We are three friends scattered across the globe, each navigating life as gay Zimbabweans.
My mother once took me to an all night vigil two years ago. The premise for the occasion was not clear but our lives depended on us showing up.
“Sit at the front” my mother commanded me as we walked to Glen View 5. Upon our arrival I quickly realized that everyone who sat at the front was here to be helped. We were the reason for the vigil, our souls needed saving. Some of the people I sat with were ill, some were barren and seeking children, some were trying kurasa zvikwambo zvavo. But what about me? What had I done to earn a spot at the coveted “front line”?
After many hours of praying and freezing to death in that June weather it was my turn. My mother walked up with me and started speaking,
“Nhasi ndauya nemwana wangu pamberi paMwari kuti mumubatsire.” As she is speaking I am searching my mind for what exactly I may need help with. I am healthy, in school, not seeking children or money or a job.
“Mwana wangu aneDemoni rehungochani” At this point I froze. Everything that happened after I cannot fully remember. I hear people gasp, then break into song and pray. I feel hands on top of my head, I hear men bellowing in tongues. I am crying and I cannot stop it. This is what shame feels like. I am screaming internally, desperate to escape my own skin. I wonder how I went from thinking about the weather to imagining how I can kill myself. I hate everyone here but I hate myself more, for being foolish enough to think my mother ever really loved me. I hate myself for not being able to hide my curse, if only my voice were deeper, my hips swayed less and my hands firmer. Maybe I would not be here right now surrounded by hundreds of people who are trying to exorcise a part of me, trying to kill me slowly.
I think of that night today and I wonder if Jesus was present that night I felt more naked than I do with four men standing around me, feeding me their dicks arms akimbo. If Jesus was present then and felt me hurt in ways I did not think possible, I hope he is here too.
Kam walks in midway me riding Anthony all the way to Kingdom cum. From the moment he walks in, I know I am in trouble, I smile with anticipation. Kam: 6”4, dark, hung like an elephant’s trunk and thick like a Baobab tree. M’Baku towering over my 5”6, small frame.
The first stroke sends me into shock, I do not say anything, eyes roll back and thighs shake. Second stroke I bellow and call upon Jesus and my ancestors. I will need reinforcements if I am to make it out of this alive.
“Argh! Jesus! Maiwe!” I grunt as he pushes deep inside me.
“That’s alright, call on whoever you want, just arch that back,” whispers Kam.
I arch my back like my life is depending on it. (Yoga saves lives—thank me later!)
After what seems like a lifetime Kam rams hard into me, slaps my ass and flops down next to me. At this point all my organs have been rearranged, my neighbors may have called 911 and I may have spoken in tongues. I think I saw Heaven and I am sure I had a vision. Maybe that vigil did help me after all.
Tonight I have been baptized in the name of Ass, Dick, and Cum. The Holy Trinity.
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