Closeted in Africa

written towards the end of my 4th month in Botswana
with the intention of later submitting it to the coming out anthology

I have a confession to make. I really enjoy coming out. In fact, I think it would be accurate to say that I love coming out. Consequently, after living in Botswana for almost four months now, I am becoming increasingly frustrated with my inability to come out properly here. I used to explain to people that for me the act of coming out was a process of self exploration… that the same labels some individuals reject as constraining, are actually a tool through which I experience a gratifying sense of liberation. I have come to realize, though, that my love for coming out also speaks to my intense need to express myself and, even more so, speaks to my strong belief that the foundation of friendship is complete and uncompromised self expression. Having never lived a closeted life way back when I was first coming out to myself, I was caught off guard by how painful the act of stepping into such an awkward space can be.

I’ll admit, when faced with heteronormative questions at home such as, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” as opposed to, “So, are you dating anyone?” I often simply answer and move on without getting too undone. At the same time, however, there is not a single individual with whom I would consider myself close who does not know that I like basadi and basadi fela1. In fact, as I build relationships with people, I tend to find a way to subtly out myself to a mindful listener.

The program through which I’ve traveled to Botswana emphasizes cultural immersion through language study and homestays. During my first month here, I lived in the rural village of Manyana. It was my first home and my favorite home. Who doesn’t like walking through fields of goats and cows and donkeys every morning on the way to school with the sun rising in the foreground? Anyhow, in addition to my host mother and three brothers, I had a 23 year old aunt who lived next door with whom I found spending time particularly enjoyable. Unfortunately, she spent more time in the capital looking for employment and hanging out with her boyfriend than she did at home. It should be noted, that culturally the fact that she has a boyfriend is acceptable, however, modern day Tswana culture in Manyana prevents her from discussing having a boyfriend with her parents (my host grandparents).

Unlike me, who bases friendship on shared values and interests... on trust… on something… on anything for that matter, my aunt instantly considered us the best of friends. Getting to know her, though, was quite difficult. Previously it has been my experience that the best way to encourage someone to be open is to first open up yourself. Thus, when my aunt told me about how her inability to discuss her relationship with her mother pained her, I wanted to be able to take back all the lies and share my own experiences with her. So why couldn’t I? While homosexuality exists in Botswana, it is basically invisible, especially in village life. At this point during my stay in Botswana, I knew very little, or more accurately, nothing about homosexuality in the country. For starters, I didn’t want to put myself in any physical danger. Word in villages gets around, and there is no such thing as a secret in Manyana. Additionally, I had worked quite hard to establish relationships with my mother and my grandmother and didn’t want to jeopardize my relationships with them if they were uncomfortable or disapproving of my unchristian (and immoral) lifestyle. And so I remained silent.

I didn’t do much relationship building in my second home of Mahalapye, so the issue was temporarily put to rest. But then came Gaborone, the capital, where I began dancing with Mogwana Traditional Dance Troup and spending a great deal of time with two young women similar in age to myself. My friendships with Tefo and Arona are currently a work in progress. With boys and boyfriends a frequent topic of conversation, lying soon became second nature. Things, though, became a bit more complicated when a male member of the group professed his interest in me to Arona. I could have simply said I wasn’t interested in him, but didn’t want to be rude. So, I explained to Arona that she should tell him that I while I am in Botswana I am here to learn and dance and not looking for a relationship. I repeatedly wrestled with telling Arona the truth. Then, during my second week in Gabs, I learned (through a discussion on politics) that my host mother, a very religious, and arguably fundamentalist, Christian, is quite homophobic. She explained to me, ignorant of my sexual identity, that homosexuality is the result of possession by the devil and that because god punishes societies as a whole, not just individuals, homosexuals have the potential to make the entire world go to hell. For example, if there are homosexuals in Africa and god gets mad, the drought will affect not only the homosexuals but my mother the good Christian too.

If this woman’s feelings are so strong, and I would have failed to discover them had I not engaged her in a conversation about politics, how can I know for sure that Arona doesn’t feel similarly? If she, too, is homophobic, telling her will jeopardize my independent study and this invaluable experience about which I have become incredibly passionate.  Ugh.

After my first performance with the group, there was a brief moment when I breathed a sigh of relief, not simply because I had danced quite well, but because maybe now I had nothing left to lose, I could finally tell Arona the truth. Unfortunately it isn’t that simple. I soon realized that with two more performances and a presentation for my classmates to go, there is still quite a bit to jeopardize. I guess I will have to continue to play things by ear.

*        *        *

I never finished this piece, but I feel that to finish it now would take away from its authenticity. Thus, I will simply say, that I never came out to Arona. Or, for that matter, to another young woman with whom I connected with through song and intellect during my last two weeks in the country. Do I have regrets? I wish I could have been honest with Arona. The reality is, though, that even such honesty might not have bridged the cultural gap between us such that we would have been able to engage in a close friendship.

 

- Alix Zamansky

1 women and women only

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