June 16th

Sometime in the early, frigid, winter morning:
time to see if I can catch the tail end of the morning and sleep a little bit more.
I doo feel lonely, from time to time! But that is the reality of life, right. Sometimes we are a lone.
For the examen of today, I think the how I spent time with the LGBT community and their courage.

Afternoon: Blessing be to God, I spent time with Wolfram Hartman in his book shop cum meet up place. For the longest time, I avoided going there, because he made it clear that I was just a nuissance. But of course, I know Wolfram very well to understand that her sassiness is nothing more than the side of Drag Queens that give them their venom. So when he asked me today, as I stood in front of his counter “Why do you keep coming here after all the abuse I subjected you”
My heart leaped at that moment and I told “Because I love you and I wanted to bring a historian to you.” Indeed, I brought in a young PhD student to him, from the U.S., who is looking at the intersection of HIV and something or the other, heck, this blog is not suppossed to reveal a person’s identity.
I loved seeing my dearest Wolfram. We are Queens. She was actually knitting something for her grandchildren, she said.
He related how an Swiss lady walked into the store, saw him knitting and in her amazement, wanted to take a photo. Can you imagine "From switzerland?", I exclaimed.
I guess he could be a lady, if he looked at him from the end of the courtyard of the craft center - you could mistake him for a granny, with that short blonde hair do he has.
He should have just sang "I what I am" to that Swiss customer - or was Austrian - who asked if he would indulge her with a photograph.
Alright, back to that journal article...
This post is dedicated to a reader I met in the cyber realms of some or other website. I hope you enjoy my blog.

Letter to Christian Blogger in the US

I am just another Christian - Roman Catholic to boot - who is also queer. But then again, I am not here to poke fun at your decision to remain true to I guess what you believe in. And yet, I am curious to find out what you think of the fact that prohibitions against same-sex activity in Christianity pre-date the modern day evangelical movements and actually come from Peter Damian, a medieval writer who conflated male rape with what happen in those two infamous cities years ago. The result is the term sodomy, which we know to day.

I also wonder how you feel knowing that. How do you feel now as Easter is upon us, that these Churches see as a inherently broken, as queer people, at best? For them to love the sinner and hate the sin, they need to find some way of explaning how sin can persist in seemingly normal humans.

But I have to stop here, I just had a great confession at my Church where I schooled the priest on what Pope Francis means that Priests shoudl accompany queer people. Its not about telling queer people what they want to hear, on their journey. Its about listening to queer people. Its about letting queer people drive their cars and not the clergy.
As you are a queer person, I really find your blog fascinating, just discovered it. In Namibia, we have mixed bag of views, but for the most part its pretty traditonal.
Have a good Easter.
And Equality House cannot be compared to Westboro Baptist Church. One place has Judy Garland as a Saint, the other condemns all who pray to the Saints.

Oh! Oh! In my Confession today I was moved by The Spirit, I believe to say "...I ask the Ever Blessed Virign Mary, all the Angels and all the Saints, especially Saint Sebastian the Patron Saint of those in similar situations, to pray for me to the Lord Our God", before the priest gave me the absolution.

Hugs

Indepdence day 2017

Oggi e'stata bella giornata, devo dire la verita.

Today was an incredible day, I must say the truth.

And yet, I did not get to writing much. Because on this independence morning, I decided to go town in a attempt to attend mass. Yet Mass had shifted on account of the independence day. I walked back home, feeling so tired.

Now, I am ready to go to sleep. And, I realize my limitations lie before me. I am doubtful I will be able to do a creative writing course, in addition to my usual meanderings regarding what I should study for a PhD. The only reason to this course is this. Devo trovare un nuovo modo per apprezare la notte, non posso continuare cosi, sul internet, cercando chiacchiere per webcam, non va bene.

Nonostante, non posso cosi tante cose alla volta.

Dunque, magari non faccio il MOOC creative writting. Ma va', se non lo faccio, che cosa faccio in posto suo? Uscire durante la settimana? Non lo so, ma se faccio un programma, ce lo faro'.

Domani vorrei nuoatare. Oggi ho fatto Tai Chi con Ru, amica mia. Domani nuoto. C'e' anche la questione di spostarmi a un apartamento o no. Io penso di si, ma sara' un cambio grande. Vediamo.

Actually, I feel quite overwhelmed. I think I will have to defer the creative writing course. Its all very simple really, I need to connect with people here. And so I doubt I will spend much time reading and writing my own short stories.

Reconnecting

Oh Lord,

Let me reconnect with you. I have somehow forgotten that you are here. And instead, I have turned to things of the world. Help finish the work you started by bringing me here for the MPH. 

Amen

09 April

I realize – now – how I have to always offer up to God all my worries and insecurities. In the case of my grandmother being so far away, I have to truly trust everyday that my aunty and Veronika are doing a good job. Even my cousin – who steals from her – I too need to trust he is not merely stealing. Yet I am so desperate for him to cease, for him to admit, for him to ask for repentance.

I am now going to turn to my own studies, the studies my grandmother is proud of me for pursuing.

Ahora voy a entregar cada preocupación a Dios. 

I also take a moment of silence to remember all those who perished in the Rwandan genocide.

2016

Este bitácora va de lo que cada uno de nosotros busca – el amor. Estoy en los tramites de escribir mi tesina y decidí escribir algo corto de mi vida.

Es la fin de está busqueda, la que me parecía interminable. La búsqueda para una pareja. El chico al que persiguía, es decir el chico al cual he intentado traerlo a mí, me dijo estar enamorado de otro. Por mi parte, no quedan mas recursos - de tiempo o energia - para buscar otra.

Esta bien. Una vez entregada mi tesina, todo será possible de Nuevo.

Corpus Christi 2015 - Passover 2015

Reflection after my second ever Jewish Passover meal (the first being with a wonderful woman in Namibia in 2010, Lucy Steinitz and the second being at the last supper mass here at University of Cape Town, which was a seder):

I found out, to my surprise, that my classmate Cara Singer may not have been wrong at all in saying “you’re so Jewish!” when she found me frying Latkes, from a ready box mix, one evening in a kitchen we shared in Little hall during the summer after Junior year. I learnt this from my dad, when he paid a visit to Cape Town. No, I did not have a Everything is Illuminated Moment – my mother is Bulgarian, but she does not have any Jewish ancestors; her roots are in a village outside the big city of Plovdiv, outside of where a large number of Bulgarian Jews once lived. My father, is from rural Namibia and he is not from an ethnic group that, like the Lew of Zambia or Igbo of Nigeria, have a genetic fingerprint that matches the one the Kohanim of Europe have. It’s a bit simpler – my last name happens to actually mean “Wise man”. The literal translation from our language of Mulongeni into English would be “teach him”, but one should not translate the name this way, says my father. “Wise man” is a better translation. With that knowledge, I could call myself “Pancho Wiseman”. Now I see my participation in the second day of Passover in Cape Town as a homecoming of sorts.

During that Passover meal, I remember seeing that a certain Jarryd, whom I did find most handsome, had his gaze on me. Everyone gazed upon me when I stood there and read aloud in Spanish the questions a child would ask about the Passover. The young Rabbi read it in English and then he asked if anyone else knew another language – I chose Spanish because there was a young lady from Ecuador seated across from me “Why on all other nights we stand upright or we recline but on this night we only reclining?” was the one question I struggled to interpret, but looking at my Ecuadorian Hispanic friend smiling at me I managed, “?por qué en otras noches estamos derechos pero en está estamos casi tumbados” was my attempt. Later I read the Spanish version of the Gospel of John where the description of the last supper, where disciple leaning his head on Jesus’ chest uses the verb recostarse, a verb I did not  know during this Pesach. Yet Jarryd’s gaze was on me after this point in the seder – during a later blessing. When I looked at him, his eyes furtively looked away. It was only later that I found out he never meant to express desire. Still I wonder to this day, what he did mean with that stare.   

On this evening of the feast of Corpus Christi, the body and blood of Jesus Christ, I call to my mind what happened that Passover evening in April. At the end of the dinner, I for the first time understood where this Catholic practice of the breaking of the bread and sharing of the wine. The Rabbi at our long table announced that the time had to come to eat the afikomen, the piece of matzah that we kept hidden, our last piece of matzah, on our plates. This was eaten on a full stomach and represents the eating of the paschal lamb, which can only be performed in the temple. In our readings at mass tonight, we heard about the shedding of blood of bulls and other sacrificial animals in a tent which Moses had made in the desert. It sounded far too gruesome for any spiritual practice I would find intimate. Now taking a cup raising – the last cup of wine – as our last cup of wine, subsequently to eating the afikomen, that is unifying. The Jewish boy I now sat next to, this one happened to be gay like me, struggled to have the last of wine and giggled saying “I think I am really drunk now”. Here I was raising my cup, albeit filled with grape juice to save my virgin liver from the shock of several glasses of wine, partaking in this rite. When Jesus did this, how intoxicated must He have been in order for Him to come up with something as preposterous as “this is my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant shed for you and for all, for the forgiveness of sins, do this in memory of me.”  Were the disciples just as drunk that they did not make much of what he said? Only later did they perhaps internalize these words and put them to posterity in the Greek writings that would become the New Testament.

The singing and dancing of that evening I will never forget, especially when a girl from the United States with whom I travelled to the schul – in the car of the president of the South African Union of Jewish Students University of Cape Town chapter – mentioned I knew the words better than some of the Jewish students. The song was Echad Mi Yodea; a song I learnt, because I did a dance to it at the United World College of the Adriatic ten years earlier. I just wonder, what had I been doing all these year – going to mass I guess. I will continue going to mass. When I next have the opportunity, I think I will partake in these Passover festivities, but I then I will opt to attend a reform seder. For all I know, there may be someone whom I can actually fall in love with and with whom there will be much to share. 

Life today

Life today was wonderful. I studied during the day, and danced in the early evening. How it reminded me of when I was in Namibia and even more, at University at Princeton. Today, by the way I met a Princeton University student at the University of Cape Town African dance class. The music of the drum and the dances from South Africa and Liberia (the one where I imagine myself imploring the heavens for mercy in this time of Ebola with my hands up to the sky above, wrists in a gesture of desperation).
I think I have come a long way since then.
I also enjoyed the talk I attended on the social determinants of health. I began a little bit of studying on my assignment for advanced epidemiology. And I will make it.
It has just been my research that I did not look at today. I guess I will spend at least half of tomorrow looking at it. Perhaps I should have easier aims - I should aim to write at least every other day, if not every day.

And I must have mercy on my body - the partial all nighter last time was merciless

This is it, I am doing my Masters in Public Healht

Passover 2015 continued

Reflection after my second ever Jewish Passover meal (the first being with a wonderful woman in Namibia in 2010, Lucy Steinitz and the second being at the last supper mass here at University of Cape Town, which was a seder):

I found out, to my surprise, that my classmate Cara Singer may not have been wrong at all in saying “you’re so Jewish!” when she found me frying Latkes, from a ready box mix, one evening in a kitchen we shared in Little hall during the summer after Junior year. I learnt this from my dad, when he paid a visit to Cape Town. No, I did not have a Everything is Illuminated Moment – my mother is Bulgarian, but she does not have any Jewish ancestors; her roots are in a village outside the big city of Plovdiv, outside of where a large number of Bulgarian Jews once lived. My father, is from rural Namibia and he is not from an ethnic group that, like the Lew of Zambia or Igbo of Nigeria, have a genetic fingerprint that matches the one the Kohanim of Europe have. It’s a bit simpler – my last name happens to actually mean “Wise man”. The literal translation from our language of Mulongeni into English would be “teach him”, but one should not translate the name this way, says my father. “Wise man” is a better translation. With that knowledge, I could call myself “Pancho Wiseman”. Now I see my participation in the second day of Passover in Cape Town as a homecoming of sorts.

During that Passover meal, I remember seeing that a certain Jarryd, whom I did find most handsome, had his gaze on me. Everyone gazed upon me when I stood there and read aloud in Spanish the questions a child would ask about the Passover. The young Rabbi read it in English and then he asked if anyone else knew another language – I chose Spanish because there was a young lady from Ecuador seated across from me “Why on all other nights we stand upright or we recline but on this night we only reclining?” was the one question I struggled to interpret, but looking at my Ecuadorian Hispanic friend smiling at me I managed, “?por qué en otras noches estamos derechos pero en está estamos casi tumbados” was my attempt. Later I read the Spanish version of the Gospel of John where the description of the last supper, where disciple leaning his head on Jesus’ chest uses the verb recostarse, a verb I did not  know during this Pesach. Yet Jarryd’s gaze was on me after this point in the seder – during a later blessing. When I looked at him, his eyes furtively looked away. It was only later that I found out he never meant to express desire. Still I wonder to this day, what he did mean with that stare.   

Passover meal 2015 in Spanish: My blog post.

I was fortunate enough, five years after my first Passover meal with Lucy Steinitz, to participate and eat at a synagogue. The place this time was Cape Town, with the students from the South African Society of Jewish students, They asked me to read in Spanish the questions posed by the child - why on this night do this, when on all other nights we do anything we please

The verb in Spanish I was missing was recostarse, to recline. I finally found it by reading the Gospel according to John, chapter 13, when the disciple who Jesus loved leaned on his bosom. Peter, for some reason, asked this disciple to let him know - and the others - who is the traitor of whom Jesus. ¿Quién era aquél de quien habalaba Jesús?

I think this is a very romantic part of the gospel - perhaps even homoerotic. 

At the seder, the order, the meal I took place tonight, there was amazing food, sining, dancing even (when we opened the door for Elijah to come in, the door of the building that also serves as the cultural center for Jewish muesuem - the Holocaust center where last year on the day before my birthday Rabbi Greg Alexander, Imam Hendriks and Catholic James Alexander talked about homosexuality and faith). I think I feel for one of the boys at the table.

As it turned out, at the end of the dinner I gave him a hug goodnight.

"Will I see you again?"

"Do I have your digits"he asked.

"No, take mine"

"Well I can't "he seemed to have his phone off.

So I took his number, Jared's number. Who knows what will happen. He leaves Thursday. 

Good night. Blessed Easter it is.

Simple Diary

Let me keep this short and simple. I am listening to Gershwins Rhapsody in Blue, I am about to go to bed. I am grateful for a number of this past Valentines day weekend.
Life, loving my friends and family. learning and loving the learning ( I read a great deal about variance yesterday).
And today, though I feel a bit lonely, I am grateful for the prayer I said very early in the morning. I woke up, prayed the Rosary at the place where I do my yoga - the 6th floor - by the window that looks to the mountain. I do still miss my grandfather who passed on the 14th of January, but over time it will heal.

My father called me today! We spoke over the phone. He even tried speaking in French with me "je bois du vin blanc, tu connais le vin traditionelle omagono?"he asked me before we continued in Bulgarian. His brother in law had passed on last week and the funeral was Friday.
Did I mention I am going to a church, which is Catholic and there is another Catholic gay man there! Incredible, and what's more, he even has a partner!
I have to still meet them.

Good night.

The bedrock of my life

This is a quick post to say, I have returned to blogging. For a very long period of time, in fact three quarters of a this year 2014, I did not even lay my eyes on this piece of cyberspace. Now, here I am blogging.

There are just two things I want to write about. First, I need to acknowledge how much I have engaged in self-loathing for much of the year. I did not accept myself as me, as Pancho, who is now single, gay, eccentric in so many ways. I felt that since I was single here in grad school, it must be that somehow there was something wrong with me. Now, I finally have come to understand I am a perfectly fine as a gay man, though I am different to so many of them, I am fine as a Catholic too and as a student as well. One day I will meet my beau and there will be sparks that will set my love alight. Till then, I just need to keep on praying and believing. As the journey song goes 'don't stop believin'. I remember clearly singing that in 2009, with my graduating class, on Blair arch steps in Princeton. Now I remember and it is so grand. Fills me with so much love.

The next thing is to remember is how a good meal is the bedrock of my day. It allows me to move from there to planning my day , in the morning, to doing my exercise, which I combine with prayer and all that I need in the day. And when the day is done, dinner brings me back to life. Need I not mention the fact I pray before I eat and the intimate connections I make with those who share meals with me.
I have become accustomed to reading and eating. Often, great ideas come to mind, but often it is just superfluous reading. I rather eat with someone else.

So here I am, after dinner, writing in my blog. Before dinner I felt so stressed, but now I feel renewed. Listening to that Journey song cover by "the Nerds", a present for my birthday in 2008 (I turned 22) in Princeton really helped me feel better.

Thank you Lord. I pray I can still keep this good feeling. When I feel sad, I will remember this.

Pancho

Christmas day,

Christmas day,
The biggest lesson I learnt today has been a deeper understanding into the story of Martha and Mary at Jesus' feet. I am now at my father's house with my younger brother. My dad's place is a house that is often dirty and this time my dad complained he found the kitchen really messy and a maggot infested dustbin, in spite of giving the key and the perks that come with having a house to oneself, to my 21 year old brother. My dad did his best cleaning, but unfortunately some things never change. "There is meat in the pot, just go ahead and warm it up" . And I proceeded to the kitchen, warmed the meat in the pot only to find a fly swimming in the stew. Closer inspection revealed the tell tale white clump of fly eggs just under the lid. So instead of preparing a meal I had to get ready to dispose of this meat, or at least save it for the dog. There was also a huge piece of pork in the microwave and dirty dishes in the sink (with the same tell tale eggs, flies in summer love kitchens in the Namibia summer). I ended up cleaning up. All the while my brother is watching Bob Marley videos and looking through my dad's old photos from our family life and his work trips in the 90s and his time in Bulgaria in the 70-80s. Ours is not a fairy tale, marriages happen and end, homes are build and they fall apart. Now my brother and I spend time with our parents at different occasions and thereby build two new home setups, though we live with our mom. So here my brother was being Mary Magdalen at Jesus' feet, while I was Marta, busy cleaning the kitchen.
I wanted to just drop everything and join in what they were doing but then I realizes the kitchen does need cleaning. The pictures and Bob Marley DVDs will not evaporate. I now realize when Jesus tells Marta that she should leave Mary alone because she chose the good part, he did not mean what Marta was doing was wrong. On the contrary it is good, the only thing is that Mary chose to spend quality time instead of fuss over the worldly things and that Mary's choice is just valid as Marta's and perhaps is more appropriate given Jesus' impending crucifixion.
My brother actually read this post and he asked "why am I Mary of Magdalene and why is Pancho Marta?"
He clearly does not know the story of Mary and Marta, one which my dad referred to as a long story and not one he would go into now, he preferred to share funny west african movie clips with my brother.
So go ahead and read the story of Mary and Martha of this is foreign to you.



Pancho

Holy Saturday 2013

Here I sit and write this as I wait for my shoushi at th
Falling in love with Jesus
Enamorarse de Jesúcristo
Tomorrow is easter in the Catholic Church.
I truly believe I will have to write about how I feel now. How do I feel about Jesus Christ? Do I still believe the only acceptable sexual fantasy is being with Him? I had a conversation about this already years in 2007ago with my friend Zach Marr and it seems he said he also agreed with me. Somehow last night i ended up bringing myself from 0 to 60 in just under a minute after I read through the EXIT a gay man's newspaper and it is not much different to the FHM for straight men and the feeling afterwards. I had my pink rosary in one hand ( and touching my body with the other) and somewhat desperately I asked the Lord to help me to stop, my heart was racing and then the point of no return. The guilt , the feeling of guilt and then the forgiveness that came after In read Psalm 32. I am grateful for the privilege of having this tension in my faith, this is indication that my basic essential needs are met and so I can dedicate mental energy to this process of spiritual self discovery.


Pancho

The last December before grad school?

In this blog, there are many things I have written about - I have told my strories, I have deconstructed them, I have reconstructed them and reflected upon that which happens in my life. I have trained myself as a writer, especially since 2009 is the year in which I wrote the most posts in this blog, the founding year. The formative year. In 2010, I actually became a freelance writer for a travel magazine, "The Flamingo" and I joined a group of doctors who aimed to take their HIV Clinicians' Society to great heights and they taught me so much about HIV and the body and disease. In 2011 I joined a public health organisation and I applied the statistics I had studied alone in 2009-2010, that initially began just as a catch in the topic of probability that I needed to learn for the GRE and it went deep into the exploration of statistics. Now I teach GRE preparatory classes at the start of every year to a group of adults applying for the Fulbright. I also did a statistics short course in Stellenbosch this year that blew my mind and restored my positive energy, my agency. I can only thank the Lord for all my blessings, though others will claim it has been all 'me', but I know it has not. So then what I am writing this blog for.

The process of reflection. That introspection of the self, that journey to another place without having to leave home physically (well I am in my office, this is where I use the computer now, because it is the only place that is ergonomic in terms of wrist support and posture). Indeed, overcoming my injury, repeated strain injury that developed in 2011 as a result of typing up hundreds of pages of documents and SPSS click and point analyses. My arms were in so much pain, I could not use the laptop without the burn. And now, I use and take breaks every half hour, thanks to this computer program eye leo (though I sometimes postpone them, I ought to break at the scheduled time).

Love life. Oh yes, love life. Is this not what I am blogging for in any case? Hopping there will be someone out there who will take a liking to what I write and the he would look me up, here in Windhoek and find me somehow. Yeah write, write, keep on writing is what this boy Ruan Human from the Outfocus - a gay news page on facebook - told me in 2011. I had a crush on him because he raised awareness about human rights abuses in Namibia concerning same sex acts and I had a 'facebook crush' on him. In real life I decided I did not like him that much.
But so much has happened since then.
But no time now, the Eye leo break is now.

Attraction after TB talk

Blog: attraction after TB talk
P1: the doctor I was talking to could not have been more attractive. Here was this young American man sitting next to me talking to me about his research and his work : "if I want to test a patient for resistance , I just do it." the intonation of his voice and the his eyes moved seemed to hint that he was of my persuasion: gay, which even made home more of an interest to me. Indeed, he would have been a perfect partner, save the blemishes on his face. Were they acne or some type of skin disease or cuts? Were they type you get when you have HIV? So he could be a gay doctor who I also HIV positive? I did not know I was contemplating all of this till much after out talk had ended and I was left to think of our encounter in my room. It had stimulated by intellectual and emotional interests and it revealed the prejudices I held. I admit it, I am not just interested in the disease as a researcher, I also fear it like any gay man on the prowl, and despite all my knowledge I have the same fears: is it going to get me?

Postscriptum

I have seen this doctor a couple of times since that talk and I notice that the blemishes on his face are not acne or herpes sores or Kaposi Sarcoma lesions or whatever disease I though they were, but merely beauty spots, birthmarks, which make him uniquely handsome. 

Playing in Church

I write because I hope that it will help me heal, not numb the pain like just talking about it does, but help me close those wounds. It happened today, this evening at mass. What happened? Why am I making this sound so dramatic so heavy? Can't I add a bit of humor to this incident, I mean, this guy I know as a friend, Maximus, just outside the door of the church, still in the archway between the steps and the door, before those romanesque columns at the top of the few steps yells at me, his face livid: 'Pancho, get serious man, this is church you don't play in church'
'I'm sorry' I said, boy I could he was angry and this was just because I whispered 'are you leaving now?' as I walked past him on the way back to the pew where we were both sitting after communion and even then he snapped and said 'this is church!' and much louder than my question.
Before I could say much more Maximus bolted down the steps and shouted 'I'm not gay!'
At this point, I could have tried to be funny and shouted back 'tell me something I don't know?'. What happened was that phrase left me with just a wry smile and a confused face to the onlooking people that were emerging from the church and caught our conversation.

What had happened? Well, now that I think back and trace my steps, I was not sitting on same pue as Maximus when I cam in. I was much more in front. Everytime during the 'peace be with you' part of mass, I venture beyond my pew to shake hands, I to other pews behind me, on the other side of the ailse and I usually end someplace else. I always make a point of greeting the friends I see and I always greet Maximus, this time was no exception. The only difference was I ended up on the same pew as him. But we were not sitting close, even for American standards with the bubble of personal space, there were only the two of us on that pew, basically on opposite ends. So was it that I took the odd glance to my left to look at his piety that ticked him off? Or was it merely the fact I ended there, on his pew, where no one else was sitting. It puzzles me.

I tried to just read the book about the fossils of Namibia, which I bought for a family friend in Bulgaria, Victor, who studies geology. It is filled with the history and illustrations of not only the creatures that inhabitted our land eons ago, but also of the actual sites in Namibia where you can see there tracks - literally - the fossilized footprints. I read on and it reminded me of my childhood fascination with Dinosaurs and the Dinosaur magazine for kids I used to collect and read, of the Jurassica documentary on Discovery channel. But I did not get far in the book, nor in my recollections of this childhood hoby before the pain started creeping in. I remembered Massimo and what he said. Were we not friends? And he knew that I was gay, I mean he figured out the first time I met him and he said he was fine with it. He asked me for 'girl advice' and I told him I knew nothing about that department because I was into guys and he said it was cool. For a Catholic! He is young, he is about my age, perhaps a year or too younger. So I was astounded to see him act that way. That really lascerated my heart. I reminds me of when I was in fourth grade and I would come home from school and then lie on my bed, on the side so no one would see, and I would cry and cry, till my head hurt. I was different, it was clear and the kids at school made sure I knew that. Back then I did not know what this feeling of weirdness was, until much later in high school - I accepted that I was gay. No wonder they call it being queer.
Just last week I was walking down the steps as I chatted with him, 'Massimo, that's your name in Italian'
'Massimo' he repeated, intrigued. I then saw my two Italian pensioner friends (I always go to them and give the peace of Christ as la pace di Cristo) and began chatting with them and somehow my conversation with Maximus never took hold and he just left, I felt it was kind of rude. Other times, he would leave the church sooner than I did and just walk out of the grounds before we could chat. Most of the times, I would greet him and we would shake hands, in a very hip and cool way, very Namibian yet still manly. Now that I think of it, there was a time I came to him and yelled 'Maximus ! ' in a very sweet voice as I approached to embrace him and he was like 'whoa whoa whoa!' and he preempted me with a handshake that I accepted. So yeah, he did not like the whole affectionate thing and I sensed that, I responded to that appropriately.

So this is the point where I as the gay one have to reevaluate my actions, my demeanor because of course, I must have made him feel uncomfortable, something which I should have just avoided at all costs, just kept my distance. Clearly, I am saying this with irony as the fact that I am a gay man sitting on the same pew as him and yes, I did talk to him during mass as we walked back from communion, something not done in church, but did this warrant such a reaction? Now that I think about it, this is not about who was wrong and who was right. This is about him feeling uncomfortable - or his manhood threatened - and then him hurting me as a result. I felt that I was gonna get beat, really! Good thing he just vented and left.
And yet I just cannot put my finger on what happened. Two weeks ago we were chatting and he shared how he was looking for work and he idea of studying economics next year, but doing another bachelors. I advised him to just do the masters since he already has done sociology. The last thing he said that day to me was 'look, I also have this girl and we want to be together',
'so you want to get married soon and so you need to find a job?' I said, and I think he affirmed my reply, but then he also seemed to leave something unsaid. Could have tried to tell me 'lay off cause I have a girlfriend?' and why would he try to insinuate such a thing? Did he really think I was hitting on him, after meeting his girlfriend, after speaking to him after every mass I have seen him at St Mary's for the past year and half?

Yes, I admit it, the very first time I went up and spoke to him, it was because I reckoned he was the most handsome man I had seen in a long time. But that was before I got to know him and certainly before I came out to him and he was cool with it.
The only explanation I have is a deep insecurity that has brought out this side of him, that has brought out how as he told me ,'used to be'. Perhaps it has to do with looking for a job and not finding one, or something els. I do not know. I just have to put this 'mental health reason' out there for his behavior, because otherwise I will not be able to deal with pain inflicted on my heart. He could not have said those things and been of sound mind. Or perhaps he has never had a gay man sit on the same pew with him before and only now he realises it is hard to deal with.

After the incident two people spoke to me. The one was a man who asked 'if anyone had approached me before' about just my behavior in Church. Apparently, I draw out the hymns I sing and it is just too loud, he advised I just 'go with the flow of the church'. The other was a lady who as he spoke told me 'you know if that is the way you worship the Lord my dear, than do not let anyone try and tell you how you must do it.' She later stayed behind after the man left and said 'if that is your friend you should tell him you do not appreciate him for that, and you should tell him that you are serious in the church and you are not playing (Maximus had shouted 'get serious and stop playing'). She almost made me cry. She gave me a blessing and indeed she said 'blessed evening' and I returned with 'you too, you gave me a blessing'.

What am I even doing in Church? Why do I even go to this evening mass or any mass? Is there something I have missed that so many other gay men see who no longer go to Church? Is it about time I just too my leave from this 'organised, mass worhship'?

'This is not a gay Church', that is is what my brother told me this morning. He tried to use as a reason for me to wear pants instead of shorts to Church. For mothers' day, he agreed to go to Church, but 'not if I look the way I do'. So there you have it, that is what cuts so deep. Naturally I did not end up going with my mother and brother to Church. No sir. I did not conceed, as much as they tried to convince me and my mother pleading with me to put on pants, I refused and when I made my way to door of the house to leave, she shouted a hurl of insults (all in Bulgarian, so don't ask me to translate but I am sure you can guess what it has to do with).

These are the realities I have to deal, the incongruity or apparent conflict of my person, my sexual orientation (or preference?) with my faith.

We are cool with my mom now. I told her that I should have known they would have wanted me to dress up, since they are participants in this whole traditional society project. (i.e. they are normal). But, I added, they should have known I would not have wanted no part in this project. We should have had understanding (hey I spent two years in a United World College to foster international understanding) and we should have avoided the conflict somehow.

If I sinned in not conceding, I hurt my mother. If she sinned, it was because she also hurt me. No one was 'wrong', we were just two people who hurt each other (that especially goes for my brother, we hurt each other).

And perhaps wearing pants is not such a big deal, but it is for me! I spent so long getting out of having to perform, to be normal and so there was no way I would perform this morning that were a coherent family, my mother, brother and me, all dressed up nicely for Church. So I did not pretend.

Time to go to sleep. I want to dream of Dinosaurs instead.

Amazing Grace

I am here in this time and place. I just heard a rendition of Amazing Grace for Jazz Piano sang by an attractive strong male voice. I am still here in this space, my office, it is almost quarter to ten, sipping on my tea, and there is not so a great deal to be done. Yes I have some 'down time' and although I could just put myself to doing a task I do not actually have to do, like designing a new databases, I will just take these fifteen minutes to write. I do feel God's Grace is truly amazing, even though my beliefs have evolved since I last started this blog on request of my dear friend Zach Marr.

Is there anyone out there who is need of prayer, who is perhaps down and out and waiting for something, a job interview, the results of a difficult exam, the outcome of grant or scholarship application? Then please close your eyes, if you will, and pray. I am also praying for you and in sense, I wish I could leave a computer program in this text that says 'If someone reads this and begins to pray; contact Pancho and then let him say the prayer ENDIF, or WHILE they there are still people who need prayer, contact Pancho and let him say the prayer ENDWHILE. Thank goodness no one would ever be able to write such an algorithm and no computer language could implement it, that is telepathic contact with me at the moment your eyes read these words. Only the God would be able to and of course, the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the angles and saints who have done His Will throughout the ages.

So if I were to get to the core of my faith it would center around three things: prayer, fellowship, service, much like the Holy Trinity. I pray because although I find it hard to believe in the supernatural, I feel prayer, that outpouring of the heart, is more than just a sincere wish to influence the cogs of the universe, it is an outpouring of love. Prayer leads to fellowship with other people, fellowship to prayer and that is when I feel Christ's presence. Among people, like my friends or should I say sisters and brothers at the Christian fellowships in Princeton, I feel His prescence. I then believe in the event of the resurrection in so far as I experience God again and again through the people who share the faith with me. In service, like the time I spent volunteering at soup kitchen for orphans and vulnerable children on the north western part of Windhoek yesterday afternoon, I try and distance myself from my anxieties (when will I found out if I got that scholarship? Will I meet the guy of my dreams soon?) and give back to others, even though I know what I give is minimal, it is one step towards bringing the Kingdom of God here on earth (Do I believe in celestial Kingdom that exists metaphysically or physically out there - only in so far as I see the beginnings of it here on earth when I serve with people around me). 

And yet, when I pray I often limit my prayers to my own understanding of what can be prayed for (I never pray for healing outside of the biomedical context). In my fellowship, I am often inhibited by what I perceive to by a conflict between what I believe vis-a-vis my (homo)sexuality and what the group or institution may believe. When I serve I sometimes day dream about my own issues and desires rather than doing the best I can for the person I am serving. Is my faith then imperfect, yes. Is this even a declaration of faith? I guess so. I wrote it as my way of saying this is what I believe, it is not 'everything that is Biblical' or all the teachings of the Catholic Church, it is these three things, prayer, fellowship and service. 

Peace be with you.

prayer for Lent

I think I will go to sleep now. And I will sleep well. On Friday I was praying the sorrowful mysteries and it was soo deep and soo sorrowful. The Rosary, the amount I cried, praying the Rosary, is just incomparable, is incredible.
I think it had much to do with the fact my brother systematically insulted and told me we would never have a normal brother relationship because I am a moffie (faggot), gay.
But later on I felt, even though he did not say it, that he was sorry for he said. He was watching TV and he could of turned up louder, but he did not.
What did I do for him to be so rude? I asked him to stop arguing with a drunken man (a person I doubt he knew) outside our garage and all he said was 'We will lower our voices'. I warned him I would call the cops, he did not care and I did, but then he did care. Luckily the person left, and my brother came in and brought his wrath on me. I called the cops for them not to come. And in that same hallway, my brother really insulted me good.
Praying afterwards helped. I was so grateful to the Lord that I have a brother, that is well and alive, and even though what he said hurt, it would be better than having no brother at all.
My brother told me how in December, on his way back into town from the coast, he was literally seconds away from the being involved in the bloodiest accident of 2011.
Praise the Lord he survived.
We are now on 'normal' speaking terms with him. Everything is ok. Praying the Rosary, so powerful.

Looking for a gate

I remember Gene Robinson, the gay Anglican or (Episcopalean) Bishop, saying that as gay people, we have so long just been sitting at the gate and once we go in we will never be content with standing by the gate ever again. He was addressing the Union Theological Seminary and referring to a passage in the Acts of the Apostoles where the disciples heal this man who is just by the gate of the temple, who was ostracised, according to Gene's reading, and now is part of the community of believers, by entering the temple. 

This morning I went looking for the entrance to a gate that leads to a church. The place was called the Windhoek showgrounds and the His People Church rents out a hall for Sunday worship. The trouble is the main entrance of the showgrounds were closed, as they should be. So I spent almost half an hour running around some shady dirt roads in the complex that led to closed gates or just bushes by a riverbed, a classic scene for  robbery here in Windhoek. Thank goodness nothing happened. 

Eventually, I did go around via the back entrance and greeted the passerby, church goers who were on there way home.

You I always go to Churches, except my Catholic Church, after the sermon. I just go for the mingling, the fellowship, the people. I avoid hearing the sermons, because so many times you hear something at these Churches (by 'these' I mean contemporary Christian evangelical like Churches where you can sing basically the same worship songs like ' this is my daily bread...' all over the world) that is so heterosexist, so assumes you are heterosexual or even worse alienates your gay identity. So I just stopped going. But now, I wonder, is the problem with the Church or is it just me? I love the people, in fact today I went so I could talk to a friend Euan, who is a Scott, doing a technical assistance intership at the ministry of finance. He goes to the Church and he is a really swell dude, I met him from my friend Guillaume who was his roomate before he left to teach French in China. Two Sundays ago. I ran into him just outside his office (he was preparing the speech for the Finance minister on the budget) and I just opened up to him, told him about film 'Skoonheid' (google it!) about how it affected me as a gay man and how I was Christian too. He said something to the effect, 'yeah people should just be who they are , but sometimes Churches do not understand'. I felt a genuine connection with Euan then and I thank the Lord for that. Now this Sunday I wanted to connect with him again, on a deep spiritual level, but I was avoiding the Church service he goes to. Why? Am I keeping myself at the gate? Why do I not go in? There is no-one at the door checking for your sexual orientation as you enter so what is going on?

I saw Euan just as he was leaving, approaching the gate of the showgrounds, which I had finally entered. We chatted for a bit with two of his friends, two girls - one of whom is from Malawi but I did not want to bring up the whole gay persecution thing when we rode back in Euan's car, I mean I had just met her! So he dropped me off at my building, where I work and I said : 'So Euan I would love to catch up with you, we should do dinner sometime, would you like to?"

Euan crossed his arms as stopped the car and looked at me somewhat worried 'What do you mean dinner?"

Oh no, so here I was dressed in a very tight pink shirt and he knows I am gay, asking him out to dinner. So to console him I said: 'friendship dinner'. Relieved he said 'sure, yeaha and we have a braai I will invite you sometime'.

I thanked him and that was it.

I sure hope to meet more of Euan and learn more from him!