Posts for End of July 2010

Frid 30 July

I AM AT THE LAST STAGES NOW - JUST HAVE THIS FEE TO PAY . I applied to grad school in South Africa at WITS University! Prasie the Lord, after so many obstacles, bureaucracy has not triumphed over my resolve to apply.

Sat 31 July

Chisha’s Birthday! I need to call her, I almost forgot. But this is what is great about a blog, it allows you to reflect on the day and not just on the events, on the actual date itself which in itself reminds of things. Chisha is one my best friends, we met here in grade 1 (first grade). She was so slender like a deer – and just as elegant – then. Very intelligent and still is. I wish her all the best of health and happiness!

I just spoke to Chisha. She is at the beach in Walvis Bay by the waves “Can’t you hear the waves” she asked as I spoke to her over the phone, imagining her by the shore with Chister, he boyfriend by her side. They went skydiving this morning! That was her surprise birthday present. Imaginate, si sono lanciati da un aereo a migliaia di metri sopra la terra e per trenta secondi, second lei, cadi liberamente e poi ti appre la paracaduta e atteraggi al corso di cinque minuti piano piano.

I just realized that I have a life. I have always had one, even when I was at Princeton. Even when I wrote my thesis in that week of weeks – the last week of April 2010, I still had dinner, still had conversations, even though I felt quite stressed. This weekend has been great so far. The Sabbath was peaceful yesterday evening this afternoon. Though I keep the Sabbath, I am not a convert to Judaism and its beliefs – just now I was having a pork Goulash and it was delicious. I am Christian. But since I have a number of Jewish friends, at Princeton I learnt to go to the CJL and spend time with them. I could not keep the Sabbath when I was a student, really my life was just overloaded and not conducive to doing it. Now I can.

Pakistan is experiencing the worst floods in collective memory. I should do something – so I am going to donate to the Red Cross. I was having a lovely dinner with Claudia, an Italian lady who lives in Finland who is the legal guardian of Marta, a four year old Namibian girl who was orphaned. People are scrambling, trying to flee the flooded areas and seeking their loved ones. I was at ease knowing my brother is safe in our house and that we live a semi arid land where floods are unheard off. People are at risk of water borne disease. I take my health for granted often. Is there anything wrong with this picture?

Lord help me to be your light.

During dinner we spoke of a Giovanni. “Giovanni Giobbe” ho ditto io, “È Sicilliano” “Come lo sapevi?” le ho chiesto stupidito dal fatto che riconosce le origini del unico Giovanni nella mia vita – quello “del collegio” colla barba e i baffi – il bello tipo che ear il compagno di stanza “il roomo” di Dro di cui ero inamorato per i primi tre mesi della mia esperianza indemnticabile “al collegio” in Italia. Mi piace poter pensare alla gente, che posso vissualizzarli – i miei amici – anche se sono lontano fisicamente e poi che posso pregare per loro. Le preghiere contanono, si contano e aiutano.

Grazi a te o Signore.

I also had a chance to go to Church youth group today! I danced in the grass.

Soy ballongo y cuando empiezo no paro de ballar. En el jardín de nuestra iglesia hay un árbol alrededor del que hay es verde y estuve balando mientras que los “hermanos” – aquellos hombres que desean ser curas – cantaban y tocaban las tamborines

Me puse alegre siempre cuando la gente toca o canta y quiero moverme

¡La vida es carnaval y las penas se van cantando!

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,

Life is great, without you it would be meaningless,

Please help always to invite to dinner when I say grace, as I did tonight and let me mean it!

Apparently, the Virgin Mary at Fatima said that we must pray for souls to be saved. In her words, this means praying “Oh My Jesus, save us from the fires of hell, bring all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of your mercy.”

I am not sure whether this entails conversion or just plain salvation, no matter what the person does. I think it means both.

In any case, I think the essence of this prayer is that people are really in trouble, on this earth, suffering, because of the human condition. To bring them to heaven, to save them, is of course to redeem them from the human condition – what some refer to as evil or the devil. I pray this is what we can do, because whether or not you care about the afterlife, people in this life are suffering and need us!

Bloody Saturday

What in the world is going on here? Drops of blood on the floor of my house. The door was wide open and those red spots on the floor were my welcoming to the evening. “My friend was hurt” was Branden’s reply as he buzzed passed me to the outside. I took a mere two steps and there he lay on the couch. In blood I saw him reclining back, his arm in the blue purple hues of blood, the darkness of it all. On his body, on his ear, the left side of his face and in that wound on his neck. A slit no wider than a pocket knife blade opened up his neck and to reveal the deep dark red. It was Joshua, my brother’s friend. “He was stabbed” came a reply from where upon my questions.

He was breathing deeply. “Please call” came the moan when I announced in the house “Did someone call an ambulance?!”

What I found that night was different from what had happened in the daylight before. I was away from home with an Italian lady and her adoptive daughter. How joyous was our afternoon in the sun! There was climbing of a cargo net outdoors, eating bratwurst, lamb and even bean banana salad in the open air. There was no appetite for me that night, when I returned. Perhaps I had enough before, but perhaps it was just that smell of blood, as I cleaned it all up afterwards – when the ambulance had already gone with him to the Hospital. And my brother’s other friend – Robert – who was apparently lucky to have gotten away with just a scratch compared to what befell Joshua. Why such a wretched evening? What about the day? The devil surely has his way.

Quattro anni fa una cosa del genere capitò nella nostra cosa. Era anche di notte quando l’amante di Peggy, una amica della nostra famiglia, venne arrabiato per trovarci. Saltò sopra del recinto del giarno invece sonnare alla porta. Perchè non mi rendí conto del fatto che fosse agressivo e pericoloso? Invece, come uno scemo, l’ho fatto entrare in casa dovè eravamo tutti noi tre. Mio fratelllo, Daniele, Peggy e Io. La mamma era in Bulgaria e il Pappa simplicemente non c’era. Tutto fu sconvolto , la sua ira l’ha fatto sconvolgere la cena, buttare i piatti per terra. Peggy è rimasta male. L’ha spinta per terra e lei è caduta sbattendosi la coda – la parte tra la pancia e le gambe – contro la terra ceramica della nostra cuccina. Non sono riusciato a impedirlo, mi ha solo spinto via. Poi arrivarò la guardia (security guards) che Daniella chiamò premendo il “panic button” nella camera della mia mama. Ieri non nessuno ha invaso la nostra casa. Anzi, sono statti pichiati fuori, a uno centri metri della casa, quando stavano andando al negozino del nostro quartiere. Non so come Joshua cel’ha fatta a caminare fino a nostra cose con quelle piaghe addosso.

Ma mia mamma era in Bulgaria è mio padre non c’era. E come quel dia quatro anni fa, non fu raggiungibile – non ha risposto alle mie chiamate al suo telefonino.

Remarkably, I maintained my calm as I saw this young man lay there before me. Immediately, I remembered that we had a first aid kit and so I retrieved from the kitchen medicine cabinet. The thought of calling a doctor – our family knows two very well – ran through my mind. Putting the red pouch on the kitchen table before the wounded boy, I rushed to the telephone. As he was in agony, a dilapidated state, I dialed the number of Dr Star. No answer. What to do, should I call or put on some bandages first. I need to act and so I did, I decided to go for the first aid kit. It unzipped in mere seconds and in split seconds I noticed the different items: the gauze bandage, the sterile compresses in packaging – I need a scissor, where ? Here it is. But my hands – they are not sterile and this is, but what they will never be. There were not visibly dirty so I just went for it. Oh these plastic tweezers should help and here is a sterile alcohol swab. “Joshua this is going to sting a little” I said with a remarkable sense of confidence, as if I knew what I was doing. Then I saw the wound in his neck. It had blood in it, like it was minuscule lake of red on his sand colored skin, but it was not flowing or gushing. So what use would this serve? Non serviva a niente! I swapped the wound with the alcohol swab and all I did was to dab in that crimson red. Then I put on the patch of gauze like material, only a few millimeters thick on it, and then I began winding around the bandage. I went rough the bend, where his head leaned against the couch and I asked him to lift his head, and he did, and I went round again, and he lifted once more, and I think I did this twice more till I realized I did not know what to do next.

J’ai dressé sa blessure mais franchement, cela n’a pas servi aucun fonction médicale, puisque le sang ne coulait pas, je me suis rendu compte que c’était juste pour le soigner – il a servi à ce qu’il savait que quelqu’un prend soin de lui.

Would this wrap around bandage stay on ? How? Taking a moment to focus, I realized I needed to just cut it and then tuck the end in to the other layers already on his neck. And it held. I believe only the Lord helped then to focus before such a wounded person. I wished I knew what I was doing; I wish I had some first aid training or something that could guide me. That was what I lacked. I plan to be trained in first aid, because I want to be empowered. For what? Next time? I don’t want there to be a next time, but sadly there is this thing called the human condition, some people call it evil, others call it the devil while still others are just plain indifferent to it all. That is why I need to be certified.

So I have put this to posterity on my blog. Now I can get one with me life. I can continue applying to grad school, I continue looking for a job, I can continue living a meager existence. No. The last item on that list will not continue.

Lord, help me to find in you the strength I need to go on. I know I am weak without you. We are all weak. Was any of this my doing Lord?

Leave home in the morning. Have a splendid with another family, knowing your brother plans to have a barbeque at home with friends. Accept that your father is busy at a retreat that is tangentially related to his actual job, but still primal to what he does. Come back home feeling blessed. This was perhaps the recipe for disaster.

I don’t know. I really don’t.

I woke up last night, thinking about this. The boy, the poor boy Joshua, my brother’s friend. But he could have been my brother! In fact, in the grand scheme of things, we are brothers, we are all humans, we are both men (albeit that my brother asks me to “be a man and not a moffie”) and we are both children of God.

Now that I got this all out, let me go and see what I can cook for today.

Las Sunday

El domingo de la semana pasada.

Hoy estuve buscando algo en el supermercado he visto a un chico que me parecía ser español. Era moreno y tenía el pelo más bien rizado y bastante largo. Mi parecía que el estuviera buscando la pasta italiana y al principio no quise ser distraído por él ¡Pero era muy guapo! No pude resistir a hablar con él, y por fin, decidí de me acercar a él, como estaba a algunos metros de mí en el negocio. “Perdón, ¿eres español?” le pregunté.

“No” me respondí. Ah si, entonces tiene que ser Italiano, pero me dije “no tampoco, soy de Israel.”

Ahora me dí cuenta del hecho que los Israelíes también son particularmente guapos y morenos. Pues, podría ser Judío de origen español.

¿Y eres sefardí?

“Si soy sefardí” me dijo confirmando mi pronóstico. Por supuesto – un sefardí que es efectivamente un español.

Luego no le dejó en paz – ¡como podía no hablar a un hombre que tal guapo!

Empecé a charlar con él “¿Has más ido a la sinagoga de Windhoek?”

“No, ¿dónde está?” Ahora podía explicarles las direcciones para ir a la sinagoga, no quería perderme esta oportunidad

“¡Está al lado de esté supermercado!” Pero no era fácil de explicárselas. Cómo no él conocía la ciudad, tuve que hacer un gran esfuerzo para explicarle donde estaba la sinagoga. Al fin, espero que haya entendido mis intentos de comunicar el camino más fácil para ir a la sinagoga. Pero, me pedió otras direcciones: ¿Dónde podemos comprar cosas para hacer camping?” Le dije que en Windhoek, casi siempre nadie trabajo el domingo y que mañana él podría ir a Marua Mall o Rhino Park para encontrar las cosas les que necesitaba. Luego, nos dijimos adiós y continuamos nuestras búsquedas en el gran negocio. Pero una cosa faltó. ¿Porqué no le preguntó de casarme en Argentina? Podríamos hacer una boda bonita, a lo mejor a Ushuaia – el punto más sur de la América – donde la naturaleza es preciosa y romántica. Pero en aquel momento no pensé a eso.

Hay siempre la próxima vez ¿No? Si y no me parecía nada gay – era algo macho, un hombre verdadero.

Además hay otra pregunta – ¿Porqué no hice un esfuerzo para mostrar mi cristianismo? Antes que me fuera, ¿porqué no le hablé de Cristo? Sé porque. Dado que no soy ese tipo de cristiano que se preocupa por la salvación de los demás, no necesitó hablar de eso. Sí, es verdadero, para mí, es importante que una persona me conozca y que yo sea abierto y comprensivo. Supongo que Dios ya tiene un camino par alcanzar a ellos. Por Cristo, cuento con el hecho que mis amigos encuentren a Cristo un día, a través nuestra amistad que viene del amor divino. Pues, por los judíos, pienso que Dios ya les tiene junto a él.

Estoy cansado. Voy a acostarme. Es tarde.

Jill bacht is alive!

Monday 12 July 2010

Jill bagt is alive! I am writing to you as Pancho Mulongeni to tell you about other persona, my nickname, my feminine character – I dare not say woman, because I am a man - Jill bagt.

On the 17^th of July from 18:00 Jill will model in a fashion show for the Catholic Church Youth Group Gala Dinner. At Cathedral Hall, on Mandume Ndemufayo, just behind St Mary’s Cathedral, I will make a shameless statement of my disregard for hegemonic notions of gendered clothing right on the catwalk.

Why did I choose Jill bagt? Well her name actually means Jesus Loves Lesbians, Bisexuals, Asexuals, Gays and Transgenders. The ‘I’ in Jill is open to interpretation, I like to think it means “in” for “Jesus in love with…” or it could be “is the lover of…”

In any case, I want to affirm sexual minorities in and through our Christian faith. I hope you can come and join me and my friends at the Gala dinner (it costs only N$ 20) and support us! So far, I am not making a big fuss about it and I believe the Catholic Youth Groups will not either. I mean, women don’t make a fuss about wearing jeans, so should I?

Granted, Jeans wearing by women is not met with the same social animosity, at times, as men in skirts, but I believe in the goodness of people. I will not be dragged off the stage, come and see! Depending on the interest, I am thinking of also making Jill bagt into a “group” where we can meet and share our feelings and thoughts about the Christ who loves us, but who we are often told does not.

I hope you can come! Message me for any more information. I am modeling:

Winter wear, summer wear and a 60s look. If you have any suggestion for dressing, (any) please contact me!

Love in Christ

Pancho

Friday 16^th July 2010,

Tomorrow will I go onto the catwalk as Jill bagt? I believe so. But I am not so excited anyomore. Tell you why – there are things more important in life than that

Hoy me encontré con Morné, es un chico un poco más viejo de mi que hace el teatro (el drama) en el colegio de los artes. No lleva pelo – su cabeza es desnuda, ¿en español como se dice?

Morné Spike to me as he stood very close and in that time, it was just me and him, without all those people passing us by on their way to participate in consumerist culture edified by the shopping mall.

There he was talking to me and I was listening. I had seen him twice before. Once when I was in the dance class and he came to speak to Angie “That’s Morné “ she said.

I had seen him walk past me in Hochlandpark, on the street, past the grocery store and past the pink church where I used to go every Friday, till I found out they did not want me to talk about me being gay.

I told him “..but then I made Jesus my lover and he gives me everything.”

“Do you know [ don’t remember who he mentioned] he has a Christian group …[somewhere I don’t remember what Morné said]” he asked in reply

“No and I am not sure If I want to go to any group now. I know I have been at a group before, but now what I want to do is start one for lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgender people, actually for anyone, but especially for us so we can have a place to talk about it.”

He agreed by the enlightening of his face and added “yes, because Christians will say in the Bible…”

I vaguely remember what I said, but I discussed how Christianity varies on interpretation of the text

“…Yes but there are so many interpretations…”

Then he amplified by saying “yes you could even argue Jesus was gay!” I did not say anything as much as smile at the proposition.

Earlier he told me how he was so busy last year and became addicted to drugs:

“I did about nine plays last year with Avalon, here and in Germany and then I got involved in drugs, I am now in rehab, recovering.” His frankness at the moment, in the shopping mall astounded me.

That is why I too reciprocated

“Last year I also had a problem with pornography, but I don’t know how addicted I was, but then I made Jesus my lover and he gives me everything.”

“I have a lot doubts about it all and I find it hard to accept” he expressed, his face making the gestures of incertitude.

“It’s a leap of faith,” I said as I tried to light up my face in glee.

Then we hugged and parted after some more conversation. He told me he had rehearsal with students tomorrow and that they would perform on the 22^nd of July. He invited me.

Our conversation actually began about performance, he stopping me as I walked briskly and telling me how he enjoyed the performance of the college of the arts, in which he said I danced in almost every piece. Our conversation, however, broke new ground when he told me about the drugs.

How did he do that?

Why?

I pray for him, I immediately told him I would. I feel drawn to him, even though I sense he is straight. How do I feel about him? Does it matter, let me pray. Lord protect us.

July 3rd 2010

Blog roll.

Well I have not much time for this entry as in about 17 minutes, (about) I have to get ready to go to the theatre and perform there!

Nonetheless, here is a low down of what my week has been like.

I am applying to the WITS University. They have a great public health school and epidemiology program. If Joao Biehl cited them and if Phillip Tobias (doctor, anthropologist and scientist) studied and taught there then it should be good.

Before I can apply, I need to have my degree evaluated (yes, they have “never heard of Princeton”, I called and asked.) So much for prestige. The process of doing the evaluation was lengthy – just to have it sent to SAQA, cost me a lot of energy. I did not even start writing my personal statement for the application, which by the way, I will also use for an application for the Collins Trust.

Fore, all of a sudden an image of Fore came into my mind and I recall the yellow cream buildings, green creepers on the walls.

In any case, let me write something that will flex my writing muscles.

Paragraph 1 : A reflection on having to make a certified copy of my degree at US embassy for the evaluators.

Whoever invented telephone sure knew how to disappoint people. Invariably, this person was American, because voice recorded messages are American – we see people leaving them for others in the movies as children, or at least I did. Oh Goodness, I cannot even finish this entry, because my mother wants to find the damned electronic cigarette charger. Will write more later.

Pargarph 2: Jesus I love you. Why did i not turn to you oh Lord? At three yesterday I prayed “Oh Jesus, all day I have been with Martha, now let me sit at your feet with Mary and just look at you , but Lord I am still busy with Martha”. This was at the 3:07, a few minutes are the death our Lord on the Cross, which was also on Friday at 3:00pm. I could have stopped arranging my electronic bank transfers and form filling, my checking off the to do list and my mental calculations of time, to do yoga as I pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I did not manage to send off my application to SAQA yesterday. I did it this morning. There was not need to rush.

How annoying it is to hear my mother call “nyama go chargera, nyama go” – “ there is no charger, there is no charger”, as I write.

I am annoyed, and Lord, how can I find your peace to respond kindly, with patience, with Love, rather than in irritation? Lord please give me your peace.

Ticked off? Ask the Lord for His peace.

In one piece that I dance tonight, I am security guard, patrolling a park at night, when he comes across a woman crying on a bench. I wake her, we dance, we go into a fantasy and I realize that I am gay, but that I also am not under pressure to be her man. Somos amigos y ella no me necesita construir una identidad ilusadora.

Quotations – Tsitazi – Citations 3 July 2010.

“Si come no la maggior parte dei ballerini sono bambini”

Io rispondendo a Claudia, un italiana che è in corso di addottare una bambina namibiana, Marta, con la quale e insieme due o tre altre famiglie, verrano al mio sptaccollo di danza –“ Just Dancing”. Si preoccupava della possibilità che lo spteccallo non sia adequato per bambini e l’ho rassicurata che completatmente il contrario di quello che pensi. Dovevo dire “la maggior parte dei ballerini è costituita da bambini” per dirlo grammaticalmente correto, pero chi se ne frega?

“Taka ne mozhe da buda Pancho, ne mozhe!” Tova beshe maikaimi. Tai vikashe ot yat che ne mojeshe da nameri neinia charger za elektronic cigarette. Az i podarix tazi electrona tsigara za nova godina i tya zapochno seriozna da e pushi ot skoro, no ot nyakolko dni e beshe zagubila. Az tuko shto e izvadih ot dalbochinite na neynata chanta, puxnax si ratsete v enda “uronova dupka” kadeto sa i izchezvali mnogo chervila himikalki i drugi neshta. Sled kato izvadix neinata electrona tsigara se setixme che nyamal chargera. “Az go turix tuka vchera na cabineta, sega i nyama”. “Tuka e turix , tuka , kade e sega? Dyavola krie neshtatani.” Ne e li ironichno? Ne za naz, to va normalna, za tova maikami izpishtia “tova ne mozhe da produlzhi taki,” smeieke si.

Comming out story Published to Gospel For Gays

Hey, this blog is now about spiritual stories and their sexual underpinnings. Here you can read "My Comming out story" it is well edited, unlike the version in this blog


http://gospelforgays.com/?p=910

Here is some background

Dear Pancho,

Thank you very much for both this comment and your wonderful coming out story. I published the latter today; I trust you'll be happy with the very minor edits I did - basically adding a couple of pronouns you had omitted, along with a couple of periods. I resisted my own temptation to create paragraph breaks, where for example you had dialogue: I felt that you had set it up the way you wanted it to appear, and that it was a very successful piece of writing as it stood.

More importantly, far more importantlly: it's a beautiful and courageous story. I'm privileged to have it on my site.

Re. Paul. I've been thinking a lot more about him since returning from a three week trip/course that followed his itinerary in Greece and Turkey. I learned a lot. But my fundamental sense of him has not changed, and here it is:

1. I think he was basically homosexual, before the word 'gay' existed. I think that orientation gave him huge anguish, that he tried every way he could to repress his sexuality, but I think in the end he accepted it, always in a chaste way. I don't think he had sex with Timothy or others: that would make him a hypocrite. Masturbation: well of course. I think that was his 'thorn in the flesh'. He has the high energy and high intensity of a man with a good sex drive.

2. The more I learn the less I understand why the church puts Paul on the same level as Jesus, in terms of the authority of his very few utterances re. our sexuality. It makes no sense. I've started to address that in a couple of postings, and I intend to continue that line of inquiry.

So frankly, however we interpret his scant references to men having sex with men - I don't think they deserve the kind of absolute authority that people give them.

I hope you're doing well. You are in my prayer.

In Jesus,

Jeremiah

Dear Jeremiah,

Thank you so very much for your personal reply. You must be quite busy and I feel honored to have you reply directly. I am about check the posting of the story, in the event my name is not there, please post it! I would also like if you could post my location, Windhoek, Namibia. I want to refer this site to members of our LGBT network here and I want to see that someone from here has already posted. Thanks for doing the grunt work of the editing! The periods and pronouns always get me.

Your idea about Paul is intriguing. I wonder if I read his work whether I would come to the same conclusion. Could he not just have been ascetic?

Queer readings and traditional readings, which ones are inspired by the Spirit. When Christians speak of letting the Spirit guide our readings of scripture, what do they actually mean? I still wonder, because just as I found out when I danced at mass when no one else was dancing – it was a youth mass here in Windhoek and really joyous - people disagree as to when the Spirit acts. My fellow youth member, Paulcheria, felt that I was just dancing cause I wanted to and that I was using the Holy Spirit as an excuse.

I have published the letter you sent me on my blog : pmulonge.blogspot.com

If you would like me to remove it, please tell me so and I will. I assumed you would not mind.

Thanks again,

And you are in my prayers too!

Pancho

Home Stories 2: Mothers lipstick

The First Time I put on my mothers lipstick – age 24 . First I put on her overcoat, it was black blue and exactly what the French would call a vest. It trailed down to just above my knees and had no buttons, making it distinctly for women. Inside it I felt warm, for it was winter and because it was my mother’s. Her hairs were on, many of them and I brushed them off. In one of the pockets I found tissues – she always has them for blowing her nose, a roll of zambuck herbal lip balm, a splinter of chewing gum with three or four gums remaining and a un-capped lipstick. I could not resist and so I put some one as I admired myself in the mirror. I puckered my lips afterwards as I had seen her and other women do so many times. The lips in the mirror resembled Tutankhamen’s but a violet pink. I wondered whether it would be noticeable, whether I would be beaten in the street – as I always walk on foot – or whether my brother or anyone would notice. I then took a tissue and wiped the pink away and it quickly came off to smudge the white tissue in my hand. It would not be complete if I had not done that – had I not removed then and there while I was looking in the mirror. That is part of growing up gay – the excitement of being intrepid, but then covering your tracks afterwards.

After writing this, the lipstick putting event has already happened. It is part of my past and so that feeling of it being novel, it being new is gone. I now question whether this was the first time, or is it just what I think.