexuality in Zimbabwe is illegal and frowned upon and those who practise the bizarre and unholy act are regarded as outcasts. The three principals in the inclusive government declared that gays have no place in Zimbabwe, with president Mugabe being on record as describing them as "worse than pigs and dogs".

Source

When sparks fly

From the moment your gaze settled on that face in the front pew, you knew. You were captured by those eyes in the lock of mutual attraction; that faint curling up of the corners of the mouth, the knowing deepening of the intensity in those eyes...those eyes, again and again. There was no mistaking it. Then the smile; smile met by smile..

And in the aftermath of the benediction, in the milling of the crowd of the holy and the sacrosanct, you are drawn together, almost like pawns in the hand of that mysterious invisible magnetic force of Mother Nature, which of her own accord brings two people together. The greeting, the smiles, the handshake, lingering, reluctant to let go; the thumb gently caressing the back of your hand, that intensity in those eyes again..

Handshake morphs into handclasp, unrelenting, unwilling to be released, eyes still locked in mutual embrace; soft words exchanged, a stirring in the loins..? How awfully you want him to stay and share in the refreshments, the jollof-rice, cake and fruit on offer this anniversary Sunday; how gladly you would rush around the buffet counter to produce a platter of food for you both to enjoy. But he must leave. "Other commitments elsewhere", he whispers, smiling. "There will be another time.."

And of course this you must accept, for he is after all a man of God who is visiting you from another congregation, with untold responsibility to his flock. He must leave now and you must endure the parting, the hands reluctantly letting go. You stare at him from behind as he walks away, slowly, him being careful not to draw attention; you knowing that he is thinking the same thing as you. When will that next time be..?

Going walkabout

Settling into my new home has taken all week, but today Saturday, after taking care of all the necessary household chores the details of which I shall not bore you with, I set out on a walkabout of my immediate surroundings. I knew that my house is located in an area that is on the fringe of the city, but I was unprepared for an encounter with farm animals just five minutes walk from my front door, neither did I anticipate the sweet earthy smell of manure.

Suddenly, London doesn't seem any more like the concrete jungle that it used to feel like. I'm even considering procuring a pair of hiking boots to go a wandering in the countryside during the remaining few weekends of the summer; an activity that once during those giddy youthful days gone by of national youth service, was a favourite pastime of mine in the wild open spaces of the Jos Plateau in Nigeria.

Moving on

I like the word GENTRIFY. I was sorely tempted to use it in the title of this post, but I thought it might be giving too much away too soon. Let me start by offering my apologies to you guys for having been uncharacteristically silent on this blog for a while now. There is a good reason for this however, and it is this: I've been in the process of finding a new place to live. And finally this weekend, I am giving up my flat in London for a place in suburban Essex, a place that was once a little village, but which has now been swallowed up by the conurbation that is Greater London, but by gosh what a difference 20 miles makes. 

The new place is exactly that, new. Its a newly built development, very modern on the inside with an attempt on the outside to ape the traditional English look, mock Tudor and all. Those who know me will agree that I've often whined about the fact that for the last five years I've lived in a flat, without a garden, indeed one with no outdoor space at all. And guess what, I'm moving into a new place, which is not only a flat, it's a smaller flat than the one I'm leaving behind, also with no outdoor space and no garden! Worse still, the ground surrounding the building is completely concreted over. But it is located in a very lovely area indeed.

It has not been easy for me to justify the cost of living in the crowded, grotty, noisy, unfriendly part of inner-London that I have called home for many years now. I had a spell in leafy Surrey some years ago, but that was the accommodation provided for the staff of a hospital that was my then employer under which auspices I lived the life of suburbia without actually meriting it. It was at this hospital that I did my moonlighting while studying during the day. Now I am making the move to the suburbs under my own steam and it turns out it is not the financial nightmare that I assumed it might be (although I still have to factor-in travel costs, since henceforth commuting shall become a part of daily life), but I still do think I'm getting value for money.

Property in inner-London is outrageously expensive. The property market there is attractive to people from all over the world, hence ordinary men and women like us find that we are having to compete with Arab Sheikhs from the Gulf States for the same property. The nosedive in value of the UK's Pound Sterling brought on by the recession has not helped either, because suddenly London property is even more attractive to foreign property investors than before.

I know this seems a bit exaggerated, but when the Sheikhs and Russian oligarchs buy up all of the very expensive houses, the not so rich then compete for the not very expensive ones. Then those like us who are on the lower rungs must be content with what property remains, but there are millions of us. So we have overcrowding, astronomic property prices and exorbitant rents. But then there is always the option of moving further out of London and having carefully considered it, living in inner-London for me is really not worth all that cash I've been throwing at it.

So I've taken this option and I'll be moving over the next few days. It might be a while before I get the internet connected, so I'll likely be scarce around here. But don't worry about me because I'll be busy taking in the fresh air and enjoying my new surroundings, the plush carpets and the recessed lighting throughout the flat, which I admit was the clincher for me. I said it's a smaller flat than the one I currently live in, but small has its advantages too. Firstly, its easier to keep clean and there aren't too many nooks and crannies for things to get lost in.

My experience of moving house is that you never realise just how much stuff you own until you have to pack up all your stuff because you're moving house. The prospect of packing my stuff together has been so scary that I've avoided doing it until now that there's no more time left. Fortunately my nephew has offered to come and help me out, but its a bank holiday weekend and he has insisted that he must go out on Friday night, the and Saturday night as well. So he'll probably be so hungover on Sunday that he won't be of that much help to me in the end. I really should be getting on with it.

 

Rudisha smashes the world record

Today in Berlin.. Another clean sweep for Kenya..

More here..

After the race, David Lekuta Rudisha (a more up-to-date profile here) is quoted as saying:

"Last year I had a bad time in Berlin. The weather was not very good, and I did not make it into the final.

"So I did not want to talk too much about the world record before the race. But today I knew it is my day. I trained very hard, the weather was good. I told the pacemaker to run the first lap under 49 seconds. He did a great job.

"The last 200 metres I had to push very hard. But I saw the clock. 1:41,09 at the end, fantastic. I am very happy to be the fastest 800 metres runner in the world. The crowd was fantastic."

Out of Africa...The incredible fashion show inspired by Mother Nature

An amazing fashion show inspired by Mother Nature. I came across this 2008 posting on the Daily Mail online website. The models are said to be of the Surma and Mursi people of the Omo Valley in East Africa, (see here too). The story in the Mail reads:

"With colourful make-up of bright yellows, startling whites and rich earth-reds, flamboyant accessories and extraordinarily elaborate decorations, you'd be forgiven for thinking that these images originated in the fevered mind of some leading fashionista. Yet far from the catwalks of New York, London or Paris, these looks are the sole creation of the Surma and Mursi tribes of East Africa's Omo Valley.

Inspired by the wild trees, exotic flowers and lush vegetation of the area bordering Ethiopia, Kenya and Sudan, these tribal people have created looks that put the most outlandish creations of Western catwalk couturiers to shame."

Read more

"...a leaf or root is transformed into an accessory..

Instead of a scarf, a necklace of banana leaves is draped around a neck.

In place of a hat a tuft of grass is jauntily positioned.

A garland of flowers, a veil of seed-pods, buffalo horn, a crown of melons, feathers, stems and stalks-

Mother Nature has provided a fully stocked wardrobe.

Like a dressing-up chest brimming over with costumes and make-up (paint created with pigments from powdered stone), the natural environment is the source of this glorious jungle pantomime.."

"Although the origins of this astonishing tradition have been lost over the years - the Surma and Mursi spend much of their time engaged in tribal and guerilla warfare - their homeland is a hotbed of the arms and ivory trades. Fifteen tribes have lived in this region since time immemorial, and many use zebra skins for leggings, snail shells for necklaces and clay to stick their wonderful designs to their heads. As they paint each other's bodies and make bold decisions about their outfits (all without the aid of mirrors) it seems that the only thing that motivates them is the sheer fun of creating their looks and showing them off to other members of the tribe. As a celebration of themselves and of their stunning environment, this is truly an African fashion parade like no other." Marcus Dunk

Pictures by Hans Silvester (Rapho/Camera Press) from the book Natural Fashion: Tribal Decoration from Africa by Hans Silvester, published by Thames and Hudson, £19.95

Poetic and rather evocative, but I do not like the word "tribe" and never use it, since I think of it as a word devised by Europe to describe peoples they thought were less 'civilised' than they were. The word carries with is a connotation of primitiveness and applies only in relation to the 'native' peoples of Australia and the Polynesia islands, parts of south Asia, Africa, parts of South and Central America and the indigenous populations of North America.

It angers me to see that many of us in modern times have embraced the word and refer to our various ethnic groups, indigenous societies, indigenous nations, kingdoms and fiefdoms as tribes, without thinking about the implications of the use of the word. The word appears in the Mail's description of the fashion event and I needed to express my view. Please pardon me for digressing. See here too.