What is the general rule on making fun of gay people? This is an earnest question I’m posing. No tongue in cheek here. Someone please loop me in. Am I likely to start a storm in this teacup if I poked fun at gays? I’m sorry, what’s that? They will take offense? Really? What, gays can wear heels but are incapable of laughing at themselves? Isn’t that double standards and being somewhat uptight? (No pun, of course). Camaan!
Listen, last month I read this Op-ed piece in the Washington Post about this rousing “renaissance” of gayism. It was a satirical piece that theorized the intellectual supremacy of gay people. The writer went ahead and dropped names of some of the most successful gay people in business, arts, culture and sports and tried to link their sexuality to their success. It was a foolishly hysterical piece because I’m sure there are also unsuccessful gay people. I think your level of intelligence isn’t dictated by your sexuality. Anyway, the piece came an inch from implying that gayism was the new green movement global phenom and it generated over 800 heavy-breathing comments by gays, homophobes, bible thumpers, and the French. I learnt one vital thing from that piece; that gays don’t use smileys as much as I had imagined.
But seriously, if gays are as intelligent as they are lauded to be then they should be able to see a joke. If not laugh at it. I mean, this whole pussy footing (that pun belongs there) around gays is frustrating me. Oh, by the way, this is not about whether gayism is right or wrong, that moral debate will never happen here, I can assure you. This is about gayism and humour. I mean if gays want equal treatment, surely they should first start by allowing people to make fun of their pants. It’s like going into a stand-up comedy club and saying, you can’t be made fun of because you are sensitive. Here is a theory; if a gay guy wore a ridiculous hat would you not want to make fun of him? You aren’t being made fun of because you are gay; you are being made fun of because of your hat, which, when you think about it, might be a product of your sexuality. And a bad hat can happen to anyone; straight, gay, Indians, even monkeys in a circus.
I’m of the opinion that if one can make fun of a pigmy why not a gay guy? And making fun of a pigmy is the lowest of lows, it’s the full gallows humour, because there is something cowardly about making fun of someone you can outrun. A gay guy can choose to catch up with you if you make a joke about them they don’t fancy, wrestle you down and proceed to strangle you with his yellow scarf. I think gays should learn to stop being so bloody sensitive and take it…on the chin. For a change.
There is a reason why I’m writing about this.
Actually I’m writing this while seated at the Boarding Gate A1, OR Tambo airport, Johzi. It’s 7 degrees. I can’t feel my feet. I’m connecting to Nairobi after a week in Durban, another trip by the ever-gracious South African Tourism. Last night we watched Snoop Lion perform live at the MTV Africa All Stars. Him and Fali Ipupa, Coco Master and Flava. It was a complete ruckus, especially watching Snoop perform “Gin and Juice” the official anthem that defined my teenage. But before the concert, we attended a VIP pre-party, which was a joke.
And curiously, that’s the whole point of this story; a joke.
The party was held somewhere at this club at the seafront. For this trip I was with seven Nigerians, two Congolese, an Angolan, Rupi Mangat and Miss Thumi from Hill+Knowlton Strategies, the PR that put the trip together. So it’s with this group that I checked in with at this shambolic pre-party. We walk in through security; turn right where security lifts up red velvet to let us up a small flight of stairs into the VIP area. 9am and it’s jammed. Music is pulsing. We all split up when we walk in because you need not ask a horse to drink once you have taken it to the river.
I walk into the second section where the bar is. It’s packed too. And louder. I stop in the middle of the room, to drink in the room, because you have to drink in a room before you find your drink. So I’m standing there, taking it all in when I see some guy and chic standing so close to each other’s faces. Like half inch away from each other. I guess that’s one way to seduce a woman; by standing in her face, gives her no much room to look for the exit. But something strikes me wrong with that couple. Something about their bodies. So I look closer and notice what was odd; their body shapes look similar. They are both men! Whoa! Gaddammit, the chap, uhm, girl, to the left is almost kissing the other chap, uhm, guy! I look around and the room swirls in nonchalance as the two keep staring into each other’s eyes intimately, at the brink of kissing. Good Lord! I look away.
Then I really notice the room for the first time. Holy cow! Super skinny folk, man! Super skinny folk! Flashy guys too, colourful chaps. Guys in tight pants, and handkerchiefs hanging from their belt hooks. Guys in Mohawks. And colorfully dyed hair. And skinny shine-heads that remind you of Gestapo cooks. Guys in heels. Like high heels! The very high ones PR- agency chicks rock. And these guys are laughing and standing so close to ach other. And hugging each other, a lot. Taking pictures, a lot. Look, I’m not well travelled. I have never lived in Europe or the States. So I’m over my head here and my jaw is on the floor. This is new to me. The deep end. I’ve seen a couple of gay guys in Nairobi, but never have I been in a room with many gay guys, especially ones who don’t make bones about it.
I find myself immobilized in the middle of the room, like a statue. I thrust my hand in my pocket because some guy with soft hands might just hold it and coo, “looking for anyone special, darling?” and that might affect my sensibilities for a long time. I dunno, man. I then realize that if I keep standing there immobile some guy with a pierced tongue might mistake me for a pillar and lean on me. So I start swaying to the music to show that I’m a living thing. But not a seductive sway, just a normal sway. You know the way you are in a club and you see a chic you dig across the room swaying to the music and you start swaying as well to match her body rhythm? Not that kind. A small bland sway. You don’t want to put your hip into it too much because you might draw attention.
All these makes me crave for a stiff (oh boy) drink. Little problem, sonny; over at the bar counter is a group of gay folk, the same bar that promises me a drink. I’m talking a large group of colourful guys. How do you call a group of gays? Is it a cluster of gays? A school of gays? A knot of gays? A conglomeration of gays? A buncha gays? A phalanx of gays? (Rhymes with phallus). I think I will go with a forest of gays. So yes, at the bar counter is a forest of gays trying to get drinks as well. I’m immediately faced with a small dilemma; do I go over and squeeze myself between them, body against body and get my drink? Do I need that drink that badly? Am I willing and daring enough to venture into the forest? And you know what happens when you go into a forest, you will get wood. (Admit it, that’s a tight pun).
Anyway I decide that I don’t need a drink that badly. In fact, I decide I don’t want a drink the whole night. Just as I’m contemplating leaving to go look for the Nijjo brothers, a hand suddenly grabs my shoulder. And I jump out of my skin.
Who do I see when I turn around? Phillip Mwaniki, from Nation. The hell? He’s not wearing tight pants, thankfully. Now, normally Phillip and I would not hesitate to do the whole shoulder hug in greeting. But I’m sure today. I mean. I don’t know. It wasn’t the right evening for such contacts. But we do the shoulder thing anyway, very quickly. We stand there for a while, chatting. He’s says he’s there to cover the MTV shindig. We then take our seat at the edge of the room where Miss Thumi joins us later. From there we literally stare at what’s going on. I make a few observations.
One: In the whole room, it’s only the gay guys who had HOT chicks on their arms. The straight guys sat alone in small miserable clusters, pretending to be cool. The gay guys pecked these chicks. And hugged them. And held their waists. It was like watching a vegetarian stand in line at a steak buffet. At one point I saw this gay guy playfully lift up the skirt of this terrifically hot chick and peek at her knickers (if she had any). The girl just squealed in delight. Really? They played with these girls. In my head I heard a motherly voice say, “Don’t play with food, Tim. There are guys starving out there somewhere.” There is a lesson in there; if you never have any hot girls milling around you, maybe you should try being gay.
Two: gay guys love the camera. They love to see their own pictures. They will be posing before the camera is out. Showing their good side. Purring into the camera. Eyes misty with seduction. Hips thrust out. Click. Click. Whirr. Click. Turns head, click. Click.
Three: At some point Miss Thumi breathlessly cooed, “Awww, I so want his purse.” She was referring to this chap with a purse slung across his bony shoulders. But he wasn’t the only one. Two in every six gay guys in that club had a clutch purse (I learnt that word that night; clutch purse, I like how it sounds, clutch. Clutch.). Those purses fascinated me. Not that I wanted one, no, I don’t think there is one that would come in a colour I like- straight. I just wondered what they kept in there: eye liner? A little pepper spray can in case you decided to paw her flat chest?
Four: not every gay guy is clean. We know gay guys to be very neat. Like super clean. So clean it’s almost anal. Hehe. We know gay guys to mind how they look; go to gym, drink chardonnay, eat white meat etc. But I saw some pretty unclean, fat gay guys. I saw this one particular chap who wore suspenders with his large belly spilling between the suspender straps. He looked like Mr. Kamau in those books we used to read in Primo. Mr. Kamau is driving a bus. Remember them? This guy at some point picked a mshikaki from a passing tray and sort of did this thing where he opened his mouth suggestively while biting and looking our way at the same time. Phillip swore he was looking at me. I swear he was looking at Phillip because earlier on Phillip had sort of leaned back and opened his legs and a bunch of gay guys sort of nudged each other giggling. I told Phillip that the same advice our mothers reserved for our sisters applied to him then; don’t open your legs to anyone.
Lastly: They looked happier than we did. No, really, they did. They joked and laughed and took pictures and grabbed at the women and drunk. Us? We sat in a corner and watched them drink and laugh (giggle, more like) and grab at women. They seemed to make more friends, while we straight guys sat there, staring into our drinks hoping to see a mermaid in there. I suspect that the word “gay” was given to gays because they are always happy?
I have a pal I suspect is gay. But he hasn’t come out (in a clutch purse) so we all treat him as straight. Besides he doesn’t touch my thigh when he laughs, so it’s cool. So I asked him (and another straight female friend, and another straight guy) what he thought of a piece like this would mean to gay people. If their humour is enough to take this, because really it’s never that serious.
“Depends, did you make them sound weird?” He Whatsapped.
“I wrote that they carry clutch purses, will that offend them?”
“I’m not sure, not all carry clutch purses, some look more manly than you do, by the way,”
“What, they can chop down a tree with a look?”
“LOL,” he wrote and asked, “but you didn’t make them look different, did you?”
“They are different, son. We all are different as human beings, no?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Look,” I pressed on, “ I make fun of Okuyus all the time, and Kissiis, and Lunjes, I don’t make fun of them because we are alike, I make fun of them because we are different. But it doesn’t mean I think less of Lunjes, for instance, it just means I bloody can’t understand why they take tea after dinner, that’s all.”
“Well, if you put it that way…” he wrote back.
“If I put it that way?” I wrote back, “OK, let’s flip this. If I was a gay guy making fun of other gay guys, would that fly in Gayville?”
He’s yet to reply. If he does, I will inform you.
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